"That's irrelevant," I said, straightening my spine. "Just another sob story from another bad marriage."
He turned slowly to face me, one brow lifting.
His gaze swept over me. My face first, then the wrinkled collar, and finally my hands hanging at my sides.
His eyes lingered for less than a second.
But I knew he'd seen the scars.
A crease flickered across his brow, so faint it was barely there.
"What, you're not going to sell me a sob story?" His tone carried a blade of sarcasm.
"After all, you'd need to prove you're worth ten million of my money."
He looked at me the way you'd appraise merchandise.
The difference was, this particular piece of merchandise wasn't as polished or pretty as the ones waiting outside.
I smiled, closed the distance by one step, and went straight for the jugular.
"Mr. Fox, just being a contract girlfriend doesn't interest me. How about we talk business instead?"
He tilted his head slightly, signaling me to continue.
I handed over the folder I'd prepared. "Pick me, and I can double the profit on your contract girlfriend program."
He took it and started flipping through.