Chapter 18
Harper
“Remember, I said you're not bad?” He lowers his chin.
There’s half the day to get through, and I’m exhausted.
I stifle a yawn. “Umm, yes?”
It’s two days since the viral video. His proposal. That conversation at the pub.
Two days to process it. I'm still not sure I have.
I couldn't put it off any longer. I found him in the lull between services and now, I'm on his sofa, close enough to catch his scent, about to find out what I've agreed to consider.
His desk dominates the room. Surface immaculate. Closed laptop, his watch, a Montblanc pen lined up beside it. The faint smell of garlic and burnt food has crept in anyway, the way it always does, no matter what James Hamilton decrees.
One end of the couch holds a pillow and throw blanket. It feels intimate to sit on a couch where he sleeps, when he works late in the office.
I shove that thought aside.
He sits beside me, jacket in one hand, contract in the other. Sets the jacket in the space between us. "That's for you."
I’m so exhausted I shake it out without thinking.
The monogram stops me cold.
SC
The sleeve carries the logo of The Edge.
“The trial period is over. You deserve it.” His voice is matter of fact.
That. Is. Huge. Praise. Huge.
My heart blooms in my chest. Happiness bubbles through my veins. I did it. I won his confidence. He thinks I’m good enough to get the sous chef title formally.
Then a thought strikes me.
“You’re not doing this because you want to sweeten me up before I read the agreement, are you?”
“Would I do that?” He manages to look innocent and predatory at the same time.
“You absolutely would.”
“You’re right.” The left side of his mouth half ticks up. “I would. But this is not related to the agreement. I promise. I wanted you to have the sous chef jacket.”
I search his face.
He seems sincere. What the hell? I’m going to accept it. Besides, I earned this.
I jump up, slip off the chef jacket I’m wearing and slide this one on. I button it up, running my fingers over the embroidery again.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He runs his eyes over me, and it feels like he’s touching my curves. Heat licks up my spine.
I ignore it, seat myself again. Put a little more space between us to be safe.
Next, he places a sheaf of papers between us. “It’s the agreement.” He nods at it. “Have you given thought to getting a solicitor of your own to check it out—”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure I can trust you…in this regard.” I pull the papers toward me and start reading.
"The marriage ceremony is legal?" I scan the page.
He mentioned getting married at the Town Hall but seeing it on paper makes it real.
"My investors have asked to see the marriage certificate to confirm we’re husband and wife. Margot will want to see the certificate too and also meet you.”
“She doesn’t sound like a typical grandmother…” I lift my gaze to his.
“She’s not.” He half chuckles. “She’s been taking lessons from Arthur Davenport. That’s how she came up with this condition that my brothers and my uncle and I get married before we can claim our inheritance.”
I rub my forehead.
My friend Skylar and her husband Nathan Davenport started out exactly like this. Now they're disgustingly in love.
But James Hamilton is no Nathan Davenport.
I'm setting myself up to get hurt. But Freya's future will be secure. I’ll have a shot at my own kitchen. Only a fool walks away from that.
Unaware of my thoughts he continues.
"We’ll be husband and wife in front of my family and my investors. But at home, we’ll have different bedrooms.”
"We’ll be living together. And working together." I pale. “We’ll be together almost all our waking hours.”
So far, I’ve had a home to go back to and decompress for a few hours each night.
If I were to live with him, as well…it’s only a matter of time before I give into this draw for him. And then I’m sure to catch feelings.
"This is never going to work." I tighten my hold on the papers.
"Why not?" He frowns. "I promise to be the perfect gentleman."
That’s the problem. I don’t want him to be a gentleman. I want to jump his bones the first chance I get.
I want to give in to this desire crackling in my veins whenever I think of him. I want to submit to him.
But what if he’s harder to live with than he is to work with?
What if he annoyed me so much that I snapped and did something I’d regret… Like killing him? Then my sister and niece would be left to fend for themselves. The ridiculous turn of my thoughts makes me chuckle.
I turn it into a cough.
He reaches for the glass of water on the coffee table and hands it to me.
“Thanks.” I avoid his gaze, take a few sips, steady myself, then set it down.
My body is drawn to him, but the sensible part of me is sounding every alarm. There’s too much at stake.
I need to resist the pull James Hamilton has on me.
I pull off the hair tie from my ponytail. Then scoop my hair back and snap the hair tie around it again.
It’s a nervous tic of mine, but it helps to soothe me. Enough for me to ask the question I’ve been thinking since I picked up the contract: “What about appearances? Would we have to kiss or touch in public?”
He freezes. Every muscle locked. The stillness of a predator marking his territory.
"We'll do everything needed to convey that the marriage is real. Holding each other. Being affectionate." His gaze drops to my mouth. Stays there. "Kissing." His throat moves. "When needed."
My lips tingle.
Just his eyes on my mouth and my insides have turned to liquid. If he presses his mouth to mine, I'm done.
I manage to tear my gaze from his and gather my thoughts. What about Angelina? Would he still see her? My stomach tightens.
I raise my chin, “Are we allowed to sleep with anyone else while we’re married?”
A nerve pops at his temple. The veins on his throat stand out in relief. "If you're my wife, you are mine. You are not to kiss or fuck anyone else."
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. The possessiveness radiating off him turns my pulse into a drumbeat I feel in my throat.
“This also applies to you,” I manage to choke out.
He leans in toward me, his gaze intent.
“I would take my marriage vows seriously. I wouldn’t be with anyone else for the duration of the marriage.”
A thrill runs through me. It’s as if we’re really going to be married. Which we are. Because the wedding ceremony is real. The marriage certificate is real. This marriage is real.
My stomach drops. My mouth goes dry.
I try to focus on the words in the agreement, but I’m too aware of his nearness, the heat from his body, his scent which surrounds me, the solid bulk of his which makes me want to melt into him.
The air between us hums. The space between us seems to shrink.
As if unable to stop himself his gaze lowers to my mouth again.
Sparks fire through my veins. My stomach trembles. If he touches me now, I’ll fall into his arms. So, I stay still. I dare not breathe.
Once again, it’s James who slowly pulls back. “I’ll let you read the rest of the agreement.”
What? Oh, the agreement.
I lower my gaze to stare at the contract, read a few more lines. Hold on a second. “This is a non-disclosure clause.”
“It’s standard. To protect both of us.” His tone is casual.
“This means—”
“You can’t tell anyone about this contract.”
I purse my lips. "I can't lie to my sister. Briar knows me better than anyone."
"If the reasons behind our arrangement leak, it puts my restaurant and my inheritance at risk."
"She'll know I'm holding something back." I rub at my temple. "She always does."
He runs his thumb under his lower lip.
"What if you tell her that we met years ago and never forgot each other. That when you came to work for me, the pull was still there, and we decided to get married. That it benefits the both of us."
It's the kind of story I'd want to be true.
The worst part is how little of it is invented.
I push the thought away. This money will ensure Freya can attend The Royal Drawing School. That’s all that matters. If Briar were in my position, wouldn’t she do the same for me?
He taps his fingers on his thigh. “What do you say?”