Chapter twenty-three
Luc
The promise.
“H ello?”
“Can you come to my office, please?” I say, the memory of Friday night is still fresh, no matter how much I push it away.
“Okay.”
I lean back in my chair, gripping the stress ball in my hand, squeezing it over and over, like the motion could keep my mind focused. But the image of Rylee, standing in her apartment in nothing but her bra and panties, keeps slipping through. My head’s been a mess since then. I had to spend the weekend at my mansion in Les Collines D’etoiles just to get some space; knowing she was so close was too damn tempting. I couldn’t trust myself not to do something crazy when she was just a floor down.
The knock at my door snaps me from my thoughts, and I release a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.
“Come in,” I call out, doing my best to look composed, but the second she steps into my office, any sense of control I have goes out the window. My pulse races faster than I can control.
She has this way of drawing all the air out of a room, a kind of quiet magic. “You wanted to see me?” She steps inside, clueless of how much she unravels me.
“Yes.” I sit up straighter, lacing my fingers together. “I had my lawyers draft a contract for our arrangement . We can go over it together.” I hate the word arrangement, but that’s what she wants to hear. “And we have a meeting with HR, too. Apparently, people are already talking about that kiss in your office.” I fight back a smile.
She raises an eyebrow. “Looks like your plan worked. So, what now?”
“First,” I say, gesturing to the bag on the table, “we’re going to eat. Then we’ll go over the contract together. If you’d like, I can provide you with a lawyer to review it.” I’m already bracing for the pushback on a few things I added in there. “And then we’ll meet with HR.”
“You don’t have to keep buying me lunch.” She crosses her arms defensively.
“Sorry, but I can’t have you fainting again.” My voice comes out firmer than I intended, but I can’t shake the concern from last time. “If you won’t take care of yourself, then I will.”
“I can take care of myself.” She glares at me.
“Well, you’re not doing a good job at it.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re exaggerating. It was one time.”
“There shouldn’t even be a ‘one time,’ and there won’t be a second.”
She huffs and mutters something under her breath, just barely loud enough for me to catch. “él piensa que es mi padre (He thinks he’s my dad).”
Does she think I don’t understand Spanish? She’s done this before, saying things in Spanish whenever she’s frustrated.
“What was that?” I ask, tilting my head, pretending not to understand.
“Nothing,” she says, a little too quickly.
I suppress a smirk. So, she thinks I don’t understand. Interesting. This is gonna be fun.
I watch, fascinated, as she digs into her salad, enjoying the food too much for someone who was giving me an attitude earlier. She’s not shy about her food; one of the many things I like about her. Last time she was here, I took her to all my favorite spots around the city to try all kinds of food, sweet, spicy, and her reactions were addictive.
She closes her eyes briefly, savoring a bite, and lets out a soft, satisfied sound that goes straight to my groin. I shift in my seat, adjusting my pants discreetly, struggling to keep my mind on the food and not on other things I’d like to taste.
“Thank you.” She smiles at me once she’s done eating. She seems much more relaxed now, and that smile does things to me I’d rather not admit.
“Mind if I use the restroom before we get started?” she asks, setting her napkin aside.
“You can use the one right here.” I nod toward the door in the corner.
“Wait, your office has its own bathroom?”
I chuckle. “Let’s just say my father valued his privacy.”
“That is a full-on bathroom with a shower,” she says, stepping out of it a few minutes later. “All it’s missing is a bed to turn this office into a suite.”
“I can make that happen, if you want.” I smirk, leaning back in my chair. Not that I’d need a bed for half the ideas running through my mind. I turn into a horny teenager every time she’s around.
She shoots me a side-eye and settles into the chair across from me to go over the contracts. Her eyebrows furrow together, and she bites the end of a pen as she reads. Right now, I’m actually jealous of the pen. It gets to feel her lips around it.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m definitely in big trouble if I’m jealous of a pen. But I guess that’s what fifteen months of celibacy does to a man.
“So, I can’t tell anyone—not even Mia? I can’t lie to her.” Her question interrupts my thoughts.
“I’m sorry, but no. They might interview people close to us to confirm the relationship is real, and we would be asking them to lie.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts,’ Rylee. To everyone else, this has to be real.”
She sighs before going back to the document. Her eyes scan the pages as she reads aloud. “One year to make them believe that things didn’t work out.” One year to get her to fall in love with me. “Then I’ll grant you a divorce, and you’ll receive thirty percent of my assets—except for BCAK. That’s staying in the family. But if our marriage becomes real and we decide to stay together, we’ll revisit the prenup and adjust it accordingly.” She stops and looks up at me. The corner of her lips twitching slightly.
“Thirty percent of your assets?” She raises her eyebrow. “That’s not fair when this isn’t even real.”
“Fair or not, you’d be my wife. And if we divorce, you should receive part of my assets.” I want her and her sister to have everything they need, even if we don’t end up together.
“From the moment we sign this contract throughout the entire marriage, both parties agree that physical and emotional needs will be met by each other. No one else.” She reads out loud again. “Hmm, what if those needs can’t be met?” She tilts her head up.
I laugh. “Are you talking about you or me, sweetheart?”
The smirk in her eyes says everything.
“I promise you, that won’t be a problem.” I lean back in my seat.
Her breath stutters, and her eyes lock on to mine before she blinks and turns back to the pages. She flips to the last page. Her gaze lingering on each line as her brow pinches together, a shallow line appearing just above the bridge of her nose. She’s playing with that ring again. The pink crystal catches the light coming from the floor to ceiling window.
I place my hand on hers, letting her know it’s okay. No matter what happens, I’ll still help her get custody of her sister. Her eyes meet mine again, and she’s wearing a pink eye shadow that softens her features. Elle est trop jolie. (She’s too pretty.) I could watch her for hours.
She exhales before pressing the pen to the paper and signing.
Sliding the documents across the desk, her fingers graze mine before pulling back. I take them, adding my signature beside hers.
I reach for the small velvet box that has been in my desk drawer since this morning. I bought it over the weekend. I thought about a dinner proposal—something intimate, more romantic. But this isn’t that. Not yet.
Pushing my chair back, I cross to her side of the desk. The space between us shrinks until I’m close enough to draw her chair forward. Our knees nearly touch, and her breath catches. I lean back against the edge and hold out my hand, palm up. She stares at it, her throat bobbing as she swallows. My eyes drop to the pink V-neck T-shirt she’s wearing, her chest rising and falling faintly. After a few seconds, she finally places her hand on mine.
The ring slips easily from its box, and I carefully slide it onto her finger. Her thumb brushes over the stone, as if testing if it’s real or not.
“This isn’t a proposal,” I say softly. “And it’s not exactly romantic.” My eyes fall to the diamond on her finger before meeting hers, wide and searching. “But I didn’t want to take away the chance for you to have a real one someday.” Another pause, quieter this time. “It’s a promise. I’ll do everything I can to help you get custody of your sister.”
She nods, still staring at the ring; something softer slips through, a tiny crack in her guarded expression before it fades, leaving her unreadable once again.
When her hand pulls away, a faint warmth lingers against my palm. I let myself believe this could be real, that one day, perhaps, this moment won’t have to end.