Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Caleb
The next morning, I walk into the sleek conference room at Langley Media. The place is as cold and modern as it gets—floor-to-ceiling glass windows on one side, offering a panoramic view of the city, while the other walls are a mix of chrome and steel, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights overhead.
The table in the center is a long stretch of polished marble, almost too shiny, with sleek leather chairs lined up around it, each one looking more expensive than the last. It’s the kind of room designed to make you feel small, but I’m not easily intimidated.
The lawyers already delivered all the documents they prepared, and Jacob and I spent half the night going through them. I’m ready—at least, I think I am.
Emmersyn is already seated at the head of the table, her back straight, eyes focused on the stack of papers in front of her. She’s calm, almost too calm, like she’s about to finalize a merger instead of the most ridiculous arrangement I’ve ever had the misfortune to agree to.
Her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she’s wearing one of those power suits that’s supposed to intimidate—but all it does is make her look infuriatingly put together, like she’s stepped right out of a glossy magazine.
I can’t help but notice how every detail is perfectly in place, from the subtle shine of her black pumps to the way her suit hugs her in all the right places. It’s distracting, and I hate that it’s distracting. This isn’t the time to be noticing how her lipstick somehow makes her look even more like she’s got everything under control.
No, this is business. Just business. The most absurd business arrangement I’ve ever been part of, but still—business.
I set my jaw and take the seat across from her, forcing myself not to react when she glances up and meets my gaze. There’s that damn spark again, the one that always manages to flare up at the worst possible moments.
I remind myself to stay focused—this is business, pure and simple. Well, as simple as living with my soon-to-be ex-wife for six months can be.
“Morning,” I say, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. I’m not about to let her know that I spent most of last night thinking about how this entire situation is going to drive me insane.
“Morning, Caleb,” she replies, her voice smooth, with just a hint of something I can’t quite place. She slides the top document across the table toward me, her fingers grazing the edge of the paper. “Shall we get started? It seems like your lawyers were pretty busy drawing up documents and making sure they’ll only leave me with one plate, one water bottle, and my clothes. You’re even taking my shoe collection—funny I’m pretty sure none of them are your style or will fit you.”
I glance down at the paper—postnuptial agreement, the very thing that will keep her hands off my assets once this six-month circus is over. The irony isn’t lost on me, and I can’t help but smirk as I pick up the pen. “You’ve got your terms. I’ve got mine. Let’s just get this over with.”
She tilts her head slightly, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Always so eager, Caleb. I wouldn’t rush through this if I were you. Don’t you want to savor the big triumph of leaving me trembling and all that jazz?”
I meet her gaze, stifling the urge to roll my eyes. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”
“Okay, have it your way,” she says, her voice low and almost teasing, as if she’s enjoying this way too much.
That’s the thing with her—she always knows how to push my buttons, and damn it if I don’t rise to the bait every single time. But not today. Today, I’m keeping my cool. I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms as I look her over. “You really think you can outmaneuver me?”
Her smile widens, just enough to be infuriating. “I don’t need to outmaneuver you, Caleb. I just need you to sign on the dotted line.”
It’s then that I notice the smallest flicker of something in her eyes—amusement, maybe, or satisfaction. Whatever it is, it makes my blood simmer just beneath the surface. She’s up to something. Or is she just taunting me?
That’s probably it. She’s bluffing. If she wants to play mind games, I’m game. The moment she starts crying, I won’t even bat an eyelash. I’ll be damned if I let her get the upper hand.
Not trusting her for a second, I skim through the first few pages, just to make sure everything is still in line with what my lawyers and I agreed on. But then my eyes narrow as I land on a particular clause—the one I barely registered at the time because I was too distracted and disgruntled to think straight.
Sure, I can say I won’t touch her, that I’ll stay away from her. But she’s my weakness, and what if there’s one moment of desperation when I lose all self-control? When I just rip her clothes off and fuck her, giving in to everything I’ve been holding back? The thought alone is enough to drive me insane.
“This is ridiculous and immature. I don’t see why we need such a clause,” I snap, frustration lacing my voice.
Emmersyn leans back in her chair, crossing her arms with a smug smile that makes me want to toss the entire contract out the window. “Ridiculous or not, it’s in the agreement. I thought you said your very amazing lawyer had been thorough. The time for negotiations is over, my friend. ”
Her tone is infuriatingly calm, almost taunting, and it takes everything in me not to reach across the table and pull that smirk right off her face. The way she’s playing this game, acting like she’s got all the power, is making it impossible to focus on anything but how much I want to wipe that self-satisfied look away—by any means necessary.
But I know she’s testing me, pushing me to see how far I’ll go. And as much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. The clause is there, and if I lose control, if I let my frustration or desire get the better of me, she wins. Then it occurs to me . . . What if I make her lose control right now? Show her I still command her body, make it respond to me at will. She’ll ask for the clause to be deleted, won’t she?
“That doesn’t mean I’m okay with it,” I snap, leaning forward as if challenging her. “You really think you can control how close I get to you? What are you afraid of, Emmersyn? That I might accidentally brush past you in the hallway? Are you afraid of my mouth—I remember you begging for it.”
She tilts her head, pretending to ponder my question, her expression maddeningly calm. “Oh, I’m not afraid of anything, Caleb. I just know how much you value your material possessions. And I figured, what better way to keep you in line than by threatening to take them away?”
Her words are smooth, practiced, but I can see the flicker in her eyes, the slight tension in her jaw. She’s not as unaffected as she wants me to believe. And that’s exactly what I was hoping for.
“So, that’s it?” I ask, letting my voice drop, low and dangerous. “You think a few legal threats are enough to keep me in check? You think you can dangle my assets over my head and I’ll just back off?”
I let the silence stretch, watching her closely, gauging her reaction. She’s good—too good—but I’ve known her long enough to catch the little tells, the small signs that she’s not as confident as she pretends. The way her fingers tighten just slightly around the arm of her chair, the quick flicker of her gaze to my mouth before she steadies herself.
“You underestimate me, Emmersyn,” I continue, leaning in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “If I wanted to, I could make you forget every single condition in that contract. You wouldn’t care about the rules or the consequences. All you’d care about is what I’m doing to you, how I’m making you feel.”
Her breath catches, just for a second, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. But she recovers quickly, flashing me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Nice try, Caleb. But you’re not going to break me that easily.”
I lean back, my gaze never leaving hers, a slow, knowing smile spreading across my face. “Is that so? You think you’re still in control? If I checked right now, I bet your cunt’s already getting wet . . . just for me.”
Her composure falters for a split second, but she quickly masks it, trying to maintain that icy demeanor. I can see right through it, though. I know her body better than she does, know how it reacts to my presence, to my words. And the thought of her getting turned on by this—by me—is enough to make my cock throb with need.
I stand up slowly, deliberately, and take a step toward her, closing the distance until I’m almost close enough to touch. Her breath hitches, and I see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the way her gaze drops to the bulge in my jeans. I know she wants it, even if she’s too stubborn to admit it.
“You can pretend all you want,” I murmur, my voice low and rough with desire. “But I know what you’re thinking. You’re imagining how good it would feel to have my cock inside you, stretching that tight little cunt until you’re begging for more.”
I reach down, brushing my hand over my hard length, watching her eyes darken as she follows the movement. I can see her chest rising and falling more rapidly, her body betraying the calm fa?ade she’s trying so hard to keep.
“Maybe you’re thinking about how my cock would feel in your mouth,” I continue, my tone filthy and teasing. “How you’d struggle to take it all in, how much you’d love trying. Or maybe you’re thinking about how I’d fuck you right here, bending you over this desk and taking you so hard you’d forget all about those ridiculous rules.”
I let the words hang in the air, the tension between us crackling with electricity. I move closer, just enough for her to feel the heat radiating off me, the scent of my arousal filling the space between us.
“But you know what?” I whisper, my breath hot against her ear as I lean in. “You don’t deserve it, baby. You don’t deserve my cock. Not until you admit that you want it, that you need it. And until then, all you get is the ache.”
I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, my hand still teasing myself, making sure she sees exactly what she’s missing out on. “So, go ahead. Keep pretending you’re in control. But deep down, you know that all it would take is one touch, one command, and you’d be on your knees, begging for me.”
“Keep dreaming, Caleb,” she says and those words are starting to get tiresome. “I won’t bend to your games this time. You don’t interest me. You’ll stay away from me. Two feet away or you’ll lose an item each time you break a rule—any of them.”
I can’t help but let out a dry laugh. “This is absurd. What’s next, are you going to start measuring the distance between us with a ruler?”
She taps her chin. “Now there’s an idea. I could get a tape measure. Or maybe a laser pointer. They’re quite accurate these days, you know.”
“Very funny,” I deadpan, though I can’t help but imagine her doing it—standing there with a ruler, trying to catch me breaking her ridiculous rule.
She locks her eyes onto mine with that same infuriating mix of amusement and confidence. “The rule is there for a reason, Caleb. You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine. And if you can’t manage that, well . . . I guess you’ll be down one inheritance by the end of the six months.”
I grit my teeth, trying to keep my frustration in check. “This is just another one of your games, isn’t it? A way to get under my skin.”
“Maybe,” she says, her tone deceptively innocent. “Or maybe I just want to be entertained while I endure this time with you.”
“I’m not here for your entertainment,” I protest, my voice sharp. “But if you want to play with fire, I’ll bring a torch and enjoy watching you burn. ”
“You’re all talk and no fire, but as long as you play by the rules, I’m fine with it,” she replies, utterly unconcerned, her smile still firmly in place. It’s like she’s having the time of her life, and it’s infuriating.
I lean back, the frustration still simmering just beneath the surface, but I decide to switch gears—literally. “Fine, Emmersyn, play your little games. But there’s one thing I want now, no waiting around.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Oh? And what might that be?”
“The Bentley,” I say, my voice firm. “I want the keys. Right here, right now. I’m not signing anything until I have them.”
Her lips curve into a sly smile. “The Bentley? You’re that eager to get your hands on it?”
“Damn right,” I reply, leaning forward with a determined look. “You agreed to give it to me once I signed.”
“So then sign,” she says, her voice smooth, almost too casual.
I glare at the papers in front of me, my jaw tight as I grab the pen. With every signature, my frustration simmers. This whole situation feels like a twisted game, and I’m not thrilled about being the one jumping through hoops. But if it gets me that damn Bentley, then fine. I’ll play along.
Finally, I toss the pen down, the sound echoing in the sleek conference room. “There. Now give me the keys.”
She studies me for a moment, clearly considering her next move. Then, without missing a beat, she pulls out her phone and dials. “Jane? Could you bring the keys, the codes, and the Bentley, please? Mr. Cunningham is ready to move in and enjoy Grandma’s most prized possession. ”
The way she says it, with that smug little smile, makes me even more suspicious. But I keep my expression neutral, determined not to let her see how much she’s getting under my skin. Whatever game she’s playing, I’m ready for it—or so I think.
My eyes narrow suspiciously. “How exactly is a car going to fit in this office?”
Emmersyn’s smile widens as she ends the call and takes the papers from me. “Oh, don’t worry. The Bentley will be here soon enough and you’ll understand.”
I fold my arms, waiting, my mind racing with possibilities. What kind of stunt is she trying to pull now? A Bentley is a Bentley, but this whole situation feels off. There’s no way she’s just going to hand it over, especially not inside an office on the fortieth floor. It wouldn’t even fit in the elevator.
A few seconds later, the door opens, and Jane steps in, carrying a small, ornate kennel draped in velvet and adorned with sparkling jewels. The thing looks more like a piece of high-end luggage. What the fuck is in the kennel?
Jane walks over to Emmersyn, who gives her a quick nod. With a flourish, Jane sets the carrier down on the table, as if she’s just presented me with the crown jewels.
“There you go, Caleb,” Emmersyn says, gesturing to the luxurious kennel. “Your Bentley.”
I glance at the kennel, then back at her, my suspicion deepening. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” she replies, her tone maddeningly cheerful.
I approach the kennel cautiously, half-expecting something ridiculous, but still holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, this is some strange rich-person way of gifting a car. But when I reach out and unhook the latch, the door swings open to reveal . . . a cat.
A sleek, fluffy, white Persian cat with a diamond-studded collar slowly saunters out of the kennel, blinking up at me with all the regal disdain of royalty. The cat stretches, then calmly begins to inspect the room as if he owns the place.
“Where is my Bentley?” I demand, my voice edged with frustration as I stare at the kennel, hoping this is some kind of joke.
Emmersyn simply points at the cat, her grin widening.
My jaw drops, and for a moment, I’m completely speechless. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I finally manage to choke out, disbelief coating every word.
“Nope,” she says, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “Meet Bentley, my grandmother’s pride and joy. You wanted the Bentley, and now you have him.”
I look at the cat, then at the lavish kennel, and then back at the cat. “You named a cat after a car?”
Bentley, the cat, blinks up at me with an air of regal indifference, completely unfazed by my confusion.
“Well, technically, my grandmother did,” she replies, her voice bubbling with laughter. “But I think it suits him, don’t you?”
I stare at the cat—Bentley—who’s now elegantly padding around the room, completely unfazed by the absurdity of the situation. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter again, louder this time.
Emmersyn’s laughter finally bursts free, filling the room. “Aww, sweetie. You really thought you were getting a luxury car, didn’t you? ”
I can’t help it—I start laughing too, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation breaking through my frustration. “A fucking cat,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “You actually got me with a damn cat.”
“Nope. You demanded the fucking cat ,” she retorts, her grin never faltering.
Bentley, now curled up on a velvet cushion inside the kennel, gives a lazy blink as if to agree, and I realize just how outplayed I’ve been. The Bentley isn’t a car—it’s a pampered furball with an attitude. And somehow, that’s the most fitting thing ever in this twisted little game we’re playing.
Emmersyn, still chuckling, leans back in her chair. “So, Caleb,” she says, her eyes dancing with mischief, “you got your keys, the codes to the building and of course the Bentley. If you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
I glare at her. Somehow she won this round and I don’t even know how it happened, but I’ll make her pay. “Don’t think for a second that this is over. You may have won this round, but I’m not done yet.”
“Good,” she replies, her smile widening. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”