Page 21 of The Relationship Clause

What kind of guy would Junie date? asks that annoying, introspective voice in my head that sounds way too much like my therapist’s. I dismiss the question, not having the time or the bandwidth to figure out the answer.

“Oh.” I stuff my surprise away. “What a small wo—”

“I thought you moved to Tennessee.” This comes from Bill, who’s still staring at her like he’s starstruck. His tall, thin frame looks like it could blow over at any second, and his prominent Adam’s apple keeps doing this annoying bobbing-up-and-down thing.

“W-well, I did, but, um, then I moved back.”

“Was it pretty recently? I mean, I guess it’s none of my business, but I kind of thought if you ever moved back here, we might be able to reconnect.”

Junie looks like she’d rather die than answer that question, so I clear my throat and move between them. “Sorry to interrupt the reunion,” I say, though I’m not sorry at all, “but we should get down to business. Is this going to be a problem?”

“Oh, right, business,” Bill says. “Um, no, this shouldn’t be a problem at all.” But the way he keeps looking at Junie has me thinking otherwise.

I close the door, turn the opacity up on the windows, and we all sit around my desk. Bill brings the contract out onto the table and starts spouting off a bunch of legal stuff, but I’m having trouble focusing, which is unlike me.

I don’t seem to be the only one feeling out of sorts though. Bill, who is normally professional, even unflappable, when it comes to situations like this, is suddenly stumbling over his words. Junie keeps looking between him and the door, no doubt wondering if it’s too late to run away from this strange situation.

“Now, um, you’ll want to read this thoroughly before you sign,” Bill is saying. “Particularly of note”—here he flicks a look in my direction—“is this section, uh, mentioning the no-dating clause.”

All the blood drains out of my face. Not because of the clause. I knew it was in there. I specifically requested it. My horror is more to the way Bill delivered the information and the way he’s intently watching Junie for her reaction.

“No-dating clause?” Junie’s eyebrows pinch together.

“Yes,” Bill says. “It states that you agree not to enter into any relationship with Mr. Ferguson outside of the office for the duration of the contract.”

“Oh, um, is that kind of thing normal in a situation like this?”

“Trust me, nothing about this situation or this contract is ‘normal,’” Bill chuckles, and I’ve heard enough.

I stand abruptly, drawing both of their attention. “Thank you, Bill, but that will be all for now.”

Bill, the snake, has the audacity to look taken aback. “B-but what about the contract?”

“Junie needs time to read it.” Because Bill still isn’t making a move for the door, I start herding him toward it. Junie stands behind me, watching the spectacle, and my temperature rises even more. “I’d also like to speak with her privately before she signs. I’ll call you back in before any ink is put to paper. Go get some coffee from the break room.”

“B-but I already got some—”

“Goodbye, Bill,” I grind out, and then I all but shove him out of my office and shut the door in his face.

I take a good, deep breath before turning back around. I double-checked with my therapist over the weekend, and she reminded me that it’s in for five, out for five. I don’t quite get there, but at least it’s something, and when I turn around, I do feel more grounded. Or maybe that’s because Bill is out of my line of sight. Either way, I’m seriously going to have to consider finding a new lawyer after this.

I sit down once again, and there are two seconds of silence before I can’t take it anymore. “You dated him?”

Junie bends over, covering her face with her hands and moaning. “I know. Ugh. It was a long time ago, okay?”

“I mean, how much older is he than you? Enough to be your dad?”

Junie turns scathing eyes on me. “He’s only twelve years older than me. And at the time, he was thirty-two and I was twenty so it wasn’t that weird.”

I splutter. “Twelve years? That’s huge. You might as well go out and buy him diapers. Keep a geriatric nurse on speed dial.”

She reaches over the desk and hits my arm. It’s a gesture that I would totally disapprove of from anyone else, especially in an office setting, but coming from Junie, here in my office, I don’t say anything.

“Twelve years is not a bad age gap,” she says. “Plenty of people do it, and plenty of people read age-gap romance and don’t find it icky, so, ha.”

“Age-gap romance?” She’s lost me.

She waves a hand. “Never mind. How old are you anyway? Seeing you two in here side by side, I would have assumed you were the same age.”

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