His Ring Her Rules

Seeing a billionaire wriggle has a strangely satisfying effect.

Ethan Blackwood shifted rather than squirmed in the traditional sense. Gently. I picked up the pen and hesitated, as if his thousand-dollar shirt suddenly became itchy.

"We're adding some of my own clauses before I sign," I stated.

He arched an eyebrow. "There is no negotiation here."

I gave him my sweetest, yet most deadly, smile as I cocked my head. Then it's also not a marriage. even a phony one.

I interpreted his silence as the silent consent of a billionaire.

So, like I was writing the Magna Carta of Survival, I snatched up the closest notepad, tore off a sheet, and wrote down my terms.

First rule: don't touch.

Unless I start it, or unless there are cameras. Furthermore, eye contact is not considered foreplay, Ethan.

Rule #2: Keep rooms apart.

I want a door that locks, regardless of whether your penthouse has a large tub that can accommodate a yacht party or a panoramic view of the city.

Rule #3: I have no authority over my life.

Even though this baby may share your DNA, you cannot ignore my irrational fear of rubber ducks, my mood swings, or my cravings.

Rule #4: Don't tell lies.

We may be pretending to be in love, but we don't fabricate information. I walk after you lie to me once.

No falling in love is rule #5.

It's not The Bachelor here. The fantasy suite does not exist. No "happily ever after" exists. It's business. Stability is given to the infant. Your company is yours. Peace comes to me.

I gave him the list as if it were holy text. "At the bottom, sign."

His lips quirked with a mixture of mild horror and amusement as he read it. "You understand that this is ridiculous."

"Nothing more ridiculous than a multibillionaire CEO using a PowerPoint to propose marriage."

He looked directly into my eyes. Additionally, there was something unguarded in his eyes for a brief moment. Something that is nearly human.

Then it vanished.

Taking the pen, he wrote his name on the bottom of my improvised rule sheet. "All right. However, I have my own set of rules.

I squinted. "Oh?"

He leaned forward until I could smell his dark, pricey, and obnoxiously attractive cologne.

"You also shouldn't fall in love with me."

I sneered. "Believe me, Blackwood.The last person I would pick for a happily ever after is you."

On it, we shook. Well—he extended a helping hand. Instead, I made him use profanity.

Because you might as well do it your way if you're going to act recklessly.

Rule #10: If I'm going to fake a marriage, I'm not faking me.

And Grace Carter? She doesn't come with fine print.