I lean back in my chair at Norma’s in Le Parker Meridien hotel. I’ve taken a spot so I can see when she walks in. I arranged a Sunday brunch meeting, where there are lots of families around because I thought it would set her mind at ease.

I can only imagine what kind of man she thinks I must be, to have laid down that sum of money for the first taste of her tight little body. My first order of business is to assure her that that is not the case. I want her to see that this is entirely professional, and that I’m not the typical clientele that frequents the Suitors Club.

“More coffee, Mr. Winchester?” my waiter asks, and I nod and nudge the cup toward him. I also chose this place because though I frequent it, my father’s associates never do, and Dan wouldn’t dare spend the cash to bring his family here. No, Dan is practical, unpretentious and no-nonsense. He knows a thing or two about saving money, and is likely taking his family to McDonald’s for breakfast right now. He’d be wonderful as our financial guru, as he’d know how to trim the fat from our budget and keep an eye on our finances.

But he is not CEO material.

Not by a long shot. He’s missing several key traits. For one, he’s too timid. He’d not a negotiator, a risk-taker, or a shark.

He’s not like me.

As I’m stewing over my last meeting with my father, where he’d insinuated Dan was his first choice to assume his position and I’d seen my entire life flash before my eyes, I see Lavender arrive, blown in through the revolving doors by the stiff city wind that usually rages among the buildings. She pushes dark wisps of hair into her long ponytail and looks about the magnificent lobby with wide eyes before stepping tentatively toward the restaurant.

I know she’s never been here before.

As she walks, she smiles at a family with children. She holds the door open for an elderly man, and lets him step in front of her in the line. She looks so fresh-faced and innocent that it’s surprising these mad streets of Manhattan haven’t yet chewed her up and spit her out.

Despite sunny skies, she’s wearing a rain coat, the sash of which she unties from her slim waist as she speaks to the host. He takes the raincoat from her. Underneath, she’s wearing a more austere, almost Sunday-church-like dress, with a tiny flowered print.

It’s hideous.

That skirt from last night wasn’t her. No, she’s a good girl, practical and no-nonsense, too.

My father and Dan will fall in love with her.

I already know she’ll make the perfect wife, the perfect decoy to make Dan fall hook, line and sinker, and my father hand me the keys to the business.

If I can get her to agree.

I’d only messaged with her briefly, to arrange this meeting. She’d been blunt and to the point, the result, I’m seeing now, of her being nervous. Even with several tables between us, I can almost see her heart beating out of her chest.

The host looks toward me, and I wave him forward.

He takes a menu and motions her to follow. She does, not making significant eye contact with me. Her eyes flutter to my face, but quickly flutter away.

The host pulls out her chair, and steps aside. Lavender lifts a cheap purse onto her shoulder and bites on her lip. “Hello. Um, Max?”

I love her voice. I’d expected high and squeaky but it’s sultrier and stronger than I expected. Despite her lack of confidence, it sounds intelligent. But I’m not one to let on when I’m taken. “Yes. Lavender?”

I stand and reach over to shake her hand. I’m wearing my standard three-piece suit, and though it’s Sunday, I’m never caught on the streets of the city without one. Her eyes scan my expensive custom suit and she blushes. Her hand is cold, soft, but firm. I want to hold it longer, but she lets go immediately.

She still hasn’t made full eye contact with me, choosing to look at my tie, my shoulders. Never my face or eyes.

She sits down and the host places her napkin and menu in her lap. “Our smoothie of the day is Honeydew Raspberry,” he says, placing a shot glass of green, frothy stuff in front of each of us. I wave him away, signaling I don’t want to be disturbed, and he bows and leaves.

I take a sip of my coffee as I watch her wrinkle her nose as her eyes trail from the shot glass to the menu. She sits ramrod straight across from me, and I think she might jump clear to the ceiling if I say the wrong thing.

But this is an adventure. Most of the women I’m privy to know in this city are world-weary and sophisticated. No wonder she captured me. She’s looks so very naive and innocent; I have to wonder if she’s been living underneath a rock for the past few years.

“Now,” I say, tenting my hands in front of me on the table. “What is your name?”

She blanches and blinks. “I thought—“

“I know what the club’s rules are,” I tell her, though not well, since it was only my first foray into a place like that. “But when you accepted my bid, I mentioned a business proposal of a longer nature. Therefore, I don’t think you’d want me referring to you as Lavender for an extended period of time. Therefore, give me a name I can use to call you, real or not, it’s of no consequence to me.”

She shakes her head slowly. “Oh. I suppose that makes sense. I’m Lily.”

Lily. The flower. I can tell immediately that it’s her real name. She is just too honest and good to lie so convincingly. “I’m Max.”

“Are you mad?” she asks.

I realize she’s referring to the stupid alias Seth had given me when he’d set me up at the Suitor’s Club. I figure, why not? She’s just ripe to be played with. “Perhaps.” Then I lean forward, curious. “What did you think, last night, when you saw my bid?”

She bites on her lower lip. “I thought you were, most definitely, mad.”

“And?”

Her eyes widen. She’s confused. She reaches over to take the smoothie, thinks better of it, and wraps her hand around the stem of goblet of water, from which she takes a demure sip. “And what?”

“What else? You strike me as an intelligent woman. You went to college?”

She nods. “Columbia. I didn’t graduate . . . Um, yet.”

“All right. As an Ivy League-educated woman, you one of many impressions and feelings. That’s probably not all you thought.”

She nods. “I thought you must be very rich, and . . . well, not very interesting. If that was what you were willing to spend your money on.”

I have to laugh at that. “Perhaps I have so much money I can spend it on anything and everything I have a whim for?”

She raises an eyebrow. “One of those, being . . . um, women.”

“So you disapprove? And yet you were there, at the Suitors Club. You must have expected that that was all you would meet, yes? Men willing to spend an obscene amount of money to have sex with you?”

She nods.

“And you’re a virgin. So you are willing to sacrifice your virginity to me?”

She swallows. Heat climbs up her cheeks.

I lean forward. “Relax, Lily. That is not what this business proposition is about.”

She raises an eyebrow. “It isn’t?” The strength has left her voice; it’s now mouse like.

“No, indeed.”

The waiter comes, and fills my coffee again. He asks Lily if she would like some, but she smiles sweetly and tells him she’d rather have an orange juice. He asks if we’ve had a chance to look at the menu. I tell him to come back later, and open my menu. I suppose we should order if I’m ever hoping to make my afternoon racquetball appointment with Seth.

She scans the menu and laughs. She has a laugh as sweet as the rest of her, musical and gentle. “There’s a thousand-dollar frittata on here.”

I nod. “You’ve never had it?”

She looks at me like I’m crazy. “I’ve never even had a frittata before. What even is that? Have you?”

“It’s an Italian egg-based dish,” I tell her. I’m feeling like having some more fun. I motion the waiter over. “Can you please put in an order for two of the large-sized zillion dollar frittatas?”

The waiter stares, agog.

Lily does the same. When the waiter leaves, she says, “Now I know you’re mad. I told you I’ve never had anything like that. What if I don’t like it?”

I shrug coolly. “If you don’t like it, don’t eat it.”

She sits back, astonished. “Mr. . . .”

“Winchester,” I fill in.

“Mr. Winchester, you must have a lot of money that you don’t know how to spend.”

“I do know how to spend it. Quite well, actually. I can’t say I’m very good at saving it, though,” I say. “Have you ever heard of Winchester Properties?”

She shakes her head slowly.

“It’s my family business. And the largest real estate firm in Manhattan. We manage about twenty percent of the real estate in the city proper,” I explain, tenting my fingers in front of me again.

She takes a sip of her orange juice. “You run it?”

“I own it. Well, it’s the family business. My father is the de facto CEO, but he was stricken with lung cancer that’s inoperable and has spread, leaving him with mere months to live.”

She clutches her heart. “Oh! I’m sorry.”

I might as well have told her I ran over her grandmother in the parking lot, for how distressed she looks. I hold up a hand. “It’s fine. My father and I are not exactly close. Though I’ve run the company and helped to build it to what it is, he’s always had more affection for my younger brother, Dan. Perhaps because my father and I are very business-savvy, and we always butted heads on how the business should be run. Dan is not a businessman, you see, so if given the reins, he’d continue on, following my father’s directives to the letter. He runs a successful company in Sacramento, but he’s not a shark. He doesn’t have the acumen to make difficult business decisions and hunt down and secure the deals that I’ve built this company on.”

She is staring at me blankly.

“My father has hinted that he wants a family man to take over for him. Dan is that family man. My father doesn’t see me as stable.”

“And why not?”

I study her calmly, running a finger along the edge of my water glass. “Because I like to take risks. My brother would preserve the company as is if given the chance, and that’s a mistake.”

“But that’s not the only reason, is it?”

I press my lips together, surprised at how perceptive she is.

“I’m not a saint, Lily. I have been with many women. Enough to know that I’m not, and never will be, interested in a relationship, or a family. That is just not me. And ask anyone, my father included. He’d be the first to say I’m not husband material. I’m heartless, egotistical, and when it comes to women, I care only for one thing. I don’t have to tell you what that is.”

She stares at me, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. And she should be, because yes, I am mentally undressing her.

“But make no mistake. I deserve to have the reins at that company. And I want you to help me.”

“You want me to . . . do what?”

“My father is very sick. He’ll live another month or two, at most. I need to have a fiancé. I need to give the illusion that I will bend to my father’s wishes of how I should live my life.”

Our food arrives then. The waiter places the frittata in front of her. She stares at the small, artistically arranged circle of food, topped with black caviar and garnishings. “What is this?”

“Well,” the waiter says proudly, “It’s ten ounces of the finest Sevurga caviar, an entire lobster, six fresh eggs, cream, chives and lobster sauce, served over a bed of Yukon gold potatoes.”

“Okay,” she says, looking at it like she isn’t sure she should disturb it.

I thrust my chin at her. “Enjoy,” I say, and cut in with the side of my fork.

She scrapes a bit of the caviar off the top with her spoon and place it in her mouth. She looks aghast at the fact that she probably just ate a twenty-dollar bite. “I never had caviar before.”

“And?” I take a bite, chewing slowly. Goddamn, I hate caviar. And I can’t stand lobster. I really only wanted to impress her. I set my fork down and watch as she takes another bite.

“It’s . . . interesting?”

I think that is polite-speak for I can’t stand it.

“Shall I get you something else?”

She shakes her head and takes another bite. “This is fine.” She dabs at her mouth with a napkin. “You’re saying you want me to pretend to be your fiancé.”

I nod.

“Why me? You say you have no shortage of women.”

“Because I need a woman who will know when our deal is over,” I explain. “And when I saw you, I knew at once you didn’t belong there, and you thought you were too good for any man who would come in those doors. You were disgusted by them for coming there, seeking out women in that way.”

A blush climbs on her cheeks again.

“I disgust you, do I not?”

Her lips part. She does not seem to know how to answer it.

“It’s fine if you do,” I tell her. “In fact, it’s better if you do, as long as you can act like you don’t. That way, I know you will treat this as a business deal, and nothing more.”

“So . . . I don’t have to sleep with you?”

I shake my head. “All you will have to do is pretend to be in love with me. Hold my hand. Accept the occasional kiss. Put up with me. For a month. Two months, at most.”

“And . . .” Astonished, she twists her mouth in different ways as if she can’t quite figure out how to phrase her next question. “The million dollars?”

“I will wire you half now, and half upon the completion of the assignment, meaning . . . when I successfully get my business back. If I don’t, you don’t get paid. You see?”

She nods, and gulps. “You’re going to wire me half a million dollars. Just like that?”

I nod. “Plus, I’ll furnish additional needs as necessary to fulfill these duties satisfactorily, at no cost to you.”

“Additional, for . . .”

“Yes. There are a few ground rules we must get out of the way,” I tell her, my voice hard, so she won’t get the idea that I can be negotiated with. “First, that dress won’t work. My fiancé would only wear the best clothing. So I’d like you to get over to Fifth Avenue for a suitable wardrobe at Valentino; at least a month worth of outfits. I’d like high heels. Dresses. Suits. Clothing that is fashionable, but classic.”

“I . . . I don’t—“

I hold up a hand, understanding. She doesn’t know what fashionable or classic is. That much should have been clear to me, from that atrocious dress she’s wearing. “That’s fine. If you agree I’ll arrange to have a stylist take your measurements and shop for you. That way we can ensure there are no surprises.”

She stares at me, then looks down at her dress. She pats it. “This dress is from Macy’s—“

“And that’s not good enough for my fiancé,” I cut her off. Dan and my father might not know the difference, but I certainly would. It wouldn’t ring true to have her parading around the city on my arm, dressed in Macy’s rags next to my custom wardrobe. “You’ll also need a hair cut and color. I’d like to make you an appointment, for this afternoon. Are you available?”

“Yes, but . . .” She reaches up and plays with a lock of hair that had fallen from her ponytail. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

I take out my phone, thinking that it makes sense to have the stylist meet her at the hair salon. “Nothing. It’s just not what my fiancé would wear.”

She narrows her eyes. “If you’ve never had a fiancé, how do you know?”

I ignore the question. “You may be requested on a moment’s notice. So I’ll also require you to move to mid-town to be closer to me. I’ll arrange to sublet a suitable apartment to be set up so that you can—“

“Wait.” She holds up a hand, which surprises me. She’d been so quiet and agreeable before. “Move to mid-town?”

I nod. “Where do you currently live?”

“Lodi. New Jersey.”

Goddamn, Jersey. The pit of hell. There has never existed a reason important enough for me to venture into that cess pool. “Well, that’s not acceptable. My fiancé wouldn’t live there. I’d need you to—“

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” Her face is flushed. “Mr. Winchester. I will do this for you. I will wear whatever you want me to wear, do my hair however you’d like. But I absolutely can’t move to mid-town.”

I open my mouth to tell her that if she wants the million dollars, it’s of utmost importance. Because, goddamn Jersey. And for a million dollars, I’d damned well be able to make the rules. I offered that much simply so that she would have no way of turning down my demands. I expected that if I asked her to suck my dick naked on the front of the New York Times Building, she’d have to agree.

But to my astonishment, she says, “If living in the city is a requirement, then, I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to accept this offer.”

I stare at her, hard, crossing my arms in front of myself.

This is unexpected.

Goddamn, the longer I’d sat across from her, the more perfect she’d been getting in my mind. I could just see Dan and my father going gaga over her. I could see Dan going batshit with jealousy, and my father welcoming her with open arms into the family. And just as easily, I can see her submitting to my charm. Virgins just needed the right coaxing, and I excel at that, so I could tell it wouldn’t be hard to nettle my way under her skin. That dress leaves little hint of skin, but I can just imagine it pulling it up over her head, baring that creamy skin and those abundant, luscious curves, those big, round tits I’d seen last night. I could hardly wait to spread those legs of hers and be the first taste her.

I’d get two for the price of one, then: The reins of Winchester Properties, and the virgin.

Likely, she would take it hard, being let down, after that. Likely, she would make a fuss. Virgins probably always did. But it would be worth it.

And now, here she is, ready to walk away from my offer?

Hell, no. Over my dead body.

“Fine,” I say quickly. “I’ll book you in for an appointment at Chic at one. The stylist will meet you there. Understand?”

She nods.

“But I expect you to be available when I need you. Do you understand?”

She nods.

“How soon can you get to the city, when I summon you?”

“An hour?”

That’s acceptable. I’d been with women who took hours to get themselves assembled. But Lily isn’t like any other woman. I already know that, with a growing passion and need to find out more. “Make it half an hour.”

She may have gotten the upper hand on me during those negotiations just then, but I’m damned sure not going to let it happen again. She’s mine. I paid for her. And I’m going to use her for all I can.