I write on the paper under pros: No sex.

Is that really a pro?

Ugh!

More time passes. I continue to fret over my decision. At a quarter to noon, I get a text. It's from an unknown number, but there's no doubt who it's from.

Unknown Caller: You're putting too much thought into this. This is a business transaction. I doubt your MBA professors would tell you not to snatch this opportunity up.

His text comes a little too late. I've already been thinking of it that way for the last few hours. But it doesn't make me any less nervous. This is beyond my comfort zone and not anything I ever considered doing. Not that I even thought entering a fake marriage would ever be something someone would present to me for money.

Another text comes through.

Unknown Caller: Your dreams coming true after 30 days… Or your dreams after years of grinding it out. Or maybe somebody does what you're planning on doing and beats you to the punch. How many cupcake bakeries can there be in Dallas?

Oh, I really dislike him for putting that thought in my head. But it's not Dallas I'm worried about…it's how many cupcake franchises can there be in the world?

Okay, I need to do this and stop contemplating it.

I get up. It's 11:55, but I chicken out before I knock on his door. Instead, I hightail it to the break room to get a bottle of water.

A bunch of my co-workers are sitting around the table eating my Black Friday cupcakes.

"These are great, Georgia, just like every day," Sam calls out.

"Thanks," I say. Then I decide if Sebastian Cartwright wants me to marry him, he's going to prove it to me because I'm worth it.

And so are my cupcakes.

I grab a cupcake, say goodbye to everybody, and find my courage. I lift my chin and square my shoulders, walking through the office. Taking a deep breath, I knock on Sebastian's door.

"Come in," he calls out.

I open the door, and my pulse skyrockets. I freeze.

Lord have mercy.

Sebastian's on his treadmill, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and running shoes. Sweat coats his skin, making him look like a glistening rock of muscles.

I groan inside. Could a man be any more perfect?

His lips twitch. "See anything you like? Maybe it'll make your decision a little easier," he suggests, punching the treadmill so it stops. He jumps off it and tosses a towel around his neck.

"Don't flatter yourself," I retort, then go to his desk and sit down. I put the cupcake on it.

"Little hungry?" he sneers.

I ignore his comment, informing him, "I'm considering your proposal."

He gives me his challenging stare, questioning, "Considering it? What's there to consider, Little Miss Sunshine?"

I refrain from scolding him, lock eyes, and try to appear confident. My insides shake like a wet dog. I demand, "It'll cost you $3 million."