If her uncle Sinclair hadn't been such a miser, she might not have had to go to such extremes. But he controlled the Rand family trust, doling out money as he saw fit. And since he'd been named the administrator of her trust fund after both her parents had died, he held the purse strings. Sinclair had laid out the conditions. The trust fund provided her with a small monthly income. If she married before her twenty-sixth birthday, she would be entitled to her inheritance of five million. If she remained single, she'd have to wait until her thirty-first birthday for the money.

In truth, Sinclair Rand was nothing more than an old chauvinist. In his mind, no woman could handle that amount of money without a man to supervise. He hadn't cared who she married, he hadn't even bothered to meet Edward. As long as her husband had a penis, then Uncle Sinclair figured he had the brains to handle her finances, and that was enough for him. Uncle Sinclair claimed his ideas were in keeping with how Laurel's father, Stewart Rand, would have wanted things. But she also knew if her parents were alive, they'd support her idea for the arts center.

But two could play at her uncle's little game. "You mentioned you were a private investigator. I suppose you're accustomed to being paid for your time. I'm willing to pay you ten thousand dollars to put on this tuxedo and walk down the aisle with me."

He gasped. "Ten thousand dollars? You're crazy."

"I'm not asking you to marry me. It wouldn't be legal. We don't have a marriage license. All I'm asking is that you walk through the ceremony with me." She paused; "And the reception. You just have to pretend to be Edward. Think of it as playacting. And once we're in the limo and on our way to the honeymoon, that's it. Your part is over."