Chapter 4 #2
A hint of a smile lingers on her lips. “Let’s talk logistics. How exactly do we explain that you suddenly married an American actress your family has never met?”
“We say we met during my last business trip to the U.S. That things progressed quickly. A whirlwind romance.”
She huffs softly. “You? A whirlwind romance? That’s hard to picture.”
“You might be surprised what I’m capable of when my inheritance is at stake.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “So we met, fell madly in love, and decided to get married immediately. And no one will question that?”
“People have done far stranger things for love.”
“You’re not a romantic, are you, Mr. McGregor?”
“Callum,” I correct automatically. “If you’re going to be my wife, you should at least use my first name.”
“Callum,” she repeats, her American accent wrapping around it in a way that sounds unexpectedly… interesting. “And I’m Jane. Not ‘Miss Carter.’”
“Jane,” I echo.
For a moment, our gazes hold. Something flickers—brief, unexpected—before she looks away.
“If we do this, I have conditions,” she says.
“I’m listening.”
“First, I want to keep working. Maybe not on set, but reading scripts, taking classes, things like that.”
“As long as it doesn’t interfere with our obligations, I have no objection.”
“Second, we establish clear boundaries. Private space, agreed schedules for public appearances, freedom to move around, to invite friends if needed.”
“You will not be a prisoner, Jane.”
“I just want that clear from the start.”
“It is.”
“And third, I want an exit clause.”
“In what sense?”
“If this becomes… untenable. If one of us develops feelings for someone else, or if the situation becomes too complicated, we need a way out.”
It’s a reasonable request, even if the likelihood of emotional complications seems minimal.
“We can include such a clause.”
She nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, the wedding. I assume it’ll be discreet?”
“Actually, no. It needs to be real. Not extravagant, but convincing. My family will be there.”
Her eyes widen. “You mean an actual ceremony? With guests and everything?”
“Yes.”
“And when is this supposed to happen?”
“In two weeks.”
“Two weeks?!” she blurts, loud enough to draw attention from the other side of the glass.
She leans forward, lowering her voice but not her intensity. “Are you insane? No one organizes a wedding in two weeks.”
“People in love do. People who can’t wait to start their life together.”
“Or people with an inheritance deadline hanging over their head,” she mutters.
“Exactly.”
She sinks back into her chair, clearly overwhelmed. “Two weeks to prepare a fake wedding with a man I just met… before moving to a Scottish castle for a year.”
“That is an accurate summary.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“It is an opportunity.”
“For you, maybe.”
“For both of us. You need distance from Hollywood, a chance to rebuild your image, and financial stability. I am offering all three.”
She studies me intently, searching my face. “How can I be sure you’ll honor the deal? That I won’t end up stranded in the middle of nowhere without the money?”
“The funds will be held in escrow, with scheduled payments throughout the year. And I have a reputation to uphold. My word matters.”
She remains silent for a moment. “Why should I trust you?”
“For the same reason I should trust you. Because we both have far too much to lose if this fails.”
She turns her coffee cup slowly between her fingers, thinking.
“You do realize this sounds like the plot of a romantic comedy, right?”
“If it reassures you, I have never enjoyed that genre.”
“Of course not,” she says with a small laugh. “You’re more of a documentary-on-whisky-distillation type.”
“I also appreciate financial thrillers.”
She shakes her head, amused. “Callum McGregor, you might be the strangest man I’ve ever met. And I work in Hollywood.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
“And yet you’re considering my offer.”
She inhales deeply, then meets my gaze.
“Yes. I am. As crazy as it sounds.”
Relief settles through me, sharp and undeniable.
“Good. We can finalize everything tomorrow, if that suits you.”
“Tomorrow?” she echoes. “You really don’t waste time.”
“Time,” I say evenly, “is precisely what I don’t have.”
She finishes her coffee and slides her sunglasses back on.
“Alright, Callum. Same time, same place tomorrow. And in the meantime, maybe practice smiling in front of a mirror. If we’re going to convince your grandmother this marriage is real, you’ll need to look at least somewhat happy to be around me. ”
With that, she stands, adjusts her leather jacket, and heads for the door, her heels striking the floor in sharp, decisive beats.
I watch her leave, caught between irritation and something far more unexpected.
Jane Carter is nothing like I anticipated—sharp, sarcastic, and clearly on guard. But she’s also intelligent and perceptive, which might be exactly what I need for this plan to work.
Or exactly what will make it collapse.
My phone buzzes again. Keira.
Pain in the ass
Well? Verdict? I want everything—wedding theme, ring size, ALL OF IT!
I glance once more at the door Jane just walked through before typing my reply.
She’s… interesting. I’ll tell you later.
A considerable understatement.
Because one thing is certain—these next twelve months with Jane Carter will be anything but dull.
They will be a disaster. Most likely… a spectacular one. And I am one signature away from stepping straight into it.