“You don’t want me as your wife, Finn,” I say coolly, shifting tactics. He pulls back just enough to let me breathe. But those sharp eyes stay locked on mine. “Why not? Give me three constructive arguments, and I’ll consider it.” “I’m high maintenance. You won’t be able to keep up.” He scoffs, already loading his counterattack. “I’m rich, remember? You’ve called me fuckin’ rich boy for years. Next?” Shit. Okay. “We work together.” “I could fire you. But HR already approved our marriage. Next?” “Jesus Christ, you’re impossible. Fine. Last one. I don’t fucking like you, Dr. Quinn.” That smug
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