I shudder at the thought.

“I know it’s unconventional, that the contract is . . .” Fred pauses and frowns. He drums his fingers on the table, looking sheepish.

Unconventional? To say the fucking least. If the situation weren’t so grim, I might laugh.

He and my father drew up their wills years ago, outlining what would happen to their multibillion-dollar baby should they kick the bucket. The daunting stack of papers in front of me spells out in full legal jargon that Olivia and I are to inherit the company with joint fifty-fifty ownership . . . but only if we’re legally wed.

With Fred’s failing health and the company itself suffering six consecutive quarters in the red, an emergency meeting was called last week. Olivia and I were presented with our options.

In my view, there were no options. There was just the right thing to do. We had to marry to save not only our own jobs, but our fathers’ legacies and the jobs of six thousand people in offices in Manhattan, Chicago, San Diego, and Brussels.

Olivia felt differently. She didn’t relish the idea of being tied to me, and insisted there had to be another way.

Even if we do manage to persuade her to tie the knot, there’s no way Olivia would be getting anywhere near my bed. Damn shame.

We came close once . . . just once. Back when she was a drunk college co-ed on spring break.

Her family was staying with mine in a beach house on Puget Sound. We’d escaped the East Coast for the West that summer. Whale watching and hiking trips in the salty sea air and evenings spent eating lobster and drinking chardonnay like we were real adults and not nineteen-year-olds with stars in our eyes.

She snuck out of the bunk bed in the room she was sharing with her sister, Rachel, and into my bedroom that night. And when she crawled in beside me and laid her warm palm against my bare chest, I was a goner. I’ve always wanted Olivia. Always desired her, from before I even knew what those strange feelings were in my gut, my chest. We kissed in the darkness, our tongues exploring, hands groping, hearts beating wildly.

But then reality slammed into me. There were a lot of reasons I told her no that night. Her mom had recently been diagnosed with cancer, and I knew Olivia would regret using me to cope. Plus, I knew from a recent game of Truth or Dare that she was still a virgin.

So I kissed her a final time and then sent her away. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

And now she treats me as if I were a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of those Louboutin heels she favors.

“I really think this is for the best,” Fred adds, pulling me back to the present.

“It’s what your father wanted, Noah,” Prescott says. Before my father’s death, Prescott was his most trusted advisor. He’s also a total fucking douche bag.

Just then, the conference room door flies open, and I know it’s her before I even look up from the contract.

A fresh floral scent with crisp notes of honeysuckle greets me. I have no idea where Olivia gets that shit, but it makes my mouth water. It always has. I once spent an entire Saturday at the fragrance counter of a department store trying to figure it out, trying to prove that it was just some manufactured, bottled version of attraction, that it wasn’t something special to her. I never found it.

“I’m here,” Olivia says, slightly breathless.

I look up just in time to be treated to the sight of her smoothing her dress shirt over her curves. Lush breasts and a flat stomach leading to full hips. Her jacket is slung over her arm, as is her tan leather briefcase, monogrammed with her initials in black cursive stitching.

“Miss Cane,” I say cheerfully. “You look exceptionally refreshed this morning.”

She likes to exercise in the morning before work, says it gives her the mental agility to stay focused on business for the sixteen-hour days she’s known to plow through. I like that it gives her cheeks a rosy glow . . . much like I’d guess sex would. Just the thought makes my cock twitch in my dress slacks.

“Save it, Noah. This is purely business,” she says, blinking at me with those lush, dark lashes.

No smile. No laughter. The opposite of the usual reaction I evoke from the fairer sex. And that annoys the shit out of me.

It’s as if Olivia Cane alone possesses an antidote to my charm. And that only makes me want to watch her surrender to me that much more. The idea of her on her knees, pink lips parted, taking my cock deep down her throat, begging for more even as she gags on my impressive length, is more than just a sexual turn-on. It’s practically a life goal. To me, sex is a competitive sport. I know the rules, I play hard, and I always win.

Realizing they’re all still watching me, I take a deep breath, trying to force my cock to behave himself, and hold up my hands. She’s never taken one ounce of my shit, and I respect the hell out of her for that.

“I’m just trying to do what’s best here.”

She lets out a soft sigh of exasperation and sets her bag on the table. “Let’s get on with this.”

Her father pats the back of her hand. “Sit down, honey.”

She obeys, poised even in defeat, lowering herself into the seat with the confidence that was bred into her from birth. Preston slides a copy of the contract over to her, and she leafs through it with disinterest.

“I just don’t see why there has to be a marriage clause in the will.”

The woman has a point. My guess? Because our fathers have always wanted to play matchmaker when it came to us. They’ve paired us together since we were in diapers. Hell, we even have an old photo of us in full wedding apparel at a fake wedding from some twenty years ago.