o think straight. I'm at least attempting to appear normal. On the inside, I'm freaking the fuck out. The only thing in my mind is a constant replay of Beck's words. The mental image of me bent over

r maybe I'm having some sort of fever dream? There has to be an explanation for what's happening right now. This can't be real life. Beckham Sinclair can't be asking me to be his fake fiancée. He can't really be forcing me into being exclusive-even if fake-with him. I'm living in an alternate reality. Hearing Beck say "you're mine" wasn't real... But it was. It is. This is all very, very real. This is every woman's dream, and I'm just waiting to find out what the catch is. I straighten my body in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. "If I agree to that then you have to agree to it, too. It's not fair for you to expect me to not be with anyone else if you're going to be with other women." His indigo eyes flash, but I can't pinpoint with what. I want to say it's desire, but the idea is absurd. Beck can easily get any woman he wants. There's no way he's looking at me with that kind of desire. "Just you, Margo. No one but you." My heart pounds erratically in my chest. He isn't even as close as he'd been a few minutes ago, but I still feel his presence everywhere. I'm losing a grip on the situation, and I need to regain it before my heart does something stupid like wanting him. "I have another rule," I rush out, rising to my feet because it feels odd to be sitting down looking up at him. Even standing in heels, I have to bend my neck to look up at him, and he's not even standing to his full height as he rests up against the conference table. "Enlighten me," he clips. I point between us. "Nothing can happen between us. Lines can't get blurred. No kissing or anything else," I add as an afterthought. His laugh takes me by surprise, making me jump. "Oh, Margo. We'll have to convince many people that the two of us are engaged. We'll most certainly have to kiss. As for the anything else"-he says it sarcastically, like the words are in quotations-"I can assure you that we won't be fucking unless you beg for it." I don't know how Beck manages to make the word "fucking" so hot, but every time he says it, I find myself clenching my thighs tighter and tighter. My eyes narrow. "I can promise you that won't be happening, so we're good there. It's a maybe to the kissing." His smirk feels like a challenge. "I'm not worried about it. Sooner rather than later, we'll be kissing. And trust me, you won't want to do it just for show." I snort. "You're so full of yourself. That won't happen." Even as I say the words, lacing conviction into every syllable, I find my gaze resting on his full lips. Without ever kissing him, I'm confident that kissing Beck Sinclair will feel like sleeping with him. His kiss would be sinful. It would do things to me no man has been able to achieve. I know all of this without ever being touched by him. It's the reason nothing can happen between us. He clicks his tongue. "Never say never, Violet." "Never," I respond immediately, drawing out the word to get the point across. Beck crosses one leather shoe over the other, his feet now crossed at the ankles. "Now you're making this a game. It's making me far more interested in kissing you." I snap my fingers, cutting whatever the hell is happening between us right now short. "Back to the agreement, Beck." He runs a finger down the wood top of the conference table. Bringing the finger to his face, his lip upturns at the small amount of dust that coats his fingertip. "Is there anything else holding you back from saying yes?" "Just about everythi