10. Organism Reproduction
ORGANISM REPRODUCTION
*Samantha*
A ndreas’s round table in the living room looked like it had been custom-made.
It was a dense, glossy black wood, about six feet in diameter, and ringed with matching chairs.
At the table’s center was a chess set with odd-looking pieces carved out of tan and dark brown wood, arranged in a game that had clearly been abandoned mid-slaughter.
Andreas pulled out a chair for me, pushed it in, then sat opposite. There was a legal-paper-sized envelope on the table with the word “ADOPTION” written neatly across the front. In block letters. Not at all subtle.
I crossed my legs, fighting to keep the hem of my vacuum-sealed dress from inching too high even though the table obscured my lap and legs from view.
“Here it is,” he said, placing a pen atop the envelope and nudging both forward with one elegant finger. “Drafted by my attorney. Read it before we proceed.”
“When did you have it drafted?” I glanced between Andreas and the folder.
“Before I came to your apartment. I wanted to have it ready as soon as you agreed.” He relocated the chessboard to his right, leaving the space between us clear except for the envelope.
“You were so sure I’d agree?” I set the pen to one side and withdrew the document, already skimming the cover letter.
“Not sure. Hopeful.”
At his answer, I didn’t look up. I settled in to read the adoption packet.
Or rather, I tried to read it. Andreas didn’t move, yet the air between us felt dense, charged.
I endeavored to ignore it, but the dress I’d worn was having none of my logical resistance.
It clung everywhere, making me acutely aware of my body and my pulse.
After a full minute, I sensed that while I had my eyes glued to the contract, he had his glued to me.
I looked up.
He didn’t avert his gaze.
Instead, he sat there, like a patient wolf in a human suit, eyes unblinking.
Before I could blush or notice how incredibly fine Andreas looked tonight, I reminded myself that James Neminem was now my boss because Tobias Kristiansen was a mayonnaise-colored incubus who I’d vowed to destroy until my last dying breath, and noticing Andreas’s attractiveness was a pointless distraction and a complication I didn’t need or want.
Inhaling a deep breath, I returned my attention to the contract. Sure, it was difficult to focus on the words with him openly staring at me. It had also been difficult to resist the urge to break James Neminem’s hand earlier today when he’d set it on my thigh.
Anger helped me concentrate. The legal language was dense, yet even a cursory glance told me it was all very standard and likely taken directly from the forms provided by the State of New York.
The adoption would be sealed and private, and the paperwork contained all the typical template sections I would expect from an adult adoption legal document: The parties agree to assume toward each other the legal relation of parent and child.
Adopting Parent will henceforth treat adoptee as if she were the natural child of adopting parent.
Adoptee will henceforth ... and so forth about treating each other as natural relatives, plus the stark warning that all ties with my previous parents and biological family would cease to exist once the adoption was approved.
Since both of my parents were now dead, this part seemed superfluous.
An addendum contract spelled out that I would not be entitled to any other Kristiansen property, nor would I be financially responsible for Andreas or any of his blood relatives, current or future.
Though it would be difficult to enforce, it was, in short, the kind of agreement that attempted to protect both parties and leave no wiggle room for the sort of fuckery that had defined our families’ interactions fifteen years ago.
But, again, difficult to enforce due to intestacy laws.
Technically, as his adopted child, his family automatically became my family.
Fighting a shiver of revulsion at the thought, I skimmed page after page, noted all the sections I needed to complete, then, as I flipped to the last piece of paper, I glanced up and caught Andreas still watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle against my will.
There was nothing cold about him now. His gaze lingered on my clavicles, dropped lower, then cut back to my face. When our eyes met, something flickered behind his. This wasn’t analytical intensity. This was something sharper and more personal, a sort of slow, simmering heat.
I guessed I wasn’t the only one wrestling with an inconvenient attraction.
“Do you want to take a picture?” I asked, not hiding my impatience and needing to break the tension.
“Sure,” he ground out.
I snorted a laugh and shook my head at his immediate, but aggressive-sounding, response. “Are you okay?”
His left eyebrow twitched. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You seem ...” I searched for the word. “Distracted.”
He studied me. “Do you have dinner plans after this?” The question almost sounded like an accusation.
I blinked. “After what?”
He lifted his chin, gesturing at me, at my dress. “You are dressed for dinner, or perhaps an event. Or perhaps you have another engagement after our meeting?”
I looked down at myself. The black dress was sculpted, cut to show my collarbones and cleavage, definitely more than I’d shown in the last four years.
I let a smile show. “If you want to take me out to dinner, just ask.”
For the first time since we sat, his expression shifted to something other than smoldering displeasure. “Would you accept?”
“Sure. Why not?” I leaned in. “But for the record, this dress is not for you.”
Something sharp and quick flashed in his eyes. “Then who is it for?”
“Your brother.” I didn’t say which one, because it should be obvious. “He cut off my PI’s funding today and for the next six months. I figured, if he wants me to stay away from you, then I’ll do the opposite. And I’ll make a big show about it.”
At my response, his posture seemed to relax and he leaned back in his chair. “This is defiance against Tobias and his threats? To show you will not be bullied.” Andreas no longer sounded irritated or aggressive.
“That’s right.” I collected all the pages of the adoption packet, tapping them upright against the table to tidy the stack. “Do you mind if I have my lawyer look at this?” I asked, keeping my tone light.
“You have a lawyer?”
I shrugged. “I do. Is that a problem?”
He shook his head. “No, not at all. That is ... good. You should have someone to look out for your interests. Just tell me where to send your copy.”
“I’ll hand carry it in.” I scanned the cover letter again, then looked up at him. “There is one other thing I’d like to discuss, and it’s related to the adoption.”
His intense but bored mask—the one he’d worn when we first met and also in my apartment—slammed into place. “Proceed.”
I found myself smiling at his formality. “Even if we do this adoption thing in total secrecy, it still looks suspicious that you and I are suddenly in each other’s lives after a fifteen-year hiatus. Tobias, at least, is already watching me.”
He tilted his head the barest degree, eyes lighting with something I could only describe as admiration. “You want to create a diversion.”
Martin had said it didn’t have to be me, and it probably would’ve been better—safer for my mental health—if it weren’t me, but how could I ask some random woman to feign a relationship with Andreas as a red herring just so I could exact revenge?
Also, logistically, the fewer people who knew about our plan and deception, the better.
“Exactly.” I leaned forward, letting the pendant on my new necklace catch the light. “We need a smoke screen. Something to explain why you and I have been meeting.”
He stared at me, considering. “What do you suggest?”
I drew a deep breath, then said, “We fake an engagement.”
His reaction was fascinating. For half a second, his mask slipped and something complicated flickered in his eyes, too quick for me to decipher. Then it was gone, replaced by that patented patient stillness of his that he wore like a favorite sweater.
“You want to use my original proposal as our smoke screen,” he said, “while in reality, we pursue the adoption. This would satisfy the addendum to the will and draw their attention away from our real strategy.”
“Exactly.” I let the silence stretch. “Do you have a problem with that?”
His answer was instantaneous. “No, not at all. It is a good idea. We should.”
“Good. Then?—”
“But I have some conditions.”
I wasn’t surprised, I figured he might. In fact, I’d been waiting for him to discuss stipulations and conditions relating to the adoption contract as well.
Andreas was famous in the chess world, and—to an extent—in the non-chess world as well.
His fame had a global reach. A sealed adoption coming to light after his father died wouldn’t bring him good press, nor would the eventual reveal of a fake engagement.
“Fine.” I folded my hands. “Let’s hear them.”
“If we are to pretend to be engaged, you will need to move in here.”
I almost burst out laughing, but he looked so serious that I tried to stifle it. “I’m sorry, what?”
“If we are engaged, logic dictates that we should live together.” He made the statement sound entirely reasonable.
“Otherwise, it would appear suspicious. My brothers will not believe we are together if we are not living together, and I doubt you have time for fake dates, to make more shows”—he gestured to my dress again—“for their benefit. Living together will save us both time. Otherwise, without evidence of our engagement, they will question it.”
I considered this. He had a point, even if it was delivered with all the warmth of a robot reading a weather report. His tone didn’t matter, but the pragmatic evaluation and solution to a potential problem did.