6. Emily

Simon looks all wrong in my Honda Accord.

For one, he's too big. The man was built for trucks and SUVs. His legs are cramped, and even though he sits like he doesn't have a care in the world, he's still smashed into that old seat.

And for another, he's a perfect contrast. Where my car's dingy and beat-up with stains on the dash and rips in the headrest, he's perfectly put together, his dark, wavy hair pushed back, his body shoved into a suit that probably costs more than I pay for rent in a year, and he looks damn good in it. He drips wealth, from the Rolex to the shiny shoes, while I'm just a broke girl driving a beater that doesn't do much more than roll.

He takes me to the Viceroy, an incredibly luxurious hotel right in downtown with an old-world feel. The exterior looks like it was built at the turn of the century while the interior is all modern chic with mid-century charm. The bar's crowded, but when Simon walks toward it, two men stand and vacate their seats. My host sits and gestures for me to join him.

I stare at his lips as he orders our drinks. A Manhattan for him and a gin-and-tonic for me. I don't know how he knows what I drink, but I don't complain. I really need it right now. I take greedy drinks when the bartender puts my glass in front of me. He looks back at me, still not talking, and the longer I'm here, the more I want to scream.

I don't know what this man could possibly want from me, but I'm picturing some pretty horrific stuff.

Like The Most Dangerous Game type stuff where this psychopath hunts me through the streets for sport.

Or maybe he wants to do some kind of sex-slave situation, although I have trouble believing he has any issues there. Women probably throw themselves at him.

The man looks like he was born out of the ocean from a couple of Greek gods and ready to fuck whatever lucky woman he sets his eyes on.

I picture him with nothing but a shell over his dick, and okay, maybe I'm not scared enough at this point.

I'm thoroughly freaking out, when he finally puts me out of my misery. "You're scared," he comments, which is putting it mildly. "You don't need to be. We're here surrounded by tourists because I wanted to put you at ease. Nothing bad will happen to you tonight. You have my word."

I take a deep breath and blow it out. "Okay, great. That's a real comfort coming from a guy that broke into my car and threatened to kidnap me."

"I believe I threatened to tie you up and spank you."

My heart does a triple beat and I clutch my cold glass tightly. "Uh, I think you said you'd show me your kink."

"Whoops. Guess now you know." He swirls his glass. "Are you going to act like I'm a monster all night? This conversation is going to be painful otherwise."

I take another long drink. "Just get this over with, okay?"

He leans to the side so he can study my profile. I'm very aware of the way he's looking at me, like he's sizing me up for something, and I don't like it.

"Alright then, I'll be straight with you. I brought you here because I think we can help each other."

That's not what I expected. I tilt my chin in his direction, fighting against my natural inclination to stand up and scream my head off. "How in the world could we possibly help each other?"

He leans in close. My mouth waters at the thought of him kissing my throat. "I know about your father."

And just like that, all my excitement disappears, and it's like my body goes colder than the ice in my glass.

I don't say anything. I can't say anything. Nobody's supposed to know about what happened to my father. He begged me not to tell anyone, and I swore I'd keep it a secret. That's why I've been working so hard to take care of him with absolutely no support from anyone else. All because my father's pride is hurt, and I can't stand the idea of letting him down.

And now some random stranger knows.

"I don't believe you," I choke out, which is weak, I can totally admit it, but I'm not exactly at my best right now.

"It wasn't hard to figure out." He's talking so calmly like this isn't a huge deal. "I had my people look into his financial background and we found the second mortgage. That's always a red flag for a man his age. From there, I dug harder and found accounts in his name. Empty accounts. A few bribes here, a couple calls to some friends there, and I got a list of all his outgoing payments over the last couple years. Turns out, your father's been busy funneling all his retirement savings to an account owned by known scammers. I'm sorry, for what it's worth. Those people are pure scum."

The magnitude of what he's telling me feels like a cannon ball straight to my guts at close range. He found accounts? That's not supposed to be possible. He bribed people? Called in favors? He got a list of my father's transactions? If that's true, and I'm pretty sure it is, all of that is wildly illegal and straight-out immoral.

Simon doesn't seem to mind. He watches my reaction, still gauging me, measuring and judging, and I don't know why. I chug down my drink, because why the hell not. When it's empty, I gesture for another, as I try to process.

He knows. That's all that matters. The details of how he knows are terrifying—but also intriguing. Because only a man with serious connections and means could pull something like that off, and he doesn't even sound like it's a big deal.

"Why?" I ask him once my new drink shows up.

That seems to surprise him. His eyebrows raise. "That's what you want to know? Why I looked into you?"

I nod once. "Why would you bother? I was just some random waitress trying to steal from you. Why would you dig into me and my father like that?"

He looks amused as he drapes an arm across my chair. I squirm, leaning forward so he's not touching me. "Because I had a feeling that I might need you in the near future. And honestly? I liked the way you said sex bag."

I gape at him like he's insane, then I laugh in his face. "Are you serious? The phrase sex bag is just about the least sexy thing in the entire world, and you liked it?"

He nods, not at all bothered by my outburst. "You pulled it off."

"I pulled it—" I rub my face with both hands. I'm getting off topic. "Okay, I can accept that you know about what happened to my dad. What do you want from me?"

"It's simple." He drums his fingers on the bar top. I note that he's barely touched his drink. "Your father needs someone to bail out his debts. Not only are his accounts empty, but he maxed out three separate credit cards trying to dig himself out of this hole, and I suspect the bank is just about ready to foreclose on that house. Am I correct?"

I nod once, not fucking happy. "Yeah. You're right. And you don't need to look so smug about it."

"I can help him. I have plenty of money, and I can make his problems go away. In exchange, I'd need you to marry me."