Chapter 3: A Bitter Proposal

"Is this how you usually make decisions? By dragging people into rooms they don’t want to be in?”

The man sitting opposite me didn't turn upward. He was too caught up with whirling the bourbon in his glass, his long fingers wrapped firmly around maybe it was the main thing tying him to the occasion.

"I didn't request this anything else than you," he said at last, his voice low and cut.

I gripped my clenched hands under the cleaned oak table, compelling myself to keep my appearance nonpartisan.

The pressure all around was choking, thick with implicit feelings of disdain and assumptions.

The confidential room in the upscale lodging was faintly lit, the main sound coming from the weak murmur of a crystal fixture above.

Mike Rowling was nothing similar to what I'd anticipated. He was sharp-highlighted, his dim hair cleared back with the accuracy of somebody who couldn't stand remaining details.

His custom-fitted suit shouted riches and authority, however, his stance was easygoing, practically exhausted, as though he were attempting to minimize the ridiculousness of the circumstance.

"You're peaceful," he commented, at last gathering my look. His eyes were penetrating, a frightening shade of dark that appeared to see straight through me. "I anticipated more opposition."

I fixed my back. "Why bother? Dislike I have a decision, isn't that right?"

His lips twisted into something looking like a sneer, yet it didn't arrive at his eyes. "Neither do I."

The words lingered palpably, heavier than they ought to have been. I needed to loathe him, to generalize him with the likes of Kaila and Jemma and every other person who appeared not entirely set in stone to control my life, yet there was something in his tone — a harshness that reflected my own — that provided me the opportunity to stop and think.

"So," I said, collapsing my arms across my chest, "for what reason would you say you are doing this? How might this benefit you?"

He reclined in his seat, one arm hung nonchalantly over the side as he respected me with a cool separation. "That is nothing you should be worrying about."

"It is assuming I'm going to be your significant other," I shot back. The word tasted harsh on my tongue, similar to something unfamiliar and unwanted.

His appearance solidified. "This is certainly not a genuine marriage, Miss Holloway. We should not imagine it at any point will be."

The words stung, even though I'd anticipated them. "Why proceed with it?"

He delayed, his jaw fixing. Briefly, I figured he could reply, however, at that point he shook his head and took a taste of his beverage. "I don't owe you a clarification."

I inclined forward, declining to allow him to dismiss me. "You probably won't owe me a clarification, however assuming we will be trapped in this... game plan, I assume I merit some trustworthiness."

Mike put his glass down with a tranquil ring, his eyes restricted. "You need genuineness? Fine. I'm doing this since it benefits me. Very much as you're doing it since it benefits you. We should not imagine both of us have respectable goals here."

I opened my mouth to contend, yet the words passed on in my throat. He wasn't altogether off-base. However much I detested wedding him, I loathed the prospect of losing Mia considerably more.

"Presently it's my move," he said, his voice slicing through my viewpoints. "For what reason would you say you are consenting to this? How might this benefit you?"

I faltered, my brain dashing for a response that wouldn't make me sound as frantic as I felt. "We should simply say I have my reasons."

He raised an eyebrow, obviously disinterested. "Dubious. Helpful."

I frowned at him, my dissatisfaction rising to the surface. "I don't owe you a clarification all things considered."

His sneer returned, yet this time it was edged with something more obscure. "All good."

We passed into quietness, the heaviness of the circumstance pushing down on us. I could feel his eyes on me, surveying me, working out, however, I would not meet his look.

All things considered, I zeroed in on the little subtleties around me — the weak scratch on the edge of the table, the unobtrusive fragrance of cedar and cowhide that stuck to the air.

At long last, Mike ended the quietness. "On the off chance that we will do this, there should be rules."

"Rules?" I rehashed, grimacing.

"Indeed. Rules. Limits. Anything you desire to call them." He inclined forward, his demeanor serious. "This won't be some heartfelt dream.

You do your part, I'll do mine, and we both leave when it's finished. No inconveniences."

I shuddered at his tone yet gestured. "Fine. No difficulties."

"Furthermore, no falling head over heels," he added, his eyes locking onto mine.

The sheer haughtiness of the assertion made me giggle, a sharp, pompous sound that reverberated in the tranquil room. "Trust me, Mike. That won't be an issue."

Briefly, his appearance mellowed, as though my response had surprised him. However at that point, the cover was back, and he was all business once more.

"Great," he expressed, standing up and changing his suit coat. "We'll mark the calendar soon. The sooner we get this over with, the better."

I remained too, my legs feeling temperamental underneath me. "I can hardly stand by," I said, my voice trickling with mockery.

He looked at me, a glimmer of entertainment in his eyes, yet he didn't answer. All things being equal, he turned and strolled toward the entryway, his strides reverberating in the vacant space.

"Mike," I shouted toward him, leaving him speechless.

He turned, his appearance ambiguous. "What?"

"This may be a business plan for you, yet it's my life," I said, my voice shuddering with a blend of outrage and assurance. "Remember that."

He maintained eye contact with me briefly before gesturing once. "Noted."

And afterward, he was gone, abandoning me with the heaviness of what had simply occurred.

I sank once again into my seat, my brain dashing. This wasn't just about me any longer. It was about Mia, about shielding her from individuals who might involve her as a pawn.

Yet, as I stayed there, gazing at the unfilled glass Mike had abandoned, a pestering idea crawled into my psyche.

Kaila and Jemma had coordinated this whole wreck, yet why Mike? Of the multitude of individuals they might have picked, why him?

There was something I wasn't seeing, some piece of the riddle I hadn't yet revealed.

Furthermore, I planned to find it, regardless of what it took.

As Cath left the room, she heard a quiet discussion in the corridor. Kaila's voice, sharp and obvious, floated through the broken entryway.

"She doesn't have to know reality yet. Not until the agreement is agreed upon."

Cath froze, her heart pounding. The truth about what?