Liars Like Us

8

“Maybe I’m carefully mentally incompetent.”

“Or maybe you’re intrigued by my offer.” He pauses. “Or by me.”

When I don’t answer, he gifts me with a small, mysterious smile.

It irritates the hell out of me. Smugness is one of my least favorite personality traits in people.

I take a long drink of my martini, set it back onto the table, and gaze into Callum’s gorgeous dark eyes.

“Look. I’m in the middle of one of the worst times of my life. I’m losing my business. I’m disappointing my friends. I’m failing my father’s memory and betraying the legacy he worked his entire life to build. By this time next month, I’ll be crashing on my girlfriend’s sofa because I’ll no longer be able to afford my apartment. I don’t have any interest in indulging some rich stranger’s ego on top of all that. So let’s get to the part where you tell me about this ridiculous offer of yours or reveal the whole thing is being filmed for a reality show, because otherwise, I’m gonna get drunk on your dime, then call myself a cab and go home.”

He stares at me.

I stare back.

It goes on and on until my ears are scalding, and I’m forcing myself to sit still in my seat and not squirm.

But I’ll be damned if I’ll look away first or cower like Sophie, so I maintain eye contact and suffer through it, even though it’s excruciating.

Gradually, a strange expression settles over Callum’s features.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear it was pride.

He begins without preamble, his voice stroking soft and his dark eyes impossibly bright.

“My family owns McCord Media, the largest private corporation in the world. Our revenue was three hundred billion dollars last year alone. My father built it from the ground up when he took over a small newspaper in New York in the seventies. Then he bought more papers, both domestic and international, then a television station, then a cable network, then a film studio. It grew from there. We’re now considered one of the most successful and influential businesses on the planet. In addition to operating the media empire, we’re heavily invested in real estate. We own this building, in fact. Along with most of Beverly Hills. And Manhattan. Hong Kong is a big part of the portfolio too.”

He pauses to take a drink of whiskey. At least I think it’s whiskey, I have no godly f*****g clue because I’m too busy being stunned.

No wonder poor Sophie is so scared of him.

“My father is extremely old-fashioned. He’s been married to my mother for more than forty years, and he believes marriage is the foundation of civilization. Literally. He thinks men would still be hunting with spears in the jungle if it wasn’t for women domesticating us.”

Here he pauses again to look me deeply in the eyes.

“Women are lion tamers, he says. Can you believe that?”

What I can believe is that my underwear is no match for the throaty tone of his voice. What remained from before that didn’t already burn up dissolves in a puff of smoke, leaving me bare and throbbing, clenching my thighs together so I don’t drench the seat of my chair.

I manage to say, “He sounds like quite the character.”

“He is. He’s also stubborn. Once his mind is made up, there’s no changing it. Which is where my proposition to you comes in.”

I almost spit out the sip of martini I just took. “Your father told you to propose to me?”

“No. He told me that he put a condition in his will that if I didn’t marry by December of this year, I’d be disinherited, fired from the company, cut off from all contact with the family, and discredited so badly in the international business community that I’d find it impossible to work again.”

Callum’s smile is grim. “In other words, he’d make it his mission to ruin my life. Which he can do quite easily. One of his rivals in business who crossed him is currently living in a tent on Skid Row.”

Shocked, I gape at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Wow. So on top of being a super successful family man, he’s also super vindictive.”

“Yes. When he dies, we’ll need an entire cemetery to bury him along with all his grudges. Which brings us back to you.”

I don’t like being mentioned in the same sentence with his mean, grudge-holding Dad, so I sit back in my chair and drink more of my martini.

Maybe it will kill the rest of my remaining brain cells. They haven’t done much for me lately anyway.

Callum leans over the table and rests his forearms on the edge. His tone grows urgent.

“I need a wife. Not want but need. I’m willing to pay a considerable sum to make that happen, because if I don’t marry, I lose everything. Income, lifestyle, family, property, investments, opportunity…it all vanishes. For good. I’d be left with only the clothes in my closet and what I’ve saved in cash, which isn’t enough to fund a single one of the many vacations I take a year.”

I swallow a sarcastic boo-hoo and simply look at him. And think.

Sophie returns to ask if we’d like to place an order for food. Callum dismisses her with a royal flick of his wrist.

When she’s gone and I’ve collected my thoughts, I say, “Okay. I have some observations to share. Don’t interrupt, please. I have the attention span of a puppy, and I’ll forget what I was saying.”

I wait for a sign from him that he’s agreeing, which arrives in the form of a curt nod. Then I say, “Assuming this information about your family’s business is true—”

“It’s true,” he says forcefully. “Look it up right now on your phone.”

When I stare at him in disapproval, he settles back into his chair, crosses one leg over the other, and folds his hands in his lap. “My apologies,” he says, his expression impassive. “Please proceed.”

“Thank you. As I was saying, a few observations. Here’s the first: it’s odd that you would ask a complete stranger to help you out with this problem of yours. If I were in your shoes, I’d ask a friend. Some other rich person in your social circle. Not some random girl you eavesdropped on at a restaurant. For all you know, I could be a serial killer.”

After a moment of silence, he says, “Is that pause an invitation for me to speak, or should I wait until the end of these interesting little observations of yours?”

“You should wait till the end. And don’t be sarcastic. There’s only room for one smartass at this table, and it’s me.”

This time, his smile is amused. He inclines his head in that kingly way of his, granting me permission to continue.

It’s amazing how someone I find so attractive can also make me want to bash him over the head with my shoe.

“Observation number two: you’re not good with money.”

His brows shoot up.

I’ve insulted him. Good. He could use getting taken down a notch or two. But I give him a smile to take some of the sting out of my words.

“If your father can literally boot you out onto the street and leave you with nothing, you’ve done a terrible job adulting. If I were a rich playboy with access to billions and such a shaky grip on my own fate, you can bet I’d have plans A through Z set up in case I needed a parachute. But you’ve been riding Daddy’s coattails instead. Shame on you.”

Callum lowers his brows and proceeds to glower at me.