I stare at my screen, daring that man to reply to my last message. Just when I thought Archer Stratton couldn’t be more obnoxious, he goes out of his way to prove me wrong. “Worth my while?” “Chance of a lifetime?”

I think I’m going to be sick.

My desk phone rings, and I glance at the caller ID, half expecting to see Archer’s name. “Jonathan!” I say, answering. “It’s been way too long.”

“Hi, Quinny. Sorry to call outta the blue like this. This a good time?”

“This is a perfect time. I have a lot of free time on my hands these days.” I’m glad Jonathan can’t witness the humiliation flitting across my face.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t be too busy.”

“Wanting a rematch on the tennis court, then?”

Jonathan chuckles. “Although that sounds fun, it’s more serious.”

“What’s happened?” I ask, my voice thickening. “Are you—”

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s GAC. We’re…” he takes a deep breath “… going to close at the end of the year.”

I gasp.

“Budget’s run out and government funding has dwindled into nothing over the years. The arts aren’t a priority anymore.”

My thoughts race to figure this out. “What about private funding? Grants, donations, fundraisers?”

“I’ve tried my hand at a few grants, but they’re convoluted and time-consuming. We’re a small organization. I don’t have the manpower to devote to running events and chasing after donors.”

“I’ve written grants before, and you know I’m the queen of running after donors. Why don’t I help?” I suggest.

“That would be great. Could we meet soon? I’d love to pick your brain on all things fundraising; get some tips.”

“That’s fine, but I mean boots-on-the-ground help. I want to get my hands dirty.”

A pause. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“But I’m sure you have more important things to do with your limited free time.”

“I make time for the people I love,” I say, “and it would be an honor to give back to the place that got me where I am today.”

I met Jonathan at the Genesis Arts Center, where he’s been the director for decades, pouring his life into bringing arts education to underprivileged youth. Without Jonathan’s unwavering support and encouragement, I never would have followed my dream to art school.

“Wow, Quinny. This is…so kind.” He clears his throat. “Well. You’ve certainly put my mind at ease. I only got the news today and thought I’d call the best fundraiser I know.”

I laugh. “I’m the only fundraiser you know.”

“And I consider it lucky that she works at the best museum in the world.”

I roll my eyes, though I’m secretly pleased.

“I bet you’ve got things to get back to,” he continues. “Sorry to call in the middle of the day.”

I tsk at him. “It’s great to hear your voice. Your call was the pick-me-up I needed.”

“Something happen?”

I sigh. “It’s a long—”

I’m cut off by a beep. I glance at the screen. “Jonathan? I’m so sorry, but the front desk is calling. A donor could want a tour.”

“No worries. Come by GAC anytime, and we’ll figure out an action plan. Thanks for this, Quinny.”

“You got it. See you soon.” I switch over to the other line. “Quinn East speaking.”

“Hey, it’s Sam at the front desk. There’s a donor to see you. Says he doesn’t have an appointment.”

“No problem,” I say, already standing up and smoothing out my suit. “A tour?”

“Actually he wants a meeting.”

“Oh?” A donor showing up out of the blue could mean anything. I’ve had donors drop off checks, and others ream me out. I glance in my mirror and reach for my lip gloss. “Okay. I’ll be right down.”

“Thanks—”

“Oh, wait! I didn’t catch his name.”

“Right, um…” There’s a pause. “His name is Archer Stratton.”

The tube of red lip gloss falls from my hands. “What?”

“Archer Stratton,” Sam repeats.

“No way. Tell him I’m…in a meeting. That you couldn’t reach me.”

“But he’s right in front of me,” Sam whispers. “He knows I’m talking to you.”

“Then tell him I’m about to walk into a meeting!”

“Uh, okay?” Sam says. He comes back on the phone a moment later. “Says he’ll wait.”

I start to pace. “He can wait all day, Sam, but I’m not coming down.”

“I-I don’t know what you want me to—wait a second.” He grows quiet. “Quinn? He said he’ll hold a table for you in our cafe. You have five minutes.”

I grind to a halt. “Well, you can tell him that—”

“He walked away.”

“Fine,” I snap. “And thanks, Sam,” I add, feeling a little bad for the guy.

I slam the receiver down and take a deep breath. The nerve of this man! He has another thing coming to him if he thinks he can bully me.

I stalk over to my door, throw it open, and race to the elevator. By the time I reach the cafe, I’m fuming. My eyes fall on him immediately; he’s sitting at a table by a window in the back, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, sipping an espresso while scrolling through his phone.

I huff over to him. “This is harassment, you know.”

“Ah, Ms. East.” Archer gets up and extends his hand. “I hope your—uh—meeting went well.”

I blink at his hand for a moment, and then take it.

“Thank you for joining me,” he says.

“You didn’t leave me much choice.”

“I’m sure you know why I’m here,” he says with a smirk.

“I have no idea why you’re here, and frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is being interrupted in the middle of my work day, being harassed by your emails—”

“Quite right,” he interrupts. “Won’t you sit, Ms. East?”

I glance at the table, startled to find a croissant and tea sitting in front of the empty seat. “What’s this?”

“Your regular order, or so I’m told,” Archer says, motioning to the barista behind the counter.

I laugh. “What, now you’re Mr. Congeniality? A far cry from the asshole I had lunch with a week ago.”

His lips press into a thin line. “Please sit down.”

“Why should I?”

A tendon jumps in his neck. “Because with one call, I could ruin your career.”

I scoff. “There’s the Archer Stratton I’ve come to know. I knew you couldn’t keep up the act.”

“Fine, stand there,” he snaps, taking s seat. “But I ask that you to hear me out. Ten minutes.”

“Then you’ll leave?”

He tilts his head down.

I take the empty chair. “If ten minutes makes you leave me alone, you have it.” I take a tentative sip of tea and find it’s Earl Grey with a splash of half-and-half. Just how I like it.

Archer leans forward. “I want you to be my girlfriend.”

“This again?”

“Why are you so against this?”

“Because this is madness! People don’t do this.”

“You’d be surprised,” he says. “Marriages of convenience are everywhere, especially in my circles.”

“And we’re back to marriage now,” I say with a sigh.

“Ms. East—”

“I think we’re past formalities at this point, Archer.”

“Okay…Quinn,” he says, trying it out. I hate that my heart does a little leap at the sound. “My ‘image rehabilitation’ only requires a girlfriend.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m flattered, but I’m not your type. I, um, looked you up before our lunch last Friday, and you tend to go for more…adventurous women.”

“What does that mean?”

I purse my lips. “Let’s just say I would never screw you in the cloakroom of the opera.”

“That was one time—”

“Nor am I a model, or a Vanderbilt, or a partier.”

“I loathe parties. I’m sure that’s clear by now.”

“My ideal night is staying in with Netflix and a glass of wine.”

“That’s exactly why I want you.” Archer leans forward. “You aren’t my type and I’m not yours, so you won’t fall for me.”

“I’d NEVER fall for you.”

He narrows his eyes. “So…you’re not going do it?”

“No! Did you honestly think I would?”

He shrugs. “This museum proposal you were trying to pitch me last week…is it the same one you mentioned the night we met?”

I nod slowly. I don’t like where this is headed.

He smiles at me. “I’ll be straight with you, I’m not funding it.”

“But you don’t know anything about it!”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t care.”

“Then I’ll take this to your father,” I counter.

“You can, but it won’t do anything. My father put me in charge of the Strattons’ philanthropic giving.” Archer pauses to take a sip of espresso. “Looks like you’re shit outta luck, honey.”

I glare at him. “I know Valerie met with you today. Why did you take the meeting if you had no intention of hearing us out?”

“Nonsense. I was going to consider a proposal from The Met.”

“What’s changed?”

He smirks at me. “You. I don’t want to give you anything.”

“Of all the immature, lowdown—”

“So,” he plows on, “on behalf of The Stratton Family Trust, I politely decline your proposal.”

A no? A hard no?

I lean forward and clasp my hands together. “I beg you to reconsider.”

Archer tilts his head back. “Maybe I will.”

That worked?!

“I might be persuaded to change my mind if…” he pins me with his eyes “… you agree to date me.”

I clench my teeth. “That sounds like blackmail.”

“Not really. We both get what we want. It’s not like we’re breaking any laws or getting married…” He grimaces at the word.

I consider it. I really do. Netting a twenty million dollar gift means a promotion and a raise and a new portfolio and freedom from Marisa—

“You know you’re getting the better end of the deal of this,” Archer adds.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re getting a new wing, and I’m getting a ball and chain.”

Oh no he did not.

I take one look at his shit-eating grin and smug face and stand up. “Then let me ease your pain: on behalf of Quinn East, I politely decline your proposal. I believe that’s how you put it?”

He snorts. “You’re walking away from twenty million dollars?”

“I’m walking away from you,” I reply, turning to go.

“Then I’ll make the call.”

I turn back and study him. “You’re lying.”

He shrugs. “I guess we’ll wait and see.”

I glare at him for a moment before slumping back in my seat. “I don’t want to be forced into anything.”

Archer nods. “I get that, and I’m not trying to bully you into anything. I’m just out of time with my parents, and the woman they have in mind for me is…” he sits back and rubs his jaw “… not my drink of choice.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize.”

“I don’t need your pity,” he snaps.

“You’re making it hard for me to say yes,” I bite back.

He cocks his head. “You get your proposal and promotion, and you get to rub elbows with New York’s finest at my father’s campaign events. Isn’t that a fundraiser’s dream?”

That got me thinking, but not about directing their wallets toward the museum. The money could help save GAC.

Save the Center, fund a wing renovation, and get a promotion. What did I have to lose?

I meet Archer’s gaze. “I’ll do it.”

“Of course you will,” he replies in the most self-satisfied voice EVER.

Oh, that’s right. I get to lose my temper a hundred times a day while I date this jackass.

“Aren’t we off to a great start,” I say dryly before taking a bite of my croissant. “Alright, what are the ground rules?”

“We can figure that out later,” he says. “I need to get back to work, but let’s work out the details over dinner. La Grenouille at seven o’clock? I’ll be by at six forty-five with my car.”

He stands to leave.

“Now hold on just a minute,” I say, getting to my feet. “What if I’m not free?”

“Are you?”

I bite my lip. “Maybe…”

“Then what’s the issue here?” Archer asks, checking his watch.

I draw myself up, getting every inch out of my 5’6” height. “I’m fine with having dinner, but I’ll get there myself.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

Archer brushes by me and I catch the alluring scent of spice, sweat, and something else. The minute he rounds the corner, I collapse into my chair.

Am I really about to date Archer Stratton? I hate him. If there was a competition for World’s Most Annoying Billionaire, the man would win.

I bury my face in my hands. What have I signed up for?