Insane proposition (1)

I must be dreaming, because this is exactly how most of my fantasies start; with him summoning me into his office. He would glare at me, but there would be more than just anger in his eyes.

In reality, there is none of that. His eyes trail my body up and down, as though observing a piece of art at an exhibition. After what feels like ages but is probably only a few minutes, he seems satisfied with his findings and says, "Have a seat."

I do, but my butt is basically hovering over the chair. I can’t bring myself to relax in the presence of this man. The first thing I can think of is, I’m getting fired!

I’m pretty sure it’s not about the diary entries. No one has ever caught a whiff of them, and Rhys Redmond is the kind of asshole more likely to make fun and punish the heck out of me—not in the fun way I envision—before throwing a shitty recommendation letter my way. At the very least, the letter of dismissal wouldn't come as a surprise.

"Did I do something wrong?" I attempt to ask. If I did nothing, there isn’t any reason why he shouldn’t answer my question.

His eyes land on mine, making me squirm as he says, "You tell me. Did you do something wrong?"

My mind goes back to the diary, but I shake my head, hoping my cheeks don’t turn as red as people say they do when I attempt to lie. "No."

His look says he doesn’t believe me, but he moves on. "We need to discuss something."

"I’m all ears." I don't want to, but it's not like I have a choice.

"I have a proposition."

My heart stills as I wait for him to proceed, but no amount of bracing myself prepares me for what comes out of his mouth. "Be my fiancée."

Okay, I know I have been praying for a change of luck because mine is as horrid as it can get, but this is not what I meant.

One moment, I was dreading losing my job, and now the boss himself just asked me to marry him?

I replay our conversation over and over, scrutinizing it for anything I may have missed. Nothing makes sense.

"Why?"

"I need a wife."

It has nothing to do with feelings. I’m not naïve. I know that for men like Rhys, marriages are business arrangements with mutual benefits, and his proposal has nothing to do with what he wants. It’s all about getting closer to his sky-high goals.

Still, I asked, "Why me?"

His eyes skim over mine. "Because I wouldn’t fall in love with you. That’s the kind of shit I don’t want."

It feels as though someone has punched me in the face. No. That wouldn’t sting this much.

The man basically implied I’m unattractive. And here I have been making a fool out of myself by crushing on him.

"I’ll pass," I say as I stand.

"State your price."

I ignore him and walk out of his office. I would prefer to land a slap on his cheek, but that will not end well for me.

I sit at my desk, battling tears, but my thoughts are so turbulent that my computer screen is just a blur.

I didn’t think much could put my mood in a damper, but somehow this worsened everything.

I know I should have taken the deal. With a price to it, I could make Mr. Moneybags hand over the cash first, or sign some documents so he can’t get out of the deal when the time comes.

It’s just a fake engagement. We merely have to make a few public appearances and we will be done. We don’t even need to share a living space. Heck, if he asked me to be a wife, and we lived in the same house with each of us having our separate rooms, it would still be more than winning a jackpot.

But I have made the mistake once; I will never get involved with my boss again. The diary entries have to stop too. I only started them for fun when I needed a distraction and had no books to read. I make a mental note to explore the public library on the way home, although I know it's no longer about boredom. Even if I stop writing, thoughts of Rhys Redmond will plague my mind.

At home that evening, I pull up some of the entries to read, using my phone's flashlight. God forbid the landlord notices the lights streaming from my window and knows I’m home.

Unmistakably, he knows I still live in the building, but I want to be cautious and let him think I work late.

I peek at the opening of an entry I have read so many times that I can recite it.

Today, the new boss is wearing blue. It brings out the color in his eyes. His tie is a little crooked. When he notices it, he bellows at me from his partially open door to go to his office.

When I’m standing before him, he points at his neck. "Adjust it."

I circle his desk and touch the fabric that probably costs more than my monthly salary, and I fasten it. His eyes never leave mine. Just as I straighten to leave, his arm circles around my waist and he makes me sit on his lap. I relish his scent as he pulls me closer to his chest, and my pussy is aligned with his cock. My skirt has hiked up, and did I mention I forgot to put on my panties today?

Deliberately forgot, but that's hardly the point.

I grind my pussy against his hardness as he swipes my hair to one side. He buries his face in my exposed neck and takes a long sniff. "You smell like a real-life wet dream."

Real-life wet dream?

I laugh at my vivid imagination.

Tens of women at work drool over Rhys Redmond, but I must be the only one filling up pages with fantasies of things that will never happen. If this doesn’t get me checked into a mental facility, nothing will.

And I just happen to be the one he came to with that insane proposal.

What do I do?

I flip to the subsequent entry, but my eyes hurt from using a flashlight to read, so I close the book and try to get some sleep. It’s going to be a long night.

Thoughts of him permeate my mind.

Being his fiancée.

Affluent people are complicated as fuck, but I would finally get out of this tiny shoe box. If I pass it up, I can’t trust the asshole to not find an excuse and fire me. Lord knows he has wanted to do it since he laid his eyes on me.

But do I really want to be stuck with a man who hates my guts and finds me unattractive?