The Mogul's Maybe Marriage by Mindy Klasky Page B

the cheerful icon that told her she had missed a call. She glanced at the phone number and realized it started with 1-800—no one she actually knew at all.
    â€œSorry,” she said ruefully, thumbing the switch to set the phone to vibrate.
    â€œNo problem.” Ethan’s smile was easy. She started to squirrel away her possessions, but he reached out to grab the sheet of paper. “What’s this?”
    Her stomach plummeted. “It’s nothing,” she said, trying to keep her voice light.
    â€œIt has my name on it.”
    Of course it had his name on it. She’d typed his name when she’d made up the list, the catalog of what she wanted out of their relationship. She had kept the page in her purse, afraid to leave it anywhere that James or Ethan or anyone else could stumble upon it.
    Just as Ethan had done now.
    â€œPlease,” she said. “It’s nothing. It’s just a stupid note I wrote to myself.”
    His voice was gently teasing. “Should I be offended that my name is on a ‘stupid’ note?”
    She felt color flood her cheeks. Respect. That was on the list, wasn’t it? She needed Ethan to respect her. Even when she did silly things like write up a list of traits she needed for their marriage to work. Well, this would be a great test.
    She swallowed hard, and then she nodded toward the paper. “Go ahead, then. Read it.” She gulped at her sparkling water as he took his time absorbing the five words. Five words and a date.
    His hazel eyes were serious as they met hers. “What does it mean?”
    â€œIt’s what I want, Ethan. What I need. If we’re ever going to make this work, really work, long term.”
    â€œTrust?” he asked, and his voice was surprisingly, impossibly gentle.
    If he’d taken any other tone, she would have challenged him. As it was, his tenderness made her feel shy. She stared down at her plate, as if she could make out some magic reply amid the seafood. “You frighten me,” she finally said.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him draw back, pull away as if she’d burned him. She glanced up just in time to catch the look of shock on his face, of something stronger—something she might even call horror.“No!” she hastened to clarify. “Not frighten me, like I’m afraid you’ll hurt me.” But then she had to explain some more. “Not hurt me physically. I know you would never do that. But Ethan, I know your reputation—the women, the parties, the constant social life. I knew it when I met you and I’m so afraid that nothing has changed. That nothing will ever change.”
    His eyes softened as she fumbled for the words. “Sloane,” he said, reaching across the table to twine his fingers between hers. “There isn’t anyone else. There hasn’t been since you agreed to wear my ring. There won’t be. Not ever. I promise.”
    When she still hesitated, he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, fished out his personal cell phone, the one that he used for private calls, separate and apart from Hartwell Genetics business. Still holding her gaze, he dropped it into the ice bucket beside their table, using her bright green bottle of sparkling water to push the electronic device to the bottom of its icy grave.
    â€œEthan!”
    â€œIf I kept an actual little black book, I would give it to you to burn.”
    â€œEthan, you didn’t have to do that!” But she was laughing.
    â€œThat brings us to…” He looked back at her creased page. “Respect.”
    Amusement died on her lips. “I’m never going to be famous like all those other women you’ve known. I need to know that you can respect what I am—a simple woman who wants to help people, help children. A woman who is never going to be an actress, or a model or anybody special.”
    Anybody special. Did Sloane have any idea what she