Page 66 of Morally Black Betrothal
I took a deep breath and expelled it. Why was this so hard?
“I need a lawyer. A good one. Maybe two. Someone who is familiar with Vermont tax law to help get my family’s farm in order…and someone else who deals with child custody.”
Once again, Brendan sat back in his chair, hands folded over his chest like a magistrate. “Are you adopting a child I don’t know about?”
I shook my head. “That’s none of your business.”
“It is if we’re getting married. Is it your niece? The one I sent the nanny for?”
For some reason, his presumption made me bristle. It was one thing to dictate my life for this contract. It was another entirely to even begin extending that influence over Kylie.
“We’re notactuallygetting married,” I told him. “Which means you only have to know basic things about me, not the people I care about.”
Brendan worried his jaw back and forth, looking like he wanted to argue the point. I had a feeling he wasn’t used to being told to keep his rich, perfectly crooked nose out of other people’s business. Or maybe he just enjoyed a good fight.
Either way, Kylie deserved all the protection I could give her.
At last, he gave a slow nod. “Fine. I’ll have my assistant reach out to a few family law and tax attorneys.”
I exhaled with relief. “Okay. Good.”
“But, Simone?”
When I looked up, his eyes had turned to steel.
“When it comes to my employees, privacy isn’t a right. I don’t like secrets, and I don’t tolerate them either.”
It was the first time he had referred to me by what I actually was rather than what we wanted people to think.
The moment I signed that contract, I would no longer be Simone Bishop, poor but reasonably happy bartender, volunteer, and part-time baker. I’d be Brendan Black’s fake fiancée, employee—practically his property.
This time, his eyes held mine, unwilling to release me from that strange thrall until I nodded. “I understand.”
“Good. Now, I have to ask: did you actually read the contract completely, or did you just stop at the payment terms?”
Something akin to fear—but far more pleasant—skittered down my spine. “I read the entire thing.”
He glanced down at the wrinkled papers with a wry smile. “I thought so. Any other questions?”
“No.”
“Not even on the physical intimacy clause?”
“N-no.”
It was a lie. I had a thousand questions, particularly about the sections outlining my personal hygiene or intimacy requirements. But after doubling my fee from what he’d first “proposed,” I didn’t think it would be wise to press him on those things too.
It was just a kiss or two. A fondle over the clothes.
Nothing untoward. Nothing that would bother me.
Even if I wanted it to.
“I’ll do my best.” I barely managed to bite back my stammer. “Just communicate with me if I’m not meeting your needs.”
Brendan’s eyes seemed to glow at the last word. “Oh, I will. And you…the same. I don’t ever want you to be uncomfortable.”
“I hardly think this will be comfortable.” I drummed nervous fingers on his desk.
