Page 16 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

Stepping from the elegant car with my purse slung over my shoulder, I scan the woods and cabin suspiciously. “Is this where you live?”

He doesn’t answer, just climbs the stairs and opens the front door, motioning me forward. I take one last look at my only means of escape idling in the clearing, then step in.

The smell of fresh burning wood hits me immediately, and I scan to my left and find the floor-to-ceiling fireplace with river rock running up it. A fire blazes inside it, sending flames leaping up the chimney and warming the inside of the small space. Other than a stack of books sitting to one side of a plush leather reading chair that faces it, there isn’t much else in the open room aside from a bed against the far wall and a dresser opposite it.

The door clicks closed behind me, and I flinch.

Ronald steps up and motions to the right to a small kitchen and a two-person table. “Let’s sit and chat, shall we?”

“Oh, okay.” I step on shaky legs over to it and slowly lower myself down onto a chair that rocks slightly on uneven legs.

He approaches. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“No. I’m all right.”

Ronald doesn’t seem completely convinced, but he takes his seat across from me, then opens a folder sitting on the table and turns it around to face me. “Here’s the contract. It’s the standard one the company uses that I’ve made a few adjustments to, based on personal necessity.”

Personal necessity? Who the hell talks that way?

“I insist you take the time to read it.”

I reach out and flip through the pages. “There are like thirty pages here.”

He grins. “I know, but you should never sign something you haven’t thoroughly reviewed. I understand Carly gave you one of their sample contracts, but as I said, I’ve made some changes. They’re all tabbed on the side for you. Please”—he holds out his hand—“read it. Make sure you’re comfortable with the terms, and then, we can discuss specifics.”

Talk about transactional.

This must be what a hooker feels like when they’re trying to negotiate with a client.

I clear my throat, then begin reading page one. The first five or six contain the same standard language I saw in the version Carly gave me, until I hit his first tab change.

Length of contract term—indefinite.

“What does this mean?”

Ronald glances to see where I am in the paperwork. “It means there is no end to the contract unless both parties agree in writing.”

“What? You mean this is permanent?”

His silver eyebrows rise. “Isn’t that what marriage is meant to be?”

Touché.

But it isn’t what Carly described to me. “Carly said we could have an out clause.”

He purses his lips. “That isn’t an option unless both parties agree.”

Parties…he’s talking about himself in the third person.

Jesus.

That will get annoying.

Especially if this is supposed to lastforever.

That clausealoneshould be enough to make me walk out of here and climb into that waiting car, but something makes me keep reading—maybe the desperate voice in the back of my mind that keeps telling me there is no other way.

I keep reading through more standard clauses until I get to the gift section. “I think you have a typo here.”

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