Liars Like Us

5

“I was hoping we could help each other. I have a proposition for you.”

He turns his attention back to me and pins me in a stare so intense, it rocks me back onto my heels. Because my mouth has gone dry, I can only whisper, “Proposition?”

Then I suffer a lethal brain aneurysm and drop dead on the spot.

I know I must because of the next words I hear the gorgeous stranger speak, which could only happen in another dimension where all my mental functions had permanently ceased.

Gazing deep into my eyes, he says, “I want you to marry me.”

Three

F

or a few moments, my mind is blank.

If he asked me my name, I wouldn’t be able to remember it. s*x hormones scream through my veins at lightning speed, vibrating all my sub-atomic particles at such high frequency, I’m probably glowing like a neon sign.

Then all the gears in my head start up again, and I laugh. “Very funny. Good joke. Who put you up to this? Sabine?”

He looks like her type. The beautiful people always stick together, those selfish bastards.

“It wasn’t a joke.”

He says it with irritation, as if I’ve insulted him. He gazes at me in tense silence, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

I cross my arms over my chest and say sarcastically, “Sure. And next you’ll tell me you’re a billionaire book lover who wants to help save my store.”

“That’s correct.”

We stare at each other as I try to decide if I should play along with this ridiculous farce or tell him to get lost. But if he leaves, I won’t be able to drink in all that overpowering s*x appeal dressed up in an expensive suit.

Maybe I’ll indulge him for a minute or two. If only for the sake of my poor, neglected v****a.

“I see. Well, if we’re going to be married, I suppose I should know your name.”

“So you’re accepting my proposal.”

His unblinking intensity is intimidating. I can’t decide if this hot supermodel has a side gig as an assassin or if he just has no personality other than a good staring game.

“Just tell me your name, please.”

“Callum McCord.”

“Great to meet you, Cal. And should I call the police now to report a criminally bad comedian, or are you leaving?”

That muscle flexes in his jaw again. “It’s Callum,” he says in a low voice, holding me captive in that dark, powerful gaze. “And you’re not going to call the police.”

There’s something unusual about the intensity of his stare. Something unsettling. The faintest stirring of fear tightens my stomach.

When I glance nervously at the front door, he says, “You’re not in danger.”

Unnerved that he can read me so easily, I look him in the eye and lift my chin. “I don’t know what kind of game this is, but I don’t want to play. Unless you’re here to buy a book, I’d like you to leave now.”

“I’m not here to buy a book. I’m here to offer you a deal. Marry me and I’ll make sure your bookstore stays open, no matter what.”

Stunned and trying to process what’s happening, I take a step back. “What do you mean? Why would you want to marry me? And how could you possibly keep my store open?”

“I have the means to make it happen. As for why I want to marry you…” A wolflike hunger flickers in his gaze. “Let’s just say I find you interesting.”

If my v****a could detach from my body and fling itself right onto his face, it would.

Despite the absolute ludicrousness of the conversation and the distinct possibility that this guy is out of his mind, I feel like a lit stick of dynamite with a short fuse.

But I still have my dignity. I won’t drop to my knees and latch on to his d**k like a lamprey, no matter what my v****a has to say about it.

“Interesting? You don’t know me. We’ve never met before.”

“But I know your situation. And I know you’d do anything to solve it. I believe your exact words were ‘I’d literally cut off my own arm if it would help.’ Sound familiar?”

I gasp in horror and humiliation. This bastard eavesdropped on me at the restaurant yesterday! “That was a private conversation. You had no right to listen in on it.”

“I was seated at the table behind you. I couldn’t help but overhear. And you should seriously consider me as an alternative to amputation.”

“This is crazy.”

“No, this is a solution to a problem. For us both.”

“Oh, really? What kinds of problems does a guy like you have?”

His gaze sharpens. “A guy like me? Meaning?”

I’m starting to get really annoyed now. I’m all for playful banter, but this is getting ridiculous.

“If you need an ego stroke, you came to the wrong place. But I’m sure ValUBooks has a large selection of novels on narcissism that might be helpful to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

I turn away and start to walk back to my office, but then Callum calls out, “I’ll give you ten million dollars,” and I stop dead in my tracks.

My heart starts to pound. My hands start to shake.

This crazy son of a b***h actually sounds serious.

In a daze, I turn slowly and squint at him. “I’m sorry, did you just say…?”

“Yes. Ten million dollars.”

“To…save my store.”

“Yes.”

“And…marry you.”

“Yes.”

A long, tense pause follows, during which I blink rapidly and he burns holes into my head with his eyes. Finally, I say, “Pardon my manners, but are you f*****g nuts?”

He answers without hesitation. “Depends on your definition. But I am serious about my offer. Why don’t I tell you more over lunch?” He gestures toward the window.

Idling outside at the curb in front of the shop is a black luxury sedan, something sleek and futuristic-looking. Standing at attention beside the rear passenger door is a man in a black suit wearing dark sunglasses that hide his eyes.

“Is that your car?”

“It is.”

“You have a driver?”

“I do.”

I glance away from the window and focus on Callum. He stands motionless under my scrutiny, still and calm, but I get the strange sense that under his outward control, he’s waging an internal war with himself.

If I’m being honest, it freaks me out. He freaks me out.

Who is this guy?

“I’m not getting into a car with a complete stranger.”

“Afraid of being kidn*pped?”

How irritating that he nailed it. It’s like he’s inside my head. I say,

“Don’t mock me.”

He says mildly, “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Now I know you’re mocking me.”

His left brow drifts upward into a sardonic arch, as if he’s thinking my sense of self-preservation is childish and overly dramatic, but when he speaks, his voice is still mild.

“Why don’t you take a picture of the license plate and send it to a friend? That way if your dismembered body is discovered in a dumpster tomorrow morning, the police will know where to start looking for your murderer.”

“You could change the plates after you dump my body.”

“Hmm. Good point.”

“FYI, that was pretty much exactly the wrong thing to say. I’m not getting in the car.”

When he doesn’t respond and only stands there looking at me with an inscrutable expression, I grow self-conscious. “What?”

“It’s just that people don’t often say no to me.”

“Meaning never.”

“Exactly.”

I say flippantly, “If I’m going to be your wife, you’d better get used to it.”