Hi everyone! I am working on a new story and I thought I would post the first chapter to see what everyone thinks of it and if it is something you would like to see more of. The rating for this story is MATURE. Please take this into consideration for upcoming chapters as I don't want to offend anyone. If this isn't something you would like to read please don't read any further!

Thank you for taking the time to read my stories, please check out my other story, Before I go, I would really appreciate it.

Tris

I shouldn't be here.

This chapter of my life is over. Done. No matter what he thinks.

Sure, we've only spoken ten words in the last five years, but I still know how Tobias Eaton operates. It emanates through the building. Bounces off the shiny silver sign. The clean grey carpet. The glass walls.

The one thing that inspires him: money.

The receptionist taps her headset, putting her conversation on hold. "Right this way, Ms Prior."

She stands and leads me through a busy hallway. Straight to the corner office. "Can I get you anything?" She rattles off a list of espresso drinks.

I nod a yes to something. I don't need the caffeine—I'm already shaking—and I'd prefer tea. But I do need something to occupy my hands.

Something to keep me from touching him.

It's been so long since I've seen him in person. Longer since I've heard his voice smelled his soap, felt the softness of his lips. But then there isn't a softness to his lips. Not anymore.

I sit in the expensive leather chair. Cross my legs. Smooth my skirt. It's wrong. Too tight. Too normal. Too unsophisticated. Most days my business attire—button-up shirt, pencil skirt, practical pumps—feels like a shield.

Today, knowing he's on his way?

My heart thuds against my chest. My head screams leave now before it's too late.

But my body?

It shares none of my cautions.

I cross my legs the other way. Uncross them. Try to shift my thoughts to practical places.

It doesn't work. My head fills with memories.

His lips on my neck. His hands-on my waist. His voice in my ears. 'You feel so good.'

The opening door draws my attention. I turn, expecting the assistant or a lawyer.

But it's him.

"Tris." His voice is as cold as his clear blue eyes. He looks down at me with vague familiarity. Like I'm a colleague he hasn't seen in a few years. A colleague who irritates him. "I'm glad you made it."

I bite my tongue so I won't snap.

He moves into the room, but he doesn't take a seat. He stands next to the big leather chair beside mine. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

His eyes meet mine. It's a different stare than the one he had when we were kids. That boy was sweet, loving, soft.

This man—

He's cold, angry, hurt.

God, his eyes are still so blue. So beautiful. But that coldness—

It makes my heartache.

I try to hold his gaze. Try to think up something to say. Some small talk to convince him I'm ready for this. Whatever it is.

Nothing comes.

His gaze is too intense. I have to look away. To the clean carpet. The supple fabric of the chair. The shiny patent of his shoes.

Eventually, the door opens. The assistant—she has a name, but I can barely remember mine at the moment—steps inside. Holds up two tiny espresso cups.

"Ms Davis will be here shortly." She sets both cups on the expensive oak desk. Nods enjoy. Disappears.

She's everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Never imposing, always friendly, always smiling. Skills I recognize. Skills I mastered a long time ago.

Skills I need right now.

I take a small sip. Bright espresso. Creamy milk. A hint of softness. But not enough to dull the bitterness.

Tobias looks down at me, the tiniest hint of curiosity in his eyes.

He wants something.

I shouldn't be here. It echoes through my head again, but it's too late. My body is already buzzing. It's already screaming for him, remembering every kiss, every touch, every fuck. I uncross and recross my legs. It does nothing to ease the ache below my belly button, but it does draw his gaze.

His eyes flit to my pale skin.

He swallows hard. Steels himself.

"I'm on my lunch." I'm not sure what he wants. Only that he's confident he'll get it. Which is ridiculous. He's the one who hurt me. Why does he think I want anything to do with him? "I don't have a lot of time."

I know why. It's money. It's always money.

All the men I work with think the world revolves around them. Because it does.

Tobias' family was well-off when we were kids. But now?

Now he owns half of Manhattan. He can destroy me with the snap of his fingers.

Of course, I'm here.

Tobias takes a seat across from me. He folds one leg over the other, making a four with his limbs. Then he leans just a little closer. Just close enough I smell his soap.

Rich. Earthy. Money.

He's every part the distinguished professional. Navy suit, turquoise tie, brown dress shoes.

But there's a tiny hint of the boy I loved in his clear blue eyes.

"I have a proposition for you." His voice stays even.

I pretend as if I'm more interested in my drink. "Yes?"

His voice just barely softens. "I need a wife."

"A wife?" My heart thuds against my chest, drowning every thought in my brain. "You need a wife?" I repeat the words. They make even less sense this time He's twenty-five. He owns the hottest tech company on the market. He screams of power, money, control.

Filthy rich and incredibly handsome.

The body of an Olympic swimmer. The face of Prince Charming. There are ugly parts to Tobias, yes, but those scars are hidden beneath the surface.

They're—

"I need you, Tris," he says. "I need you to be my wife."

Tobias

Tris sinks into her chair. She presses her lips together. Brings the espresso cup to her mouth.

Takes a tiny sip.

Her lipstick—something red and rich that drives me out of my fucking mind—doesn't stain the glass. The kind of lipstick that stays on. That won't mark my skin.

Why is she drinking a macchiato? She hates coffee. Always talks about the superiority of tea.

She's a smart woman. Maybe she's doing it to drive me mad. So I spend the entire meeting wondering if her lipstick will stain my cock.

Or maybe I don't know the woman she's become. The thought makes my stomach twist. But I don't have time for these kinds of considerations.

I certainly don't have time to focus on how badly she wants me.

It's written all over her face. The flush of her cheeks. The heave of her chest. The shudder of her thighs.

Fuck, those thighs—

It's been too long since they've been pressed against my cheeks. Since she's been under me, clawing at my skin, begging for my mercy.

You should know better, princess. I don't have a single scrap of mercy.

I try to focus on my espresso, but it's not nearly as interesting as her almond eyes.

She turns a few inches toward me. Finishes her drink. Sets the ceramic on the massive desk.

An expensive oak. The perfect height to turn her over and fuck her senseless.

Goddammit. I'm better than these impulses. I don't care how long it's been. I don't care how desperately I need to erase my thoughts.

I'm not letting my cock steer this conversation.

It doesn't matter that she's the most beautiful woman in the world. It doesn't matter that she's the only woman I want.

Right now, I don't have a choice.

I need to win her heart in the next thirty days.

Either I convince the world she's in love with me. Or that bastard takes everything that matters.

Slowly, she smooths her pencil skirt. "You know where I stand, Tobias" She refers to the ultimatum she gave me six years ago.

"I do."

"Why do you think I'd marry you?"

"Your father's treatment can't be cheap."

Her dark eyes fill with concern. Over her father's health. Or my knowledge of it. "I have it handled."

"I know how much you make." It's barely enough for rent and groceries in her neighbourhood.

"I have it handled."

"It's not enough."

"Our health insurance—"

"Don't be ridiculous." I turn my body toward hers. "Don't play this game, Tris." I have a better game, princess. Where I command and you obey. Take off your panties. I want to watch the pleasure on your face.

"What game is that?" Her voice hardens. Her posture goes with it. She folds her arms over her chest. Presses her heels together.

"Don't pretend you don't put your family first."

"Just because you—"

"You'll do anything for him."

"Not anything." She stares at me, daring me to spell it out. To make her a whore. Offer money for her body.

Which is ridiculous. I wouldn't insult her like that. "I'm not paying you for sex."

"You aren't paying me, period, Tobias." She grabs her purse. Stands. Moves toward the door. "I'm leaving—"

"A million dollars."

She stops dead in her tracks. "A million dollars?"

"Yes."

"What if I want two?"

"I'm negotiable."

"Why not make it ten? Or twenty? As long as we're living in a fairy tale."

"Seven figures."

"Why do you even—"

I can't explain that. I can't even think about it. "You need the money."

"I have money."

"Not enough." I stand. Place my body between her and the door.

Fuck, she's as beautiful as she was the first time I kissed her.

No longer an innocent girl. No longer full of hope, love, passion.

We've been broken in different ways, but we're both there. Cracked. World-weary. Hiding behind masks.

I need to unpeel hers.

The way her body responds to mine—her blush spreads to her chest, her fingers dig into her thighs, her hair falls over her cheeks.

She wants this. Some part of her does. Even if the rest of her isn't willing to admit it.

Her eyes meet mine. Something passes between us. A memory of what used to be.

Then she steps backwards, shakes her head, repeats her claim. "You can't buy me."

She turns and marches out of the office.

But we both know it's only a matter of time.

Maybe she won't hand me her heart willingly.

But she will do this.

The rest is up to me.