Zach looked confused, but then his eyes hardened to flints.

He was angry. Too bad.

“I don’t recall signing a prenup,” she added for good measure.

“You want more money,” he spoke in a flat tone.

All she really wanted was her career back.

“You got me fired,” she pointed out, feeling the need to voice the rationale for her obstinacy.

“All I did was cancel a contract,” he corrected.

“You had to know I’d be the scapegoat. Who in New York City is going to hire me now?”

His voice went staccato. “I did not like your renovation design.”

“I was trying to bring your building out of the 1930s.” The Harper Transportation building had infinite potential, but nobody had done anything to it for at least five decades.

He glared at her a moment longer. “Fine. Have it your way. I got you fired. I apologize. Now how much?”

He wasn’t the least bit sorry for having her fired. He didn’t care a single thing about her. The only reason he’d even remembered her name was because of the accidental marriage. And he’d probably had to look that up.

She squared her shoulders beneath the dusty T-shirt, determined to take this victory. “Give me one good reason why I should make your life easier?”

“Because you don’t want to be married any more than I do.”

He had a fair point there. The mere thought of being Zach Harper’s wife sent a distinct shiver coursing its way up her spine.

It was distaste. At least she was pretty sure the feeling was distaste. With any other man, she might mistake it for arousal.

“Mrs. Zach Harper.” She pretended to ponder, warming to her stubborn stance as she purposely slowed to note her half-packed apartment. “Don’t you have a roomy penthouse on Fifth Avenue?”

He clicked the end of his pen, slowly lowering it to his side. “Are you daring me to call your bluff?”

She cracked her first genuine smile in three months. He wouldn’t do it. Not in a million years. “Yeah,” she taunted boldly. “Go ahead. Call my buff.”