The Contract (8 page)

“Even though you think I’m a lousy assistant?”

“I’ve never said you were a lousy assistant. You are, in fact, good at your job.”

“You could have fooled me.”

A knock at the door saved my reply. I rose to my feet. “Dinner is here. Read the contract—it’s very simple. We can discuss it and other things after we eat.”

When she opened her mouth to protest, I slammed my hand on the counter. “Stop arguing with me, Katharine. We’re having dinner, and you’re going to eat. Then we’ll talk.” I spun on my heel and headed to the door, exasperated. Why was she so against accepting a simple meal? She was going to have to get used to accepting many things for this to work. I slipped my hand in my pocket, encountering the small box I had hidden away. If she was unsure of dinner, she was going to hate what I had in store for her after.

Dinner was quiet. She read the contract and asked a few questions, which I answered. She vacillated when I handed her a pen, but signed the documents, watching as I did the same.

“I have two copies. One for each of us. I’ll keep them in the condo safe, for which I’ll give you the combination.”

“Does your lawyer have a copy?”

“No. This is an arrangement between us. He knows about it, but he is bound by client confidentiality. We have the only two copies. Once this is over, we can destroy them. I had them drawn up for your benefit.”

“All right.”

I handed her a box. “This is your new cellphone. You’ll have to give yours up when you resign, so now you have one. I programmed my personal number in there so you can reach me. You can text freely on it.”

She bit her lip, accepting the box. “Thank you.”

“How much stuff do you have to move in?”

“Not much.”

“What about breaking your lease?”

“It’s month-to-month. I guess I’ll lose the last one.”

I waved my hand. “I’ll cover it. Should I hire a moving company for you?”

She shook her head, her eyes downcast. “It’s only a few boxes.”

I frowned. “No furniture?”

“No. Some books, a few personal pieces, and my clothes.”

I spoke without thinking. “You can donate your clothes back to Goodwill since I presume most of them came from there anyway. I’ll be purchasing you a new wardrobe.”

Her cheeks flushed, eyes flashed, dark and angry, but she said nothing.

“I’ll pick up your boxes and bring them here when we move forward.”

I handed her another envelope. “This is your new bank account and debit card. I’ll make sure there are appropriate funds in it at all times.”

She accepted the envelope with a shaking hand.

“I need you here as much as possible so we can get used to each other and talk. Tomorrow we can go over the lists and ask questions, fill in the blanks.”

“Okay.”

“Saturday morning, I want you here early. I have arranged an appointment for you to get ready for the barbeque. Do your hair and makeup. In fact, you may want to stay over Friday night, to save you the trip.”

Her gaze flew to mine. “Stay over?” she repeated, a slight tremor in her voice.

I stood up. “Let me show you the place.”

She didn’t say a word during the tour. I showed her the guest rooms, the den, and the private gym located at the other end of the condo on the main level. Upstairs, she was decidedly nervous when I showed her the master bedroom.

I indicated the guest room across the hall. “That one has a private en suite. I assume you’d like that room.”

Her shoulders seemed to loosen. “You don’t, ah . . .”

“I don’t what?”

“You don’t expect me to sleep in your room,” she stated, sounding relieved.

I smirked at her uncertainty. “Miss Elliott, this is a business arrangement. Outside these walls, we will appear as a couple. We’ll hold hands, stay close, do whatever other couples do who are in love.” I waved my hand in the air. “In here, we are real. You have your space; I have mine. I won’t bother you. I expect nothing from you.” I couldn’t help the dry chuckle that escaped. “You didn’t really think I’d want to sleep with you, did you?”

Her head snapped up, and she glared at me. “No more than I’d want to sleep with you, Mr. VanRyan.” Turning on her heel, she marched down the hall, her footsteps small thumps on the hardwood floor.

I followed her, still smirking. When we reached the living room, she whirled around, her eyes flashing.

“You asked me to do this, Mr. VanRyan. Not the other way around.”

“You agreed.”

She crossed her arms, anger pouring off her body. “I’m doing this, because at the moment, I have no other choice. Your decisions have directly affected my life, and I’m trying to keep up. I hate lying, and I’m not a good actress.”

“What are you saying?”

“If you’re not even going to attempt to be polite, or at least be a decent human being, this isn’t going to work. I can’t turn off my emotions that quickly.”

I pulled on my stubborn cowlick in vexation. “What do you want from me, Miss Elliott?”

“Could we not at least try to get along? Surely we can find something we have in common and engage in a conversation without your veiled insults and holier-than-thou attitude.”

A grin tugged at my lips. I was catching another glimpse of the backbone in Miss Elliott.

I tilted my head. “I apologize. I’ll try to do better. Is there anything else you want since we’re putting everything on the table?”

She hesitated, her fingers worrying the ugly shirt she wore.

“Spit it out.”

“You can’t, um, you can’t mess around while we’re doing . . . while we’re
together
.”

“Mess around?”

She looked everywhere but at me. “You can’t sleep with other women. I won’t be humiliated like that.”

“So what you’re saying is: I can’t fuck anyone?”

Her cheeks were so red I thought her head would explode; however, she straightened her shoulders and looked right at me. “Yes.”

This was too fun for me.

“Yes, I can fuck around?”

“No!”

“No
fucking
,” I enunciated the last word.

“No.”

“You expect me to remain celibate the whole time?” I asked, now incredulous.

“I will be, so I expect you to do the same.”

I snorted. “I doubt it’s anything new for you.”

She threw up her hands. “That’s it. You want to
fuck
someone? Go
fuck
yourself, VanRyan.”

I gaped at her retreating figure as she grabbed her coat and stormed to the door.

Like the idiot I was, I chased after her—for the second time.

“Katharine!” I reached past her so she couldn’t open the door. “I’m sorry. My remark was uncalled for.”

She turned; her eyes were bright with tears. “Yes, it was. So many of the things you say are.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “It’s almost instinctual with you.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know,” I conceded, then changed tactics. “I won’t.”

“You won’t what?”

“I won’t fuck around. I’ll abide by your wish.” I pressed harder against the door—if she left, I was
really
fucked. “I’ll try not to be such an ass, as well.”

“I’m not sure you can change your DNA, but good luck with trying,” she mumbled.

I relaxed—crisis averted.

“I’ll drive you home.”

She began to shake her head, and I gave her a fierce look. “Katharine, we agreed I was going to be less of an ass. I’ll drive you home. Tomorrow is going to be a long fucking day.”

“Fine.”

I grabbed my coat and opened the door for her, knowing my life was about to change in ways I never planned.

I only hoped it would be worth it.

RICHARD

ASIDE FROM KATHARINE’S HESITANT INSTRUCTIONS,
the drive was silent. The farther away we went from my neighborhood, the darker my mood turned. When we pulled up in front of a dilapidated house, I turned to Katharine.

“This is your house?”

She shook her head. “No. I rent an apartment in the house.”

I slammed the car into park, yanking off my seatbelt. “Show me.”

I followed her up the uneven path, double clicking the key fob. I hoped the tires were still attached to my car when I returned. In fact, I hoped the car would be there.

I didn’t try to hide my displeasure as I looked around at what I assumed was considered a studio apartment. I considered it a dump. A futon, an old chair, and a desk that also served as a table were the only pieces of furniture in the room. A short counter with a hot plate and a small refrigerator posed as a kitchen. There were a half dozen boxes piled by the wall. A wardrobe hanger held the dowdy suits and blouses Katharine wore.

I strode over to the one door in the room and threw it open. A tiny bathroom held a shower so minute I knew I would never be able to use it. I closed the door and turned to Katharine. She watched me with nervous eyes.

None of this made any sense to me.

I stepped in front of her, towering over her small stature. “Do you have a problem I should know about?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you have a drug problem? Or some other addiction?”

“What?” She gasped, her hand clutched to her chest.

I flung out my arm. “Why are you living like this—like a poor church mouse? I know what you make. You can afford a decent place. What are you spending your money on?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she glared. “I do not have a
drug
problem. I have other priorities for my money. Where I sleep doesn’t matter.”

I glared right back. “It does to me. You aren’t staying here anymore. Pack your shit.
Now
.”

She slammed her hands on her hips. “No.”

I stomped forward. The room was small enough, when she retreated, her back hit the wall. I towered over her menacingly and studied her face. Her eyes, although angry, were clear. Holding her gaze, I grabbed her wrist, pushing her sleeve up. She almost snarled as she tugged her arm away, holding it up, then doing the same to her other arm.

“No needle tracks, Richard,” she spat. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t smoke them, ingest them, or shoot them into my system. Satisfied? Or, do you want to check more? Should I pee in a jar for you?”

“No. I suppose I have to trust you. If I find out you’re lying, this whole deal is off.”

“I’m not lying.”

I eased back. “Fine. This isn’t up for discussion—you’re out of here tonight. I won’t risk Graham finding out you live in a place like this shithole.”

“And if you aren’t offered the job? What do I do then? I doubt you’ll let me stay on with you.”

I barked out a laugh. She was right. “With what I’m paying you, you’ll be able to afford something decent.” I looked around again. “You aren’t bringing this furniture.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Thank God.”

“You’re a snob, you know that? It’s old, but it’s still serviceable and clean.”

I had to admit, the small space was meticulous and clean—but it was still hideous. I ignored her jibe.

“Do these boxes go?”

“Is it really necessary to do this right now?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “The boxes go.”

“Fine. I’ll put those in the back seat. Your, ah, wardrobe can go in the trunk. What else do you have?”

“A few personal things.”