Claire sucked in an astonished breath.

Wait.

No.

She must have misunderstood him. She wasn’t sure exactly what he’d said, but it had sounded like a proposal. But that couldn’t be right. “Excuse me?” She paused, hoping Mr. Anderson wouldn’t get mad at her for not paying closer attention.

“He wants you to marry him,” her boss said calmly.

“Just for a year,” McFarland interjected. “No longer.”

Claire looked from one man to the other. Surely she had heard them wrong. Men like Tristan McFarland didn’t ask women like Claire Campbell to marry them. It simply didn’t happen.

“Mr. Anderson,” she started, doing her best to keep her tone level and unaffected, “is this some kind of joke?” She looked at each of them again. They both shook their heads.

“And please, call me Ian.” She nodded. Ian.

This really couldn’t be happening. Impulsive proposals were exclusive to beauty queen types, not plain girls.

Tristan McFarland was a…well, a McFarland, an American prince. Right up there with the Kennedys.

“Let me get this straight. You,” she pointed to Ian “want me” she pointed to herself “to marry Mr. McFarland?” She pointed toward him.

“Call him Tristan.”

Nobody moved for what seemed like hours, or maybe it was only minutes, only seconds.

Then Claire burst out laughing. Seriously? They didn’t honestly expect her to believe this, did they?

Perhaps they did. After all, she was the only one chuckling. She abruptly stopped.

“It’s not a joke, Claire—may I call you Claire?” Ian continued without waiting for her answer. “My client has a business proposition to make.” Ian grabbed her arm, settling her into Tristan’s vacated seat.

“A business proposition?” She sank into the chair, thankful to be off her feet. Her knees had suddenly gone wobbly. The rich brown leather was still warm and the spicy air teased her with the scent of his aftershave.

Ian pressed a tumbler of brandy into her numbed hands. “Tristan needs a wife and quickly. Speaking as his counsel, I can assure you this arrangement will be strictly business and strictly legal. If you consent to be his wife, the terms of the agreement will be signed, witnessed, and notarized. You would be required to remain married to my client for one year and keep the terms of this union to yourself for the said time and beyond. You will be well paid for your services. Say, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”

Claire wasn’t sure whose gasp was louder, hers or Tristan’s.

“A quarter of a million for twelve months?” he barked, echoing her thoughts. “I have senior vice presidents who make less than that.”

Ian smiled a little too politely at Claire then grabbed McFarland by the arm. “Will you excuse us a moment?” Without waiting for her answer, he dragged Tristan to the far side of his office where Claire couldn’t hear their muted conversation.

She stared down into the brandy tumbler resting precariously in her trembling hands, then took a sip. The smooth warmth slid down her throat then burned her stomach, the sensations proving this situation was real. Dreams weren’t this vivid, this tangible.

She looked back to the men. Ian spoke, Tristan frowned. Claire took another sip of the brandy, resisting the urge to toss it back like they did in the movies. It would only make her cough and muddle her thinking even more.

Ian spoke again with a stern nod. Tristan’s frown deepened as he shook his head. After many more nods and frowns, both men returned to where Claire sat, still shaking, still dumbfounded by the entire situation.

“Is five hundred thousand more reasonable, Claire?” Ian asked.

Her mouth gaped open as she stared incredulously at the men towering over her. “Are you serious?” This situation was quickly slipping out of her control. Okay, who was she trying to kid? She had lost control the minute she walked in the door.

“That’s more money than you’re likely to see in your lifetime,” Tristan said baldly. “And it’s my final—” He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Ian pulled him back into their little conference corner again where they spoke in muted, but nevertheless, heated undertones. After a few minutes, Ian approached while Tristan remained in the corner. “My client advises me that his final offer is one million dollars. For that sum he expects complete and utter discretion.”

Claire’s gaze swept from Ian to Tristan, who moodily stared out the expanse of windows at the whole of Dallas spread resplendently before him.

“What do you say, Claire?” Ian pressed.

“Can I have some time to think this over?”

“No!” Both men spoke in unison. Ian shot his client a wilting look, then turned his midnight-blue eyes back to her. “Time is something we have very little of.”

“And you want me to marry Tristan McFarland?” Claire asked, needing to hear it again. Just to make sure she wasn’t delusional.

Ian nodded. “Under the terms I mentioned previously.”

She glanced over at her prospective groom. “What’s wrong with him?”

“What?” Tristan exploded, turning his blazing hazel eyes on her.

She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud. Never in a million years would she want to intentionally insult him. After all, he seemed pretty chummy with her boss and she needed this job with Anderson, Terence, and McKay—for however long she could manage to keep it.

“I’m sorry,” Claire quietly said. “I didn’t mean to be rude…it’s just—”

Ian blinked once, but otherwise his expression remained the same. He held up one hand to silence them both. “I got this.” Then he turned his attention back to Claire. “Nothing is wrong with Tristan. I can assure you, he’s perfectly normal. Disease free.”

Tristan coughed. Or maybe he choked.

Ian frowned. “He just needs a wife—and very quickly.”

Claire stared at him dumbfounded, still trying to make heads or tails of the situation. When she didn’t respond, Ian continued. “It’s a very good opportunity. Countless women would jump at the chance without blinking.”

Claire wanted to ask him why they didn’t go find one of those jumping women instead of bothering with her, but she bit her tongue. One insult a day was enough.

She studied Ian’s expression. Maybe this whole thing was a joke after all. Maybe after Tristan left, her boss would explain that his client was crazy and this sort of thing went on all the time. But Ian looked serious.

“So, Claire?” Ian pressed again. “What would convince you to agree to this proposal?”

Claire glanced over to where Tristan stood, once again staring out the windows. From where she sat, all she could see was his back. It was a nice back. Normal enough. Perhaps even perfectly normal. Strong, broad-shouldered. He was tall and his hair from this view was a dark wavy mass. The view from the front wasn’t so bad either. Better than perfectly normal, it was almost perfect. She’d seen enough pictures of him in magazines to know that he was drop dead gorgeous. Not that a mere photograph could do justice to the real thing. In the magazines he’d always looked suave and debonair, but in person he was irresistible.

“What about the bedroom?” Claire asked. She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but she needed to know what she was getting herself into before she got herself into it.

“What?” Tristan whirled around. She couldn’t tell if he was offended or shocked that she had even brought it up.

Ian cleared his throat. “What my client means to say, Claire, is that an intimate relationship is not the nature of this agreement. We’ll write it into the contract,” he assured her.

“Of course,” Tristan said as a muscle in his jaw twitched. “We’ll phrase it in such a way that neither of us is obligated to perform our spousal duties unless mutually agreed to by both parties.”

Whether it was her intention or not, it seemed that she had offended him once again. And he didn’t look like the kind who took well to insults fished out by others.

She should tell him no right now before this went any further. The money didn’t matter. It was crazy to marry for money anyway. She should get up, get her things, and go home. To the home she would have for a least one more night. And then what?

You don’t have to leave until you have another place to live. Maddie’s voice resounded inside her head.

Claire would continue her life the way it was. That’s what she would do. She would find a new place to live—somewhere. She would keep on scrimping and scraping. She could keep on being plain-Jane Claire Campbell, eating TV dinners off TV trays and watching re-runs of Wheel of Fortune.

Or, the tiny voice of the dreamer she kept hidden deep inside of her interrupted, she could marry the handsome, exciting man in front of her and embark on what would surely be the greatest adventure of her life. Why, if she married Tristan McFarland, she would almost be royalty herself. She could spend her days drinking pink daiquiris by crystal blue swimming pools while she traveled the world.

She probably wouldn’t have to spend much time with him anyway. Wasn’t that how it was with society wives? Maybe they’d go to a few charity dinners together or something of the like, but that would be it. He’d do his thing … she’d do hers.

“When do you suppose we could have your answer?” Ian asked, but both men waited. Both men hovered over her again.

Tell them no! her inner voice warned again.

Claire looked from Tristan to Ian and back to Tristan again.

You know we can’t all three stay here forever, Maddie’s voice countered. It would be awkward since we’re in a relationship and you’re—

“All right,” Claire said, surprised to hear her own voice. “I’ll marry you.”

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.    

A MILLION TO ONE

Copyright 2023 by Amy Lillard 

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.    

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.  

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

previously published as All You Need Is Love copyright 2013 by Amy Lillard

significant changes have been made to the original manuscript resulting in new copyright status