Chapter Eight
Liam
Samantha Jones is the kind of lawyer who doesn’t sleep or believe in time off.
She has a letter of engagement ready on Sunday for me to sign, and is gearing up to face off with Prescott Huxley in his own domain on Monday at one like it’s every day she goes after one of the top lawyers in the state, if not the country.
Her dirty blond bob is cut asymmetrically to show off the lean lines of her even features.
She isn’t classically beautiful, but there’s a piercing intelligence in her brown eyes that makes it difficult to look away.
The black jumpsuit and heels are funereal—not hers, of course, but her opponent’s.
The woman radiates an energy that says, “I kill, therefore I am.” There’s a reason so many celebs hire her to fuck up their spouses when love has vanished faster than extra arm flab on Ozempic.
Huxley nerves jitter. Although we’re in the lawyers’ office with a contract between us, nothing’s set in stone until signatures are on the paper.
I want so badly for this marriage to go through. “Hi.” I point to my right. “Samantha Jones. My attorney.”
Samantha extends a hand, pumps it hard. Olivia gives as good as she gets, gauging my lawyer. She glances at Prescott. He nods. “Sam’s pretty good.”
“‘Pretty good’?” A corner of Samantha’s mouth quirks. “I’m awesome.”
Prescott’s eyes half-mast briefly, and there might be the hint of a smile before his mouth flattens again.
“Who’s this?” Samantha gestures at the unknown man.
“Simon Voss,” Olivia says. “My assistant. I came from an off-site meeting, so he came along. He’s discreet.”
“NDA,” Prescott adds flatly.
Simon’s eyebrows snap together as though insulted.
“Even without that, I’d never betray Olivia.
” He pulls out a pale gray thermos from a bag next to him.
“Your afternoon green tea.” He leans forward, his eyes lingering a little too long.
I recognize the look because it’s the same one I often had in college.
Hell, every guy who had a crush on her did.
“Thanks,” she says. From her neutral smile, it’s difficult to tell if she is truly oblivious or chooses to be. “Can you wait for me outside?”
There’s half a beat of hesitation, then he nods. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”
Prescott pushes a stack of documents across the table. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I thought it’d be thicker. At least twice the size.
Samantha scans the papers. “Same as the ones you sent me and my client last night?”
“Yes. Plus an addendum,” he says.
Olivia presses her lips together, then looks away briefly.
Her reaction doesn’t bode well. I flip through the pages to see what’s been added, ignoring the acid pooling in my gut.
“An addendum?” Samantha cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t appreciate you changing the terms at the last minute.”
“My client wants to lay down all her cards. The added material isn’t really necessary in my opinion,” Prescott says coolly.
I scan the addendum. It’s fairly short—three pages about any children we may have during the marriage and when the marriage should end.
What the fuck? She wants me to impregnate her…and then get divorced six months after the child is born? She never said anything about the marriage being temporary. I thought—
“What is this?” My voice cracks.
“It’s in plain English,” Prescott says.
I look at Olivia. “I’m not worried about getting screwed over by legalese. I’m asking what this means.” For us. For the marriage.
She clears her throat. “I thought it’d be best to keep things clear.”
“Clear?” I clench my hands, as though that will help me cling to control.
She notes my tight fists, then bites her lip. “I’d like a child as soon as possible. That means no protection at all. My doctor already checked me out. I’m perfectly healthy and capable.”
Her matter-of-fact tone is unsettling. Discussions about children shouldn’t be so clinical, doctors and health checks and exactly zero excitement or anticipation on her face.
This isn’t at all how I thought we’d conceive a baby together.
We should at least have a flutter of thrill in our hearts.
Well, I do. But does she? Can we be good parents to our children if there isn’t a shred of affection for them on her part?
Samantha taps her long red nails on the document. “Are you asking my client to do a health check? To see about his sperm count?”
“That would be prudent, if you want a child as soon as possible,” Prescott says diplomatically, his eyes darting in my direction.
“Is that what you want, Olivia?” I ask.
She exhales. “No. That isn’t what I want. I… I’m sure you’re capable of fathering a child.” She shifts in her seat. “Liam, can we talk briefly? Just the two of us?”
“No,” Samantha says.
“I won’t ask him to commit to anything without consulting you first.” Olivia looks into my eyes. “Please. Just five minutes.”
“No—”
“Fine,” I say, cutting Samantha off. “We can talk.” Tell me why you don’t trust me after accepting my offer. Tell me why I’m being ambushed in front of lawyers like somehow I’m the enemy—like Tyler.
Olivia glances at Prescott. “Is there a room we can use?”
“The one next to this one should be free. The Victory Strategy Room.” He starts to get up, but she puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“Let’s go,” I say, heading out first. I can’t bear the stifling atmosphere in the conference room, and what Olivia and I are discussing isn’t something for public consumption.
We move to the next room. It’s small, with a dark round table just big enough for four.
Unlike the conference room, the walls are opaque.
Probably a space designed for quick side-meetings between lawyer and client.
I pull out a chair for her, and remain standing.
Restlessness makes it impossible for me to sit.
It’s all I can do to stop myself from pacing.
Olivia looks at me, her eyes unreadable. “Aren’t you going to sit down?” she says finally.
“I’m trying to decide if this is something I can take while sitting down,” I say honestly.
The smooth mask on her face cracks, revealing a hint of anxiety. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you about needing a baby at Himeko. It was selfish of me.”
It’s impossible to stay upset when her shoulders droop. I sigh and finally take a seat. We’re close enough that I can smell her shampoo and soap, see the veins and tendons on her delicate neck. “So why didn’t you?”
“I think…” She licks her lips. “I didn’t want to look like a heartless bitch. This isn’t exactly the prettiest picture, and I didn’t want you to think badly of me, I guess.” Her voice grows smaller.
The answer leaves me dazed. I thought this was about a lack of trust in me, not her vulnerability. “Olivia…” I reach over and hold her cool hand. “I’d never think badly of you.”
“I debated with myself about it, about whether you need to know all the ugliness. Married couples have kids, so why bring it up?” She runs a slightly unsteady hand over her temple, then looks at me through her lashes, biting her lip.
She’s flustered. The realization hits me hard, and my heart softens a little. “So why did you decide to tell me?”
“Because you should know what you’re getting into before we sign anything. It’s the least I owe you.”