When Lily Langston goes to a game with her best friend. The last thing she ever thought to happen was being hit in the face with a ball.
But what left her even more shocked was when the guest pitcher himself, the known ruthless billionaire Hayes Gr...
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He guided me to a table, and I sat down. The restaurant was spacious and lit by sunlight. It was mostly empty for the time of day, which now makes me see why Hayes would choose it.
"So? Finalizing the deal?" I question.
He pulls out a paper and a pen, handing them over. "Just sign here," he says, flipping the page. "And here."
"I'm not an idiot, Hayes; I always proofread before I sign a thing. I even read the Apple agreement when I updated my IOS." I lifted the contract and read through it.
It seemed reasonable. "Are you sure I have to live with you?" I reason, living with a stranger wasn't ideal. Let alone marrying one.
"What husband and wife don't live together?" Fair, unless there are marital problems. But it would seem weird not to live together.
"I'll have my own room?" He nods, and I gaze back down at the agreement. "Can I add something?" He sighs and looks up at me.
"What is it?" He asks.
"You can't smoke cigarettes while we are together. For a year and a half, no smoking or cheating," I warn. "If you sleep with another woman and it gets out, I'll look like a fool." I stare back at the contract as silence fills the air.
Then, his hand comes into view. "Deal," I look at it unsurely, and then I shake it. I pick up the pen, dot my i's, and cross my t's.
"So, wedding?" I question.
"My parents will want to meet you first; they'll want something extravagant to show you off. So we have to prep you and burn all of your clothing," I say, looking down at my clothes, offended. What a dick.
"I paid for these clothes, and I like them," I mumble aloud, trying to feign my insult.
"I can tell. I'll have to take you shopping," he stared at his phone uninterested and then back at me. Pulling an enveloping from his coat pocket.
"You'll move in next week," he states, handing it to me. As I open it, I'm left stunned, "You can use it for whatever you need." I stared at the platinum American Express card in my hand, confused, and then glanced back up at him.
"I was expecting like a Trader Joe's gift card or something?" I tease.
"Someone else will be buying your groceries," he says, casually, as if that's normal. I liked buying my groceries; in fact, it was one of my fun weekly activities.
"But they don't know what I want?" I reason.
"Tell them what you want?" His voice was growing irritable again from my questions.
"But I don't know what I want until I'm at the store," I knew I was making this more difficult than it needed to be. But a personal shopper seemed totally unreasonable.
"My wife will not be seen buying her groceries; you also have to-"
"Quit my job?" I cut him off, "Yeah, that was my next question, and hell no. I bartend for a living currently, but I can't not work. I might be married to you, but remind you, there's a time limit on us." Shaking my head at him, I couldn't possibly agree. I couldn't leave a job that I would need again shortly. It was another aspect of my income. The money would be used to cover my father's medical bills and my school, and it will probably be gone by the time we're done.
