Chapter 5 #2
“Absolutely fucking not.” He rips the contract from my hand, withdraws a pen from his pocket, sticks the cap in his mouth, and writes something on the second page.
He shoves it back into my hand, and I reread the page he wrote on.
No goddamn husband , is written in the footnotes.
I scoff. “I’m not spending my life alone.”
He tears the contract from my hand, scribbles on it again, and hands it back.
I wait as he removes the cap from his mouth.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that, and you change your mind,” he says. “If you do insist, I won’t expect us to have a traditional marriage.”
“Hard pass on marrying a man who doesn’t love me.”
“Maybe you can convince Dima to love you.” He caps the pen. “I’ll send you a great wedding gift.”
I glare at him.
“You’ll have your own home, which I’ll provide, and live a happy life with our child. We’ll share custody. I get Christmas. You get Thanksgiving.” He says everything so smugly, as if he knows I’ll cave.
“I want Christmas.”
“See, we’re already off to a great co-parenting start. Arguing over custody.”
I relax when he sits down. “Let’s assume I do agree to this. How do I get pregnant?”
He cocks his head. “You do know how babies are made, correct?”
I so badly want to say storks , but this isn’t the time for a jokey-joke. “Yes, but I mean, how will we …” I pause, my words dropping in the tense air.
“I’d prefer to fuck you. The fewer people involved, the better.”
Every single nerve in my body lights on fire with the way he said fuck .
It’s like he wanted to get me pregnant with that word alone, along with how he’s looking at me.
“But if you feel more comfortable going another route, we can.” His lips twitch into a devilish smirk. “Though it’s already been proven you enjoy me touching your pussy.”
My cheeks burn hot as I remember that night, and I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t act like you weren’t into it either. I saw your face when I orgasmed.”
“Good news then. It appears we’re compatible, and we can make our baby the natural way.” He pours another round of drinks and raises his glass again, as if closing a business deal. “I’ll make sure you come every time. It’s a win-win for you, Gen.”
“Not really. You never finished the job,” I say with a smirk.
He works his jaw. “Genesis, had we not been in public, I’d have had you on your knees, choking on my cock.”
He points at me with his glass, and I take a nervous drink.
Then, I choke.
On my drink, not his cock.
Though it’s terrible timing.
“If you’re trying to sound romantic, that won’t work,” I say when I gain control of my voice.
“I’m not trying to romance you. This is strictly business.” He inches back, as if proving his point.
The man might fuck me, but he’ll never love me.
What a dream man .
“It seems my only options are either you or Dima.”
“Or death,” he hums, taking a sip of his bourbon.
I sigh, my head spinning. “I need time to process and reread this.”
He draws back some. “You don’t trust me?”
“You’re blackmailing me into having your baby.”
He takes another drink, not bothering to reply.
I raise my chin, attempting to show some strength. “While I do that, you need to get my phone from my car.”
Leaning back, he pulls my phone from his pocket. The furry pink case looks almost comical in his hand.
“Since you have my phone, I hope it means you have my car as well?” My tone is stupidly hopeful.
“You have your phone,” he says, but it fully answers my question.
“Why not my car?”
“Your car has GPS on it. I don’t want it tracked to my house.”
“I need a car, Julian.”
He hands me my phone, done with the car conversation. I immediately unlock it and go straight to my Contacts.
Only to find half of them gone.
“What the hell?” I show him the screen. “Did you go through my phone, you lunatic?”
He runs his hand over his jaw stubble. “I did.”
“That’s an invasion of privacy.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“Why would you do that?” I scroll through the Contacts he kept.
There aren’t many, but he did conveniently keep my OB-GYN in there.
“I needed to know what you were doing. Keep an eye on my purchase.”
I decide to ignore the whole purchase comment and focus more on him going through my phone like some jealous boyfriend. “You can’t just delete my Contacts.”
He scoots in closer, his face and voice hardening.
“I deleted the men in your Contacts. Men you should have no interest in communicating with.” He holds a finger to my lips when I attempt to talk.
“And since I prefer not to have this tedious conversation again, every man you met on that dating app of yours now knows you’re pregnant with my baby and to never contact you again.
I do business with the CEO of that app. You’re banned from ever opening another account. ”
“What gives you the right?” I hiss through my teeth, using all my restraint not to throw my phone at him.
“Everything gives me the right. A million dollars gives me the right.”
“I haven’t signed anything.” I’m so ready to rip that stupid contract to shreds. “You don’t— and won’t —control my life.”
As if he can read my mind, he grabs the contract and moves it out of my reach. “Don’t like my term? You’re free to leave,” he says nonchalantly, as if he can take it or leave it.
I mean, he really can.
He’s not the one who’ll be stuck marrying Dima.
He scrubs his hands together, ready to drive his argument in my face more.
“As of right now, I’m only out half a million dollars, and I’ll easily still sleep at night.
As will you—next to Dima, of course.” He lowers his hand to my thigh.
“Consider what you’re doing a surrogacy, if that makes you feel better.
But let me make it clear—you won’t find another man willing to give up that amount of money in exchange for pussy, no matter how sweet or wet it might be. ”
I cringe at his crassness. “Don’t say it like that. You’re asking for my uterus, not my pussy.”
Saying it that way doesn’t make me feel as cheap. I’m sure they sell uteri on the market for a pretty penny.
Big chance of them not being in someone’s body though.
“Semantics,” he argues.
Agreeing to his terms would seal my fate.
It’d be sacrificing my future and any hopes of being a traditional wife.
I’d be married to a man in the Mafia.
A dangerous criminal.
Endless thoughts consume my mind.
To somewhat put myself at ease, I stare down at his hand on my thigh. I inhale a deep breath, relaxing at the smell of his rich and smoky cologne.
I bite into my cheek, still tasting the liquor. “What would I tell my friends?”
“We fucked, and you got pregnant,” he says simply.
I drop my phone to my side. “If I sign your contract, you can’t continue to hang this debt over my head.”
“Oh, Gen, I’ll hold it over your head forever.” He slides closer, getting in my face, and slips his hand between my legs.
I tremble, knowing I should pull away.
My heartbeat quickens.
My throat turns dry.
“Be prepared to hear it like a broken record.” He dips a single finger beneath my panties, smirking at how wet I am. He removes his finger, rubbing his digits together to play with my juices. “The Russians are a fucking headache to deal with, and I did it for you.”
“You expect me to lie down and spread my legs for a man who speaks to me like that?”
I’m surprised I’m able to argue with him with how turned on I am.
But arguing is one of my best hobbies.
I can do it in my sleep, turned on, turned off, drunk, on melatonin.
I hate how my body is falling for him.
I’m a fucking feminist.
I have an RBG bumper sticker on my car, for Christ’s sake.
Well, my old car.
“What happens if I say no?” I ask.
“I’ll offer it to someone else then.”
“Was that your plan all along?”
“With how busy my life is, yes. I don’t do relationships.”
“What do you do then?”
He smirks, and I harden my glare at him.
His ringing phone interrupts our conversation, and I’m relieved at the break.
He takes the call, not leaving the room for privacy. Nodding, he listens to whatever is said on the other line before saying, “Yeah, okay.”
After he ends the call, he looks straight at me. “I can take you to your condo in an hour. Make a mental checklist of what you want from it.” He stands and starts loosening his sleeves around his elbow. “I’m going upstairs to shower. We’ll leave when I’m done.”
I gesture to myself. “Um, I need something to wear.”
“Come on.” He stops at the landing, waiting for me to stand.
I follow him upstairs to one of the doors with a code lock on it. He keys in the code, hiding it from me. We enter a bedroom that smells like his cologne and fresh laundry.
The walls are taupe, and I recognize his bed from the latest Restoration Hardware catalog. The room is clean, almost not lived in, and the brown bedding is perfectly made.
He guides me through a primary bathroom to an impressive closet—and this is coming from a woman with a closet larger than most New York apartments.
I huff when he shoves black sweats into my hands. He stares me down, not offering privacy like a gentleman would, as I slide the blazer off my shoulders. I use it to cover myself while awkwardly tugging the sweats up my legs. They hang loose on my waist.
“Tie the drawstring as tight as you can,” he instructs. “Grab a hoodie.”
I hold up the blazer. “What if I like this better?”
“I killed a man in that jacket a day ago. It’s all yours, if you want.”
I toss it on the floor as if it just caught fire, and he starts unbuttoning his shirt.
My jaw drops when he removes his shirt, revealing his tatted chest and six-pack. Snapping myself back into reality, I hurriedly turn around, yank a hoodie from the hanger, and flee the room, going into the hallway.
When I hear the shower start, I lean against the stair railing and call my father’s attorney.
Henry will know what to do.
He’s solved my family’s problems for years.
Julian at least left his number in there.
Henry answers on the second ring. “Hello, Genesis. I’ve been expecting your call.”