6. The Contract

Colton

In less than an hour, we'll make it official. Jane Myers will sign the contract, and the two of us will start this whole charade. I'm still not thrilled about the ordeal, but at least she seems like a decent person. Plus, she desperately needs money, which ensures that she'll be dedicated to this as much as I am.

I finish reading the last paragraph of the six-page contract my lawyers drew up and nod in approval. "Yes, this is good."

"Perfect," Max says, leaning back in the chair across from mine. "Sign your initials on every page, and include your full signature where the post-it notes are stuck."

I do as he asks on all three copies before sliding the documents back to him. "This had better work," I say, but it comes out as a grumble.

"I'm sure it will," Max says. "I'll start contacting potential investors in a few months, and we'll gauge their response."

Bringing my hands to my face, I massage my temples. I didn"t sleep much last night. Of all the business deals I've conducted in my life, this is by far the most stressful. Because it means I'll have to share my home with someone. Something I never thought I would be forced to do. But this is for my company, I remind myself. I built this business from the ground up with little money to my name and virtually no connections. Now, it's worth billions. And I know I can make it even bigger. Growing my business—proving to myself, to the world, that I can do this—is the only thing that drives me. If I have to step out of my comfort zone to achieve my goal, so be it.

This will be fine. It's only two years, after all. And anyway, it's not like I had any plans to actually marry or even take on a serious relationship. As the thought crosses my mind, I can't help but wonder about Jane's plans. She said she's been single for a while, but does she dream of getting married one day?

"Colton?" Max prods, one eyebrow arched.

I snap out of my thoughts. "What?"

"Agnes, have you talked to her?"

"Oh, sorry. Yes, I did. She wasn't thrilled—Agnes doesn't like people any more than I do—but she signed the addendum." As my head housekeeper, she needs to be let in on the lie. She spends a lot of time in my house and knows me better than anyone. She would have seen right through the facade.

"Great," he says, clasping his hands. "We're all set. I'll see you at your house in an hour to sign the contract with Jane."

"Do we have to do this at my house?" I groan, my back tensing. "Can't we just do it here?"

Max frowns. "Not a good idea," he says, glancing at the door. "Too many eyes and ears."

I want to say it makes sense, but all that comes out is a strangled growl.

He strides to the door, then turns back before exiting. "You'd better get used to it. She'll be living in your house soon enough."

I force a smile. "Can't wait."

I bounce my leg under the table in my home office, waiting not-so-patiently for Jane to read every paragraph of the contract. While I appreciate her being smart enough to scrutinize each line, the wait is getting on my nerves. I have a conference call with the Paris team in two hours, not to mention at least a dozen important emails to send. I could step into another room and take care of it, but my brain seems frozen, unable to focus, probably still in shock from everything that's happening. All I can do is watch Jane read the damn contract.

Her eyebrows twitch a couple of times, she narrows her eyes, and she sometimes flits her gaze away for a moment, as if turning things over in her head. She truly possesses a natural beauty. I can see she's not wearing any makeup because there's a hint of redness on her cheeks and a small beauty spot on her chin. Her eyelashes are long, but not darkened by mascara. Yet her eyes still bear the same intensity as last time.

Finally, she raises her head. "I don't see anything in here about personal rules."

"What do you mean?" Max asks, beating me to it.

"I mean, house rules. You know, the level of intimacy expected in public, that kind of thing. It just talks about us appearing as a married couple to the public, but not what we have to do specifically."

"Oh," Max says, scratching his chin. "The lawyers probably thought those details would be left up to you two."

"Okay. Can we make them now?"

I scrunch my eyebrows together. Is she serious? Do we have to wade through all the nitty-gritty right this minute? I don't have time for this. I shoot Max an insistent look.

"I'm sure you'll figure this out as you go," he says to her.

She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. "No way. We're putting this in writing now and making it part of the contract, or I'm not signing this."

Why did I not consider this? Because everything about this situation is strange, and I have no experience with it.

"This is going to be my life for two years," she adds. "I need to know exactly what's expected of me and where the boundaries are."

I let out a long sigh. "Fine. We'll spell out the rules. Max, you'd better get back to the office and join that conference call. I'll meet you there later."

He glances between us and gives me a terse nod. "Okay. Bring the documents back with you when you've found a common ground."

"Will do," I say. With that, he walks out of the room.

"Okay," I sigh, turning to Jane and trying to disguise my exasperated tone. "Let's get this over with. What rules do you want to add?"

"First, we need to define the level of touching when we're in public," she says, grabbing a notebook from her handbag.

I quirk an eyebrow. "I don't know what kind of kinky things you're into, Jane, but when I'm dating someone, I usually don't shag them in public."

She frowns. "Shag?"

"I'm British," I say with a shrug.

She cocks her head to the side, a smile teasing her lips. "Could have fooled me."

"I've been living in the States for over ten years, so there's not much Britishness left in me. But sometimes, a word or two sneaks in. Anyway," I say with a wave of my hand, not wanting to get into my background or why I worked so hard to cut ties with where I come from. "That's not my thing. Sorry to disappoint you."

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Obviously I don't ‘shag' anyone in public either. I just meant hand holding, a touch on the back, small gestures." She swallows hard. "Kissing."

I sit back, scratching my jaw. I didn't think about any of that, and the thought has my imagination running wild. It's been a while since I was intimate with someone. I go through phases. Sometimes, it's a new girl every week. Sometimes, it's no one for months.

"Given that we have to pretend to be engaged, then married," I begin, "I think most of the gestures you mentioned are expected."

"Okay, but we need the specifics," she demands, clicking the pen.

"Oh, you really are serious?" I try to cover my irritated tone with surprise.

She gives me a look that leaves little room for argument.

Crossing my arms, I grumble out, "Fine. Hand holding, yes. A touch of the hand on the back, yes. I might brush a strand of your hair behind your ear, if that's okay. And you're free to wipe away any cream I have on my lips after drinking my coffee."

Despite my sarcastic tone, she writes it all down diligently. "And kissing?" she asks, not lifting her head.

"I think it's a given. Doesn't have to be too frequent, but once or twice an outing would be expected, I guess."

"Okay", she says, scribbling it all down. "Tongue?" she asks, her cheeks reddening.

I raise my eyebrows. "Really?"

Her eyes meet mine, and it's like they're sending flaming rockets straight into my chest. "Yes, really. What if you sneak your tongue into my mouth, and I'm not ready? I don't want to have to smack you."

"You wouldn't!"

She gives me a pointed look. "Of course I would."

My eyes widen. "Whoa, okay. No tongue, then." No need to complicate this further.

She nods. "Good. What about house rules?"

"I don't know," I say with a shrug. I'm not really home much. "What did you have in mind?"

"Maybe some sort of signal when there's someone over? Sock on the handle of the, um, wing?" She glances around my sprawling home office, her ears red.

I breathe out a light chuckle. "That won't be necessary. Don't you remember? You can't exactly date anyone during our arrangement."

"I know, but the contract didn't say anything about you."

"Don't worry about me," I say. "I never bring anyone home."

She hesitates for a moment, then says, "All right. Don't you have any rules you want to add? This is your house, after all."

"Just be respectful of the material and the staff, I guess."

"How many staff members work here, exactly?" Horror flashes across her face. "Do we have to pretend for them too?"

"I have a couple of gardeners who come a few times a week, cleaners who come in once a week, and a head housekeeper, Agnes. She cleans, cooks, and does the grocery shopping. She's the only one who knows about our agreement. I'm not here often during the day, so it's unlikely we'd have to pretend in front of the rest of the staff."

"Okay. Then, I think we're good."

"Oh, one last thing," I say, scratching my jaw. "No pets allowed in my house. I know you don't have any, but in case you get bored as a housewife and want a distraction, that's not happening."

The color drains from her face. "Truffles. I totally forgot."

"What?" I ask, trying to hide the panic in my voice.

"I just got a cat. Her name is Truffles. She's about two months old, according to the vet's estimate."

I shake my head vehemently. "You'll have to let her go. I don't want a pet in my house. I'm allergic." Plus, cats creep me out. They always seem to be scheming to ruin your life. Or your carpets. Or your chairs. Dogs are friendlier, but they require more attention. So, no animals. Maybe I'd go for a pet lizard.

She lets out a small shriek. "I can't give her up. I just found her."

I click my tongue. "Exactly. So, it shouldn't be too hard."

She scoffs and crosses her arms tightly over her chest. "I am not abandoning my cat."

I ruffle my hair with a frustrated hand. "You knew that was a requirement. We asked you during the interview."

"No, I didn't know it was a requirement," she snaps, matching my tone. "You just asked if I had pets. You never said it was a deal breaker! And it's not in the contract either."

"Well, it is now," I growl, standing up. Why is she making this such a big problem? I'll even find a home for the dang thing. As long as it's not here.

"Then I'm not signing the contract," she says, echoing my stance. "Good luck finding yourself a wife."

With that, she storms out of my office.