Dante's head buzzed like a neon sign. Did she say she wanted him to marry her? Holy shit. That couldn't be right. Shit like that only happened in movies and fanfiction. Before he made sense of it, she spoke again.

"Please hear me out. I realize this is a complete surprise, but this evening proves we're compatible, and you're only looking at a short period of time."

Compatible. Time. The only words he could process. His brain had clearly shorted out.

"One year. That's all I'm asking." She leaned forward and snapped her fingers before his eyes. "You okay?"

He jolted back to reality. Ran his hand over his face. Inhaled a deep breath. "Marry you. That's what you said—right?"

She nodded. "Yes, and you must think I'm crazy, but I'm not. I've given this a lot of thought. The arrangement can be advantageous for us both if you'll give it a chance. Agree to my proposal, and I promise your company will have my full support."

Tears filled her eyes. She looked away for a few seconds. "I'm not doing a very good job of explaining this."

He shouldered back in his chair. "This makes no sense. Why me? Why only a year? What the fuck's going on, Bea?"

She straightened. Laced her fingers together and rested them on her lap. "Before I give you the details, I need you to sign this." She shuffled around and presented him with a document.

It took a second for him to process her words, looking back and forth between her and the papers in her outstretched hand. "An NDA?"

"Yes. Regardless of your decision, I don't want you to disclose anything we discuss."

His first thought was to tell her to go to hell, but he understood she had a reputation at stake. If the locals found out Bea proposed to a man twenty years younger, she'd be a laughing stock. No skin off his teeth. "Sure."

She handed him the form and pen and he signed, then passed it back.

She eyed the paper, then met his gaze. "I have an inoperable brain tumor. I have a year— two at the most."

Didn't know what he'd expected her to say—but not that. His anger slid away, and some new emotions washed over him. Pity? Doubt? Shock? Maybe a mixture of all three plus a dozen more. Her announcement brought his mother's death to mind, and sadness stabbed his gut. "You should get a second opinion."

Her bottom lip trembled. "What do you think I've been doing for the past eight months? I've lost count of the opinions. Hope has turned to acceptance, and with that, I've made decisions. Realistically, I won't make it another sixteen months. When it comes to dying, doctors are generous with their prognosis."

He still didn't understand how marrying him would help—unless. "So, you need a project to keep you busy, and my failing business is it? Even so, why marriage?"

"I have no family. No close friends. Only acquaintances and associates. It's the curse of wealth. There'll come a time when I can't hide my illness, and those around me may question my judgment. A husband will keep others from taking advantage of my situation, trying to use my vulnerability to make a grab at my assets." She locked eyes with him. "And—I don't want to die alone."

His lungs burned. Throat constricted. Stomach knotted. A dying wish. How could his life get any more fucked?  "Look. We've spent—what...?" He glanced at his watch. "Three hours together? For all you know, I'm an asshole. Believe me, I've been called worse."

She held her open palm in the air. "Don't sell yourself short. Until your agency took a dive, you passed your dick around like a collection plate. But once financial troubles started, you changed your behavior. And, you're the one most affected by your mother's death. You still visit her grave every week."

He jumped to his feet and clenched his hands. White, hot anger coursed up his spine and burned away any remorse. Suspicion clouded his mind. "You've had me followed? Where the hell do you get off, lady? Maybe you are nuts. You may not even be sick. Just some crazy rich lady hick who's bored and likes to sow chaos."

"I understand you're angry." She picked up the folder and offered it to him. "All I ask is once you're calmer, consider my proposal. Your father is an attorney, and I encourage you to have him review it. Then, if you still think I'm unstable, and you're not interested, so be it. You mentioned earlier, your brother is missing. I can help you find him."

"How so?"

"I have friends in high places. Military friends. Political connections. I'll do whatever it takes to help you bring him home where he belongs."

Maybe her husband had made their fortune, but Bea was no slouch when it came to bargaining. He accepted the file, then turned on his heel and rushed out the front door. He didn't remember starting the car or driving away from her house and had no recollection of arriving at the liquor store until the clerk rang the sale.

He swiped his debit card and crooked his arm around the paper bag. Once back in the car, he stared at his cell phone and considered what Bea said about Dad reviewing the offer. No way. The old man would preach about how stupid Dante was for even contemplating such a notion.

Was he? Maybe. It was free money. And, adding Owen to the equation certainly sweetened the deal. He needed to be logical about this and at least weigh the benefits. Besides, Dad wasn't the only lawyer in the family. Micah would answer all of Dante's questions.

He backed out of the parking lot and within a few minutes, he was in his motel room with the documents spread before him. He opened the whiskey and swigged straight from the bottle. The first swallow singed his tongue, scorched his throat, and set his stomach on fire. "Fuck." He blew out a hot breath and shook his head. It'd been a while since he'd had the hard stuff. Only one way to cure the problem.

The second slug went down easier. He set the bottle on the nightstand and picked up the stapled copies of Bea's latest medical records from three different doctors.  Proof of her illness. Now he felt terrible for accusing her of lying.

Next, he inspected a business plan for Filgard Reality. Billboards. TV commercials. Radio spots. Projected office space in a high traffic area. Even a slick new logo design. Had to admit, she'd done her homework.

He knocked back another gulp.

Lastly, he contemplated the contract laying out the terms of marriage. He scanned the first page, but words like ad idem, allotment, and all the other legal jargon meant nothing to him. Why couldn't lawyers write shit in plain English?

He removed the staples, grabbed his phone, snapped a photo of each page, then punched in Micah's number.

He answered on the second ring. "You in jail?"

"What? No."

"It's midnight."

"I need advice."

"And it can't wait until morning?"

"No. And, the retainer we paid you through the company—does it include personal situations? I mean, attorney-client privilege?"

A pause. "Yeah. What's this about, bro? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Why did everyone assume he was always up to something? He ignored the question and plowed on, "I'm sending you pictures of a contract. I need you to tell me if it would be in my best interest. Then call me back."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, dammit!"

"Okay, okay. Calm down. I take it you don't want Dad to know about this."

"Right."

"Well, hang tight. I'll call you back."

The more Dante drank, the more sense the proposal made. It was only a year, and if companionship is all she wanted, he could companion the hell out her. It'd be a relief to wake every morning without worry. A few hours ago, hadn't he decided only a miracle would save the business?  Well, here it was, thanks to Bea Bennett.

Unless Micah found a hitch in the contract, Dante would be a fool not to take it. He toasted the air, then drank again. His cell rang. He slammed it against his ear. "Give me the news."

"Are you sleeping with this woman?"

"No! Why do you ask?"

"Because this is the kind of deal where an older woman usually goes nuts for a younger guy who's fucking her brains out."

"So, it's a good deal?"

"Damn, Dante. It's better than good. She's willing to sink as much money as it takes to rebrand the real estate company. Not a loan. Not an investment. A gift. Doesn't even want a percentage. I don't know how she's made her money, but it isn't from deals like this."

Part of him had hoped Micah would find something in the fine print to make the offer unappealing. "What about the personal part?"

"Yeah, well, that must be where she plans to reap a return for her outlay." He snorted.

"Don't mess with me. I have to fuck her?"

"No. Why, is she unattractive?"

"The opposite. That's not the point. But I want sex to be a choice, not a requirement."

"I understand. However, there are rules. During the marriage, there can be no abuse of any kind. Drugs, alcohol, physical, verbal, mental. No infidelity. You must accompany her on all trips and attend all meetings—business and social. And, the agreement includes nondisclosure. Meaning you keep confidential material, knowledge, or information she shares with you. Like the attorney-client privilege binds me from telling anyone about this insane deal."

"Already done that. She wouldn't give me specifics without the NDA in place first. So, I shouldn't sign?"

"I'm worried about the fidelity part. As your brother, I advise against it, because you're not a monogamous sort of guy, and you don't want to scorn a woman with more money than she knows what to do with."

"And as my lawyer?"

"Considering the dire straits the company's in, you'd be an idiot not to. I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"Why only one year?"

Dante chuckled. "Sorry, bro. Can't disclose that."

Micah laughed, too. "Well, that tells me you've made your decision. Good luck."

Dante ended the call and held the bottle up to the light. Almost half-empty, and he felt the effect. He opened the bedside table drawer and retrieved a pamphlet of local information. After calling for an uber, he crammed all the papers back into the folder and went outside to wait for his ride.

Just after one AM, he pounded on Bea's door. Within minutes, she swung it open. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

He raised his arm above his head, rested it on the jamb, and leaned in close. He shoved the folder toward her. "I'll do it."

Bea took it and stepped back. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all."

Dante stumbled into the foyer and steadied himself on a nearby table. He attempted to straighten, weaved, and braced against the wall. He waved his hand in the air. "I bounced your plan off my lawyer.  Now I'm here, willing to sign—and you want to call it off?"

"You're already breaking one of the stipulations. You're drunk."

He pointed his finger, then tapped it against her nose. "Yeah, well, I haven't signed yet, so it isn't a rule."

She moved out of his reach. "I'd rather your decision be made sober."

Light from the back patio streamed in through French doors, outlining her curves in the white satin and lace gown. He eyed her from head to bare toes. "Damn, Bea. You look hot. Do you always wear sexy lingerie? Or were you expecting me to come back?"

She clutched the folder to her breasts. "Don't be ridiculous. Just because I live alone doesn't mean I sleep in a business suit."

No way he'd let her pull out of the deal. This was happening. Besides, the way she looked in that gown had his blood racing. Or was it the whiskey? Didn't matter. He was about to give her a lesson in how to be a closer.

He crooked his finger at her. "Okay, then. I'll leave and come back tomorrow. Would you mind helping me? I'm having a little trouble."

When she reached him, he ran a finger down her cheek, slipped his other hand around her waist and pulled her against his chest. Then he kissed her. Not a thank-you-for-the-nice-evening peck. No, this was a full on open mouth smooch that had her rising to the balls of her feet.

She dropped the folder and clutched his shirt as if she wanted him to wear her instead.

He slid both hands to her hips and brought her in tight against his body. Damn, he'd not expected this, but if she wanted a husband, he'd be one in every regard. He might not be good at business, but for a hundred thousand bucks, he'd be damn good at making her last days happy.

Well, at least Dante's taking it seriously. Poor Maia, though.

TEASER:   "Ask her if she's heard from her brother because he never showed up last night."