10. Laura
laura
. . .
I thought she couldn’t get any crazier… But I was proven wrong as soon as I started to read through the contract.
It had taken me all morning to get to it, the weight of it in my bag feeling like a ton. Even as I placed it on my desk, I couldn’t stop looking at it.
It’s a stack of papers, for God’s sake.
But that didn’t stop the annoying urge I had to stop everything and read each line thoroughly to see what the crazy murderer wanted from me.
Once my meetings were done, I locked my office door and told my assistant not to let anyone bother me.
I gave in and ripped open my bag, pulling out the stack of papers only for a disbelieving laugh to leave my lips.
“What the actual…”
It wasn’t a contract for my representation at all. It was a fucking relationship contract.
Everything in me was telling me to run far away from it. From her. From this fucked-up situation I found myself in.
And yet… I brought out one of the red markers that I kept in my right-hand drawer and started reading.
It wasn’t awful, but there were obviously some glaring issues.
Did she write this up herself?
I struck out a clause that stated I would have to have surveillance on me at all times, then paused, the red ink of the marker starting to bleed into the page.
What the fuck am I doing? I can’t seriously be considering this.
Her threats from earlier weighed heavily on my shoulders.
She had footage. Of me. Footage that could not only destroy my career but also all the clients I represented. There were so many big players out there that wanted to see me destroyed. As soon as they found out I had been compromised, they would come baring their teeth like starving wolves.
I have no choice. Right? That’s why I’m doing this?
No, no question about it. It’s the only reason I’m doing this.
But that didn’t mean I would roll over and take whatever she dished out.
So I got back to work on the contract.
There was no timeline. It was one of the notes I added in the margins. Another was crossing out the physical relationship aspects.
If we ever fucked—which we wouldn’t—it would be on my terms, not because of something she wanted me to sign.
Another problematic thing was that we couldn’t be separated for more than two days. I crossed it out and suggested a week.
And then there was the public appearance clause, and I didn’t know how to approach that.
She wanted me to make multiple appearances with her out and about— as a couple. Dates, movie premieres, the whole shebang. As if any of it were real.
Yeah, definitely not sane.
I sat back in my chair with a sigh. It would be for appearances’ sake only. I knew the game well, especially with these Hollywood types. Everything depended on their image, down to the types of movies and shows they were considered for.
I knew it, but I still hated it.
I sighed. I would do anything to protect my clients and would play the game as needed. I could dress myself in the most expensive brands, get my hair and nails done, show up on her arm. It should be fine.
But this felt… more complicated than it seemed.
My hand reached for my phone. I needed to do something about it. Something that was probably just as crazy as she was.
I’m going to have her killed.
It wasn’t until my thumb was hovering over the call button that hesitation washed through me.
Just dial the number and get it done.
It was the easiest way to get this over with, and I knew just who to talk to.
I had only used their services in times of desperate need, and having a murderer stalking me and obsessed with me felt pretty damn desperate.
So why can’t I press the button?
Part of me was… curious. Curious at what more she wanted. Curious at what this would turn into. Excited, even.
My mind and body were in conflict. I knew what I needed to do, but my body wouldn’t listen to reason. It hesitated.
My phone lit up. I didn’t recognize the number, but somehow I just knew it was her.
I answered and put it on speaker.
“Have you read it over, darling?”
Her voice was far too seductive for a conversation about a contract.
“And then some. I have some changes before I can sign it,” I said as I capped my pen. “We can discuss it somewhere public. Preferably a restaur?—”
“I’m in LA. Will be here for a few more days. The car’s already waiting outside. My assistant will take you to the plane. Don’t pack anything; I have that taken care of.”
My jaw fell open at her audacity.
“I have work?— ”
“Give it to my assistant, she will reschedule for you. Trust me, she is very persuasive.”
I know , was what I wanted to say. I had the pleasure of getting pestered by her one too many times.
“That’s one way to put it,” I mused. “But no. We do this on my terms.”
Her warm laugh caused my face to heat.
“I don’t usually negotiate. But for you, my love, I will. Take some time. But not too long; remember what’s at stake.”
My life and my entire fucking career.
“I know,” I all but spat out. “Try not to bother me. I’m busy.”
She let out another laugh, but this time I cut her off by hanging up. Yet her laugh was still echoing through my mind when a text message hit my phone.
You’re cute when you get flustered.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”