Sarah Anderson - Falling For Her Fake Fiancé

He notched an eyebrow at her. “What would you call them?”

“Family.” The simple reply—which was also the truth—was out before she could stop it.

She didn’t know what she expected him to do with that announcement, but lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss against her skin wasn’t it. “And that,” he whispered against her skin, “is exactly why I need you.”

This time, she did pull her hand away. She dropped it into her lap and fixed him with her best polite glare, the one that could send valets and servers scurrying for cover. Just then, the waiter appeared with their food—and did, in fact, pause when Frances turned that glare in his direction. He set their plates down with a minimum of fanfare and all but sprinted away.

She didn’t touch her food. “I’m hearing an awful lot about how much you need me. So let us, as you said, dispense with the games. I do not now, nor have I ever, formally worked for the Beaumont Brewery. I do not now, nor have I ever, had sex with a man who thought he was entitled to a piece of the Beaumont Brewery and, by extension, a piece of me. I will not take a desk job to help you win the approval of people you clearly dislike.”

“They disliked me first,” he put in as he cut his steak.

What she really wanted to do was throw her wine in his face. It’d feel so good to let loose and let him have it. Despite his claims that he recognized her intelligence, she had the distinct feeling that he was playing her, and she did not like it. “Regardless. What do you want, Mr. Logan? Because I’m reasonably certain that it’s no longer just the dismantling and sale of my family’s history.”

He set his knife and fork aside and leaned his elbows on the table. “I need you to help me convince the workers that joining the current century is the only way the company will survive. I need you to help me show them that it doesn’t have to be me against them or them against me—that we can work together to make the Brewery something more than it was.”

She snorted. “I’ll be sure to pass such touching sentiments along to my brother—the man you replaced.”

“By all accounts, he was quite the businessman. I’m sure that he’d agree with me. After all, he made significant changes to the management structure himself after his father passed. But he was constrained by that sense of family you so aptly described. I am not.”

“All the good it’s doing you.” She took another sip of wine, a slightly larger one than before.

“You see my problem. If the workers fight me on this, it won’t be only a few people who lose their jobs—the entire company will shut down, and we will all suffer.”

She tilted her head from side to side, considering. “Perhaps it should. The Beaumont Brewery without a Beaumont isn’t the same thing, no matter what the marketing department says.”

“Would you really give your blessing to job losses for hundreds of workers, just for the sake of a name?”

“It’s my name,” she shot at him.

But he was right. If the company went down in flames, it’d burn the people she cared for. Her brothers would be safe—they’d already ensconced themselves in the Percheron Drafts brewery. But Bob and Delores and all the rest? The ones who’d whispered to her how nervous they were about the way the wind was blowing? Who were afraid for their families? The ones who knew they were too old to start over, who were scared that they’d be forced into early retirement without the generous pension benefits the Beaumont Brewery had always offered its loyal employees?

“Which brings us back to the heart of the matter. I need you.”

“No, you don’t. You need my approval.” Her lobster was no doubt getting cold, but she didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment.

Something that might have been a smile played over his lips. For some reason, she took it as a compliment, as if he was acknowledging her intelligence for real this time, instead of paying lip service to it. “Why didn’t you go into the family business? You’d have made a hell of a negotiator.”

“I find business, in general, to be beneath me.” She cast a cutting look at him. “Much like many of the people who willingly choose to engage in it.”

He laughed then, a real thing that she wished grated on her ears and her nerves but didn’t. It was a warm sound, full of humor and honesty. It made her want to smile. She didn’t. “I’m not going to take the job.”

“I wasn’t going to offer it to you again. You’re right—it is beneath you.”

Here it came—the trap he was waiting to spring. He leaned forward, his gaze intent on hers and in the space of a second, before he spoke, she realized what he was about to say. All she could think was, Oh, hell.

“I don’t want to hire you. I want to marry you.”

Five

The weight of his statement hit Frances so hard Ethan was surprised she didn’t crumple in the chair.

But of course she didn’t. She was too refined, too schooled to let her shock show. Even so, her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect O, kissable in every regard.

“You want to...what?” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Turnabout is fair play , he decided as he let her comment hang in the air. She’d caught him completely off guard in the office yesterday and had clearly thought she could keep that shock and awe going. But tonight? The advantage was his.

“I want to marry you. More specifically, I want you to marry me,” he explained. Saying the words out loud made his blood hum. When he’d come up with this plan, it had seemed like a bold-yet-risky business decision. He’d quickly realized that Frances Beaumont would absolutely not take a desk job, but the unavoidable fact was he needed her approval to validate his restructuring plans.

And what better way to show that the Beaumonts were on board with the restructuring than if he were legally wed to the favored daughter?

Yes, it had all seemed cut-and-dried when he’d formulated the plan last night. A sham marriage, designed to bolster his position within the company. He’d done a little digging into her past and discovered that she had tried to launch some sort of digital art gallery recently, but it’d gone under. So she might need funding. No problem.

But he’d failed to take into account the actual woman he’d just proposed to. The fire in her eyes more than matched the fire in her hair, and all of her lit a hell of a flame in him. He had to shift in his chair to avoid discomfort as he tried not to look at her lips.

“You want to get married?” She’d recovered some, the haughty tone of her voice overcoming her surprise. “How very flattering.”

He shrugged. He’d planned for this reaction. Frankly, he’d expected nothing less, not from her.

He hadn’t planned for the way her hand—her skin—had felt against his. But a plan was a plan, and he was in for far more than a penny. “Of course, I’m not about to profess my undying love for you. Admiration, yes.” Her cheeks colored slightly. Nope, he hadn’t planned for that, either.

Suddenly, his bold plan felt like the height of foolishness.

“My,” she murmured. Her voice was soft, but he didn’t miss the way it sliced through the air. “How I love to hear sweet nothings. They warm a girl’s heart.”

He grinned again. “I’m merely proposing an...arrangement, if you will. Open to negotiation. I already know a job in management is not for you.” He sat back, trying to look casual. “I’m a man of considerable influence and power. Is there something you need that I can help you with?”

“Are you trying to buy me?” Her fingertips curled around the stem of her wineglass. He kept one hand on the napkin in his lap, just in case he found himself wearing the wine.