Marry Me for Money by Mia Kayla Page A

adorable—an all-American man package wrapped up in a suit. It wasn’t that he was just good eye candy, but the fact that he was such a motivated go-getter added to his appeal. Management loved him and not because he brownnosed with the bigwigs. It was because he worked hard, loved his job, and had fun doing it.
    But we worked together, and although this flirting back and forth was fun, work was the single most important thing for me. What I didn’t want to do was mix business with boys.
    “Brian, listen—” I stopped. What if he is like this toward everyone? I didn’t want to assume he was interested.
    “I’m listening,” he said, waiting for me to speak.
    “Brian, well, um…we’re friends, right?” I lifted my eyebrows to make sure he knew what I was trying to say.
    He lifted his eyebrows to mimic mine. “Friends? Sure, unless you want to be ‘friends-friends’”—he made air quotes, “which is all right with me.”
    I laughed at him and his boyish grin. Just so I was clear, I took the more formal and direct approach. “Brian, we work together, and I don’t date coworkers.”
    He took his thumb and forefinger and ran them against his chin. We were stopped at a light as the bluest of blue eyes squinted down at me. I felt the first of the butterflies fluttering in my stomach as he stared at me intensely.
    “What?” I laughed at his look of concentration.
    “I’m debating if I should quit.”
    I hit him on the shoulder. “You’re so crazy.” The crosswalk sign turned to walk so I continued to cross the street.
    “So, if you don’t date coworkers, how about a drink after work?” he asked, catching up to me. “Next weekend. As friends.”
    I couldn’t hide the incredulous look I gave him.
    He continued, “It’s Tim’s retirement party. A bunch of people from work will be going. Caroline might even go.”
    We were stopped in front of my apartment as I stared at his charming face. His eyes were the deepest set of crystal blue.
    “Come on, Beth, I can’t attack you in front of all those people. It will be fun.”
    I grabbed my laptop bag from him. “Fine, I’ll go, but strictly as friends.”
    He smiled again, and my breath caught. I waved to him before I stepped inside my apartment as I secretly wished he wasn’t off-limits.

    Saturday afternoon, the aroma of fresh basil and tomatoes filled my one-bedroom apartment. I was multi-tasking—cooking dinner and watching reruns of my favorite reality TV show. Slowly lifting the wooden spoon from the saucepan, I tasted my concoction. The loud banging from the door caused me to drop the spoon, spilling hot spaghetti sauce on my leg before it hit the floor.
    “Open up! I know you’re in there.”
    I froze, no longer concerned with my burned leg. My heart pounded loudly in my ears as my pulse accelerated.
    “Open the door. Now! I know you’re in there, and I’m not leaving till you open up.”
    My hands started to sweat and my eyes scanned the room as though someone would miraculously appear to save me.
    The banging on the door continued, and I knew my neighbors down the hall could hear all of this. I took quick deep breaths through my mouth and out my nose, to try and calm myself.
    “Open up now!”
    Maybe he has me mistaken for someone else.
    “I hear the TV. Open up the door.”
    Crap. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to think of what to do.
    Embarrassment gave out over fear. Before his abrasiveness caused me more embarrassment on my floor—where I’d wanted a new start, where I had been living for less than a month, and where all these people did not know about all the havoc in my life—I decided to open the door. And as soon as I did, I regretted it.
    Every muscle in my body tensed as a tall, burly man with a goatee stood in front of me. The only barrier between us was the chain lock that I was peering over. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d come straight over from the county jail. He’d