He jerks his head backward, then scoffs. "Money doesn't matter, huh?"

I put on my biggest smile and sweetly reply, "I have things I want to do with my life."

"What could possibly require $3 million?" he inquires.

I tilt my head, bat my eyelashes, and say, "Sorry, none of your business."

He clenches his jaw, then replies, "I'll give you $200,000."

"Nope."

"Georgia, it's less than thirty days. It's not like it's your whole life. $200,000 for less than thirty days is more than adequate."

"Technically, it's thirty-three days," I assert.

"But less than thirty for marriage," he argues.

"Doesn't matter. It's my time," I respond.

He scowls. "Fine. $300,000."

"That won't do. I need $3 million," I claim again.

"Georgia, this isn't how negotiations work. I go up, and you've got to come down."

"Why should I come down? I'm not the one with the problem that needs to be solved. You are," I remind him.

He chuckles. "Sure, Georgia. And money for your cupcake bakery is just going to fall out of the sky and into your bank account, isn't it?"

I hate that he has a point. But I respond, "Flattery will work a lot better than insults."

He grunts, then repeats, "$300,000."

"$2.5 million," I state and cross my arms over my chest.

He glances at my arms, and I swear he's imagining what my breasts look like naked. I should be angry, but something about his dirty stare stirs everything in my core, heating it until it's like lava bubbling and needing to flow down a volcano.

"But this offer comes with perks, darling," he drawls.

My cheeks burn, and I glare at him, not wanting to encourage him to describe his perks. I demand, "What's it going to be, Sebastian? Are you taking my offer?"

He replies, "$400,000."

"No."

Several minutes pass, with him giving me his intimidating stare. He finally offers, "$500,000."

I rise. "No. And I'm not into playing your games, Sebastian."

His voice rises. In all the meetings I've sat in, I've never heard him lose his cool. It makes me think he's even more desperate to make this deal than I initially anticipated. He asserts, "Georgia, you have to come down. It's for thirty-three days. Nobody in their right mind would do that."

I chirp, "Nobody in their right mind would ask their employee—sorry, their intern—to marry them, then lie to their family over the holidays. And for what? So you don't have to deal with your mother pushing women on you," I say in a disapproving tone.

He snorts. "You don't know my mother. Lower your offer, Georgia, or you're getting squat."

I shake my head.

"Fine, I'll find someone else," he threatens.

"Really? Will you?"

He scrubs his hands over his face. "You have to give me something."

I cave a bit. "Fine. $2 million. That's fair," I claim, knowing there's no way he'll go for it.

He shakes his head. "No. I'll give you $600,000."

"Sorry." I walk toward the door.