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*An Arranged Marriage Ice-Cold Billionaire Romance* PRETTY CRUEL VILLAIN James "Is that really him?" "It has to be! He's wearing the same tie he had on at the premiere of Deadly Love." The two women don't bother to keep their voices down, despite the fact that I'm sitting two tables away from them. "You're such a stalker. You memorized his outfits?" one says. "No, but there were pictures of him and Anne Hathaway everywhere," the other replies. "I'm not going to forget an outfit I saw in a zillion magazines. Do you think I should go over there?" "You have to. He's there by himself; maybe he wants company." My lips firm into a frown. When I'm in public, a certain amount of attention is unavoidable, but I can't afford an interruption for the meeting I'm about to have. Especially not of the sort they're suggesting. I signal to the server lingering several feet away from me. He hurries to my side, shooting me a blinding white smile that screams "aspiring actor." I grit my teeth and hope he's not planning to pitch himself for my next Sequel Original. "How may I help you, Mr. Keller?" he asks. I tilt my head toward the young women behind me, who are openly taking photos of me on their smartphones like I'm a zoo animal. "Relocate them, please." "Right away, sir," he says brightly. The server might have dreams of acting, but he still works for the Ritz, and he's been trained well. I half-listen as he smoothly offers the girls an open table closer to the fireplace, a coveted spot for social media photos. They coo in excitement, seeming only a little disappointed that they'll need to move to the opposite side of the restaurant. I give him an approving nod. I might not be asking for his headshot, but he's earned a very generous tip. Ordinarily, I wouldn't take a meeting here, a public place outside of my control. I might put up A-list clients at this luxury hotel, but I rarely come here myself. Still, I wanted to have this first meeting on neutral ground, not in my office or apartment. This seemed like a safe choice. "Sorry I'm late." A melodic voice carries over my shoulder. It's immediately followed by a blur of auburn and deep blue as a tall woman pulls out the chair opposite me, smoothly slips out of her black wool trench coat, and falls into the seat. I push to my feet to take her coat or help with her chair, but she's already seated and the waiter is already here taking her coat. She seems barely to register me as she removes her leather gloves and folds one leg over the other beneath the skirt of her high-necked dress. The shade of indigo plays off the copper tones in her hair in a way that would capture beautifully on film I clear my throat as she orders herself a decaf cappuccino. So, this is Maura Matthews. The woman who, after today, will potentially become my fiancée. I recognize her from the few photos that her father provided, though none of them were high quality. She always seemed to be turning away from the camera, distracted by something. Some of the photos even looked doctored. There aren't many to be found of her online, either. She has no social media presence, and Victor told me she prefers to live a private life, away from the press. I can't blame her--if I could disappear from the public and still run my company effectively, I would. But it did make me wonder if the photos I did find were the product of some very good AI generation, and maybe she wasn't the great beauty her father described at all. I can see now that the pouty lips, upturned brown eyes, and pin-straight hair are all the same as her photos, though in three dimensions, I can see that video would do her favors photos never could. She's beautiful, not that it matters for my purposes. Once the waiter has left, I clear my throat. "Thank you for coming." Her head tilts to the side when her eyes finally meet mine, like she's examining me. Her gaze roams over my eyes, nose, and eventually, to my mouth. I say nothing and let her look her fill. "Well, you do look just like your pictures," she says finally. I raise a brow. "Is that good or bad?" She laughs, a low, warm sound. "Don't fish for compliments. You know what you look like." Now, it's my turn to be curious. Does she find me attractive, then? That would make this easier. Maura sits back in her seat, folding her arms, but lifting one to indicate the upperclass cafe and wine bar. "So, do you come here a lot?" "No." When I don't elaborate, she raises her brows. "I thought we should meet in a neutral location, somewhere we wouldn't run into our friends." "Ah. You mean Brinley and the gang of miscreant jerks you hang out with. Her words, not mine," she adds. I nod. It took me until a few days ago to put the pieces together and realize that Brinley Windsor, my friend Luke's sister, is close with Maura. Good news, as far as I'm concerned. My marriage to Maura might be a business arrangement, but it would obviously be ideal for us to get along reasonably well. If our social circles overlap, we'll at least have one thing to talk about--even if Brinley does despise me and my friends, her own brother included. "Did they tell you anything about me?" Maura blurts. "Your friends, I mean." "They don't know about us." I did explain the arrangement to Ryan, one of my friends, but I didn't press him for information on Maura herself. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's weird, isn't it? Figuring out how to tell people about our situation. There's not exactly a Hallmark card that says 'I'm contractually marrying a stranger.'" "We should petition to have one made." Her lips tilt into something that's almost a smile. When the server approaches with Maura's drink, we both stay silent until he's out of earshot. "I keep trying to come up with a way to tell Brinley. But I can't think of a version of that conversation where she doesn't tell me this is a terrible idea. I mean, it is a terrible idea." My stomach twists. Part of me wondered whether Maura wanted this contract or if she just wanted to please her father. This is the entire reason I requested this meeting, much to Victor's annoyance. I need to know if she's chosen this or if it was chosen for her. The tabloids and gossip blogs already call me 'the villain', but I'm not a total monster. This contract isn't just for a marriage. It requires me to put a baby in this woman within a year of taking our vows or the deal that will get me fifty percent of her father's company is out the window. Either she convinces me this is what she wants, or I walk out of here the same way I came in; the owner of the largest streaming service in this country, disgustingly wealthy, and terminally single. Not a bad life. But it could be better. Bigger. If she says yes. I meet her eyes. They're lighter than I thought at first--like tea with a splash of milk. "If you think it's a terrible idea, we can end this arrangement now. No questions asked." Her lips part. "But--why? Am I really that different from what you expected?" My brow furrows. "No." "There must be something about me," she presses. "Something that made you change your mind. What is it?" "Nothing. There's nothing objectionable about you." She's misunderstanding me. I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. "In fact, you're altogether different from what I thought you'd be, but not in a bad way whatsoever." It's not just her beauty, which is a perk I didn't think I'd get, but her bearing. She's full of contradictions. Blunt questions, asked in a melodic voice that speaks of diction classes. Tailored designer clothing and paint-stained hands. She's chaos wrapped in elegance--something adjacent to the icy society princess I expected. It makes me wary. As a rule, I avoid unpredictable elements--I don't need people around me who throw wrenches in my plans. But something about her intrigues me. For once, I don't want to cut a meeting short, which might be a good sign. If we get married, we'll have to spend years together. My wife should be someone I can spend more than five minutes with in a café. Maura leans forward, mimicking my position as she fixes me with a determined gaze. "This isn't a love match, Keller. If you're not attracted to me, or if you think we wouldn't fit for some reason, I'd rather just know instead of having to guess." "I am being frank. I have no objections." She blinks at me, her confusion transforming into understanding. "You're worried about me. You thought my father pressured me into this." "Didn't he?" "No. I chose this. It's what I want." "Not many women would choose to give up romance." "Trust me. I'm not the least bit interested in romance, let alone a traditional marriage. I never have been. I deliberately chose to be alone, even before Victor cooked up this marriage merger." I twist my coffee cup in my hand as I consider. I have no doubt other men pursued her. If she's single, I do believe it's because she chose it. Still, she might only be marrying me to appease her father. She might tire of the arrangement in a few months, once she realizes I'm not a kind or thoughtful man--or worse, after she's already pregnant with my child. Maura sighs loudly, like she can already tell what I'm thinking. "I want this," she says bluntly. "It might have been my father's idea, but it fits my needs." "Which are?" "A baby. Financial security. Freedom from my father." She ticks off each point on her fingers. "My father is a controlling tyrant, and I'm tired of living under his thumb. " My jaw clenches. The words "controlling tyrant" have been used to describe me, too. Maura would just be trading one villain for another. "Victor wouldn't hear of me getting my own job," she continues. "Whenever I got an interview somewhere, they'd conveniently decide to go in another direction. A direction he pointed them in. He needed me to give him a male heir for his company, so he kept me where he could watch my every move. He made sure I only socialized with people he approved of, and only made plans that he agreed with. I've been living in his building, under his supervision, for far too long. I won't be free of him until I don't need his money anymore. You're my escape route." "If you want to work, you're welcome to," I assure her. "I don't expect to control or change your schedule in any way." "And if I don't want to work?" she throws back. "Then my money is your money." "Good." She gives me a small smile. "I promise not to be an expensive wife, but I don't need you going over my credit card statements with a fine-tooth comb, either." "I don't care if you're expensive. If we do this, all your needs will be met." She nods. "And the matter of the child? You are aware this contract contains a clause that requires me to--" "Yes, I know," she interrupts, shifting in her seat. "I also agreed to that of my own volition. I want a baby. I always have. I've dreamed of being a mother since I was still a child. This arrangement gives me everything I need without forcing me to give something I don't want to share." I frown. Does she mean her heart? At least she won't fault me for not having one to give her in return. It's...kind of perfect. And I appreciate her candor--I've never had a conversation this frank about money with a woman before. That's exactly why a contract marriage is the only kind that makes sense for me. Emotions are what make it difficult to control yourself. If our relationship is built on agreed rules and mutual respect, there's no reason I can't be a decent partner in our shared household. "Oh my God, that's crazy!" a high-pitched voice squeals. I look over my shoulder, expecting to see a reporter or some influencer with a phone. Instead, all I see are the two girls huddling together over a phone as they walk through the cafe toward the restroom, laughing at some video. My shoulders lower slightly. When I look back at Maura, her eyes are on the girls, too. "They're not watching us," she affirms. "But they could have been. There's going to be public interest in our relationship, with you being who you are and all. Billionaire bachelor, et cetera." I grunt, nodding. "I assume you don't want to announce to the world that this is a contract marriage," she goes on. "Neither do I, but there's going to be a certain amount of PDA if we expect people to believe this is real. I don't want to pressure you, but are you okay with that?" "Within reason." Her eyes glint with mischief. "What's 'within reason' to you?" "We could hold hands." It feels absurd to say it out loud, like we're two children talking about how to play pretend. "Sure. Maybe we could even hug sometimes." "When the situation calls for it." "Of course," she says with faux seriousness. "Only under the most appropriate conditions." She's mocking me. I don't mind--she could hardly say worse to me than my "miscreant jerk" friends. I narrow my gaze, swirling the remnants of the coffee in my mug. "We might kiss, occasionally." As she picks up her coffee, I add, "And if the paparazzi noticed you having trouble walking the morning after the wedding, they could assume certain acts took place." Maura coughs on her drink. "Those 'acts' will only happen during the right week of my fertility schedule. And I'd like to keep the use of my legs, thanks." Truthfully, I'd never allow the press to speculate about what I do with my wife, but it's gratifying to see the way her cheeks turn pink at the thought. Just because we'll be sleeping together purely for procreation doesn't mean we can't enjoy it. I clear my throat. "I've brought a copy of the contract, if you want to review it before the final meeting with the lawyers." "I've already read it," she says simply. "I have my own conditions to add before I sign, if that's all right." My brows raise. That's a pleasant surprise--not just that she read the contract, but that she has changes. She has the right to ask for something for herself. I only hope it's nothing sentimental. "By all means," I say, waving my hand. "Right now, I work from my art studio at home. I'd like to continue that. I want a dedicated space in our home for me to paint in." She paints--that explains the stain I saw on her hands when she removed her gloves. It's an easy enough request. My apartment is the largest in the building, a two-story penthouse. "I'll have a space cleared for you, then. I just ask that any paint-related mess stay inside the studio." Her lips quirk in a smile. "Neat freak, huh?" "A bit." She looks down and takes a breath. "I'd also like to ask that you don't sleep with anyone else while we're married. Whether or not it's real, I want exclusivity." "That won't be a problem." I already planned on that, even though I've never felt the need for monogamy. The issue is that if I slept with another woman, it'd be too easy for her or them to sell the story to a reporter. I remember how crazy the press was around my parents. They were tabloid catnip--the glamorous actress and the wealthy, suave entertainment scion. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever have what they had. Not the fame or the money---I've got plenty of both---but the way they looked at each other. Like they'd found exactly where they belonged. I remember being a kid, bored at some gala, and coming back to find my parents slow-dancing in a corner even though there was no music playing. My mother laughed and said, "We make our own music, sweetheart." I didn't understand it then. I'm not sure I understand it now. But I think about it more often than I'd admit. The magazines never talked about that part, though. Even though every other detail of their life seemed to end up emblazoned in the headlines, from their extravagant vacations to their small, ordinary arguments. Once, when they disagreed about whether to buy me a new bike I wanted at a toy store, the press turned it into an all-out battle over whether Mom was spoiling me rotten. The paparazzi photos managed to make something innocent look nasty. If the press could do that with an argument, they'd have a field day if they found out I cheated on my wife. I know how disappointed my parents would be if I humiliated Maura that way. She tilts her head, looking at me skeptically. "You sure exclusivity will be that easy?" I nod tightly. "It's just...I don't know how easy it'll be for you. I've read about your...appetites." "You read about what?" I echo. "The article in the Toronto Tea." Her cheeks flush slightly. "The one that said a woman who spent the weekend with you had to be sent to the ER for dehydration. And that threesome you had with those two actresses?" I resist rolling my eyes. Reading that trash gossip blog is the first red flag I've seen from Maura. "Don't believe everything you read. I can promise you exclusivity, Maura." Granted, it'll be challenging to limit things to one week a month, purely for conception, as specified in the contract. I expect I'll be spending a lot of time in cold showers. It'll be worth it to grow the company to new heights. "Okay." Maura looks down again. "There's just one more thing..." She trails off, and for a moment we sit in silence. A bartender mixes a pitcher of bloody Marys at the bar. A loud, chattering family walks through the lobby, the mother fussing with her children's coats. "Tell me," I urge her, finally. "Nothing you want is wrong, Maura--just negotiable." She looks back at me, her gaze full of resolve. "I will not bring a child into the world with a man who intends to be an absent father," she declares. "I know better than to expect any love between us, but you will love our child. They didn't choose a contract relationship, so they deserve a present, loving father--unlike my own. Not holiday-only, not just for cameras. If anything happens to me, James, you have to make sure our child is raised in a warm, loving environment. If you can't agree to that, there's no deal." She folds her hands on the table and waits as my mind reels. Whatever I expected, it wasn't that. If I'm honest, I hadn't thought far enough ahead to what it would be like when the child arrived. I only thought as far as signing the contract. Maura was the opposite. She's thinking so far ahead that she's imagining hypothetical situations that wouldn't occur until years down the line. It makes sense, though. I take for granted my own upbringing, with loving parents who never made me feel anything less than cherished. No wonder Maura, who had to grow up with a cold, work-obsessed businessman like Victor as her parent, has given it more thought. Victor mentioned that her mother died when she was young. Her life must have been a series of silent dinners, awkward holidays, and recitals with nobody clapping for her in the audience. Her caramel eyes penetrate me, demanding an answer. An honest one. I have no more confidence that I'll be a good father than I do that I'll be a good husband. All I know is that if I have a child, I owe them more than just my name. I nod. "I'm not sure I can meet your expectations perfectly, but I do intend to try." Whether Maura believes me or not, I do mean it. She sucks her pouty lower lip between her teeth, considering. "Good enough," she says after a long moment. "That's it. That's all I wanted." I reach toward my briefcase. "Do you want your conditions in writing?" "No. I wanted your word, not the lawyers'. Anyway, I'm the one you have to live with if you break it, and I can be very difficult." "I find that hard to believe," I say dryly. "See? You're already underestimating me. This marriage is off to a great start." Her smile is equal parts teasing and cutting. More contradictions. She wants money, but only so it can buy her freedom. She's serious yet playful, wary of my intentions yet willing to trust me. There's a fire to her that I'm not quite sure how to handle, but it seems like I'll have time to figure it out We both stand in an unspoken agreement that there's no more to be said. Clearing my throat, I extend my hand to Maura. "It was nice meeting you." Her eyes drop to my hand. Instead of taking it, she grabs my suit lapels and yanks me down toward her, so her pouty lips are inches from mine. I go still as she dips her face to the right and her full lips press against my jaw, a soft caress that sends an unwelcome spark through my veins. "Optics, remember?" Maura whispers, and when she releases me, a shiver rolls over my back. "People are watching, and by tomorrow, we'll be engaged." I swallow, and she pats my chest. "See you soon, fiancée."