Chapter 6 A Favor for a Favor

Marilyn

I watched from behind the rim of my soda as Dante Killgore pulled his car into the parking lot of the small restaurant I’d booked for the day.

The man parked like someone who owned every space in the city. And once he stepped out, he moved like he owned the ground too.

He shut the door, straightened his already perfect suit, and then he started walking toward the entrance like he was filming a slow-motion cologne commercial.

I inhaled sharply and looked down at my drink, taking a long sip to calm my heartbeat.

I’d texted him five minutes ago, and already I regretted it. Well… regretted the nerves. Not the meeting.

I waited one more breath before lifting my gaze again, just in time to see him striding inside, eyes scanning the room until they locked onto me.

“Can you walk any faster?” I called out when he got close enough. I didn’t bother pretending I wasn’t annoyed.

He was moving at that infuriatingly slow, smooth pace, like there were three industrial fans blowing on him and he was modeling the suit he didn’t need ads for.

The suit that probably cost more than my entire apartment lease.

And the face—don’t get me started.

Did he wear makeup? Because no man’s skin should look that clean on a weekday afternoon.

He didn’t answer my question. He just sat down across from me and said, “You called, Marilyn?”

“Yes. Tom got engaged again.” I said immediately, skipping small talk completely. Then I raised a hand and motioned the waiter over. “Ask him what he wants. Put it on my tab.”

I liked the look on Dante’s face when I said that… surprise mixed with something close to respect.

Good. Let him know I didn’t need his money.

But I needed him.

At least for now.

After he placed his order, he turned fully to me.

“Yes, I heard about his engagement,” he said. “It happened earlier today, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yes. I went for it.” I confessed, taking another sip of my soda.

“No wonder you look ridiculously hot,” he said so casually it took me a second to realize he’d complimented me. “Did you cause a scene? Something dramatic… opera style?”

I shot him a glare, but the words ridiculously hot stuck to me like gum.

My stomach fluttered…

No. Not fluttered. Soda. Must be the soda.

“I just went to congratulate him,” I said, placing the drink down. “And I didn’t cause a scene. I’m not about to go from hero in the media one day to bitter evil bitch the next.”

“But you are bitter about his engagement. No?” he asked, tilting his head like he already knew the answer.

I smiled. “I am. Which is why I need you here.”

His brows pulled together slightly.

I exhaled and continued, “I might have… slipped something out before I walked off. I told him, ‘Your boss says hi.’ And I know I don’t deserve to ask favors after last time—especially since I didn’t even thank you properly. But I’d appreciate it if, when he asks you… or if anyone asks… you play along with the lie. Just until I figure something out.”

Dante leaned forward, resting his elbows lightly on the table. “Actually,” he said, lowering his voice just a little, “I have a proposal that benefits you… and benefits me too.”

Before I could react, the waiter arrived with the drink he ordered. Dante thanked him politely, took the bottle of wine, and—of course—opened it himself like he owned the restaurant. He poured himself a glass and set the bottle down with quiet confidence.

I raised a brow. “Proposal. What kind of proposal?”

He lifted the glass, took a sip, and placed it back down. “Like I said, one that serves us both. I happen to be in a situation with my mother. She’s trying to get me married off to her friend’s daughters.”

He paused, and I caught how his face tightened in pure disgust at the thought. His jaw flexed. He clearly hated the idea.

I leaned in a little. “Why? That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Marrying into another wealthy family… isn’t that how you rich people do it?”

He let out a short breath as he set his glass down again. “I don’t know what your opinion of ‘rich folks’ is, but I’m certain it’s wrong. Whatever image you’ve built in your head isn’t my reality. And for the record, I do not want to get married anytime soon. I also don’t want to date anyone without purpose.”

He picked up the glass again but didn’t drink.

“And,” he continued, voice dropping, “the last girl I tried to be in a relationship with tried to pin a pregnancy on me. One that wasn’t even mine.”

I couldn’t help it. The words slipped out. “Are you sure? Sounds like something a man would say when he just doesn’t want responsibility.”

His expression froze. For a split second, I saw something—hurt, maybe—before he hid it behind a neutral face and straightened his shirt.

“I overheard her on the phone,” he said quietly. “She admitted it. Anyway… back to the proposal.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes fixed on me.

“If you pretend to be my girlfriend, you get the status. You won’t just be getting revenge on your ex, you’ll make him regret ever breathing wrong around you. You get influence, visibility, power… not just from me, but from everything that comes with it. And before you start with ‘I don’t want your money’…”

“I don’t mind receiving your payment for this. This proposal seems like a lot of work that I definitely deserve compensation for,” I interrupted. “But what will you gain from it?”

“Nothing complicated,” he said. “You just accompany me to places where my mother will be. Stand by me so she stops trying to matchmake me. Ward off whatever daughters or nieces she sends my way. That’s it. No kissing. No touching. Nothing romantic required.”

I blinked. “So you don’t expect me to kiss you? Cuddle you? Pretend we’re in love?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I don’t expect any of that.”

I sat back, thinking for only a second before nodding. “I like the proposal. Is there a contract I need to sign?”

“There is. But I didn’t bring it because I didn’t think we’d end up discussing this today.” He reached for his glass again. “I can call someone to bring it to my office right now… but honestly, I’d rather go over it properly at my place.”

His eyes met mine.

“Would you like to come over? At least get familiar with where I live, since we’ll be acting like a couple.”

I could tell he expected me to say no. Maybe even prepared a whole speech for when I refused.

“Yes,” I said simply. “I wouldn’t mind.”

His brows shot up slightly. Just a flicker but I saw it.

“Shall we, Mr. Killgore?” I asked as I grabbed my bag and stood up.