The Wicked Wife (Murder in Marin Book 2) (14 page)

“The hardest part is I don’t even know how to approach her about all this,” William sighed.

“Take her out to a great dinner, pour a lot of champagne into her, and then get her to sign on the dotted line.”

“James, try to be serious! I want to be fair to Willow, but I also want to honor Fran’s memory and the plans we made together both for our own families and for our foundation.”

“Pick up the phone and call Ivan; if nothing else, it’s a start,” James concluded, saying he had to get back to his office for a client conference call. He chuckled at his law partner’s indecisiveness. He’d love to be in the room when William and Willow had this conversation!

While William sat down to call Ivan, James, in the privacy of his corner office slipped out his cell phone and touched Willow’s cell number. It was time the two of them had a little talk. He doubted she’d blow him off so quickly this time, considering what he was about to divulge.

Willow was not pleased by James’ insistence that they talk privately in a room he had reserved for them at San Francisco’s W Hotel. But when he warned her that she might be on the cusp of being tossed out of her little Belvedere love nest, she reasoned that it was time to find out what he knew.

They met for drinks at the bar. There, Willow pressed him, “Tell me everything you know.”
 

Instead, Finch reached into his inner pocket. Pulling out a room security card, he whispered in her ear, “You want some secrets, and I want some favors. Let’s go upstairs and negotiate.”

Willow hissed back, “This better be worth my time and effort.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” James replied with a sly smile.

James waited until Willow was completely naked. Then, standing behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his lips into the sweet scent of her neck.

Pulling herself away, she turned to him and said, “I get the point. You want to play. But first things first.”

“But we haven’t played in such a long time,” he reminded her.

“This is what we’ll do, lover. You tell a little, and then we’ll play a little. Then you’ll tell a little more. Got it?”

“Sounds like fun.” As he casually began to undress, he began. “Tomorrow, William is meeting with the top family law guy in Marin County, regarding a prenuptial agreement, and I know what he’s going to present to you. If you want to know more, let’s talk about it between the sheets.”

Willow was annoyed. But being ever practical, she decided to take Finch back in her arms, at least this one last time.

As she anticipated, his lustful intentions were played out quickly.
 

Stroking his chest while imaging she was closing her hands around his neck, she said, “Now tell me what you know, James.”

“Sure. It was our arrangement, so here it is: William is going to ask you to sign a prenup that tops you out at two-hundred and fifty million dollars.”

Most anyone would have smiled with delight over such an offer, but Willow was far from being just anyone.
 

“That’s not going to work,” she said in a soft but determined tone.

“I thought you would say that,” James said, with barely disguised delight.

“Anything else?”

“Yes. I miss you terribly.”

She responded with a shrug. “Continue proving yourself to be of some value, and perhaps we’ll have another play date.” She dressed quickly while James scrolled through the text messages on his phone.
 

“No kiss goodbye?” he asked, as Willow moved toward the door.
 

She considered how it would please her to take a small gun from her purse and shoot him between the eyes. For Willow, that brief moment of fantasy had been the best part of her afternoon.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Once home, Willow mixed herself a drink—a cold glass of sherry and water over ice—and contemplated what she would say when William broached the topic of a prenuptial agreement.

With a man of his fantastic wealth, she’d never imagined that the wedding day would come and go without the topic being raised. But as the day grew nearer and William stayed mum on the topic, she toyed with the idea of half of his worth becoming hers; that on the day of his death, she’d find herself one the world’s wealthiest individuals.
 

The very thought made her tingle from head to toe.
 

No doubt about it, two hundred and fifty million dollars was an impressive sum. But for someone who dreamed of wealth beyond imagining, no figure in the millions had quite the exciting feel of a personal fortune in the billions.
 

Willow put her finger into her drink and stirred it slowly as she considered her next move. Whenever uncertain, she returned to the advice that her father gave her when she found herself in trouble with one of her high school girlfriends because of flirting with their boyfriend or taking something that did not belong to her: “The best defense is a good offense.”
 

If I wait for him to raise the subject, I’m back on my heels, she reasoned. But if I raise it, then I’m the one looking out for his interests.
 

William had known Bob Ivan for a very long time. He’d taken a tax law course from him when he was at Berkley. As a litigator, he was a legend in Marin County. At the same time, he was a rare bird who didn’t quite fit into the modern age.
 

He worked out of a small office, with only one secretary and a law clerk. At the advanced age of eighty, he worked harder and smarter than lawyers half his age. Unlike the new generation of specialists, Bob worked many areas of the law, from tax to family to property.
 

In fact, for many years, he had worked for the town of Tiburon as its municipal attorney.
 

“William, how in the world did it not occur to you that you would need a prenup?” Ivan asked, as he brushed an unruly mane of snow-white hair out of his eyes.
 

When Bob’s electric blue eyes stared in your direction, you inevitably felt compelled to speak the plain truth. William was no exception. “I know it sounds idiotic, Bob. But I’ve been so enthralled with Willow that I didn’t give it a thought!”

“What did you say her name was?”

“It’s Willow Wisp.”

“Come again?”

“She’s an international celebrity model with her own line of perfume.”

This time, a raised eyebrow accompanied Bob’s stare.
 

William was tempted to mention that Willow graced the back cover of this month’s
Vanity Fair,
but knowing that would mean nothing to Bob, he stayed silent.
 

Finally, Bob asked, “Does she have money of her own?”

“Yes. She’s done quite well for herself. Her attorney is my partner, James Finch. You remember James, don’t you, Bob? He tells me she’s worth about twelve million.”

“I imagine that’s a lot of money in modeling these days,” Bob said, as the curious expression remained on his face. “So, what do you want to offer her?”

“I’m thinking two hundred and fifty million dollars.”

The scribbling pencil in Ivan’s hand went still. “Hell, I’ll marry you for that kind of money!”

“I don’t want to burst your bubble, but she’s a lot cuter than you.”

Bob shrugged. “It’s okay, I can handle the truth.”

“Seriously, what do you think I should do?”
 

Bob scratched his chin. “I don’t have to tell you that you have a rather unique situation. With your extraordinary wealth, the main issue we have to resolve is the gap that we’re going to place on what share of your fortune would come to her, should your marriage terminate by separation or divorce, as opposed to death.”

“What do you think that should look like?”

“I would suggest an annual figure that increases for each year of your marriage. For example, it could be twenty-five million a year, every year for the next ten years. This would bring the total to the amount you suggested.”

William nodded, “That seems like a solid approach.”

“Of course, you need to consider what percentage of your estate will transfer to her upon your death. Naturally, all those provisions would be voided by a separation, and or divorce, prior to your death.”

“Makes sense. Bob, I know you know all the I’s to dot and T’s to cross. Can you have a draft to me by this coming Monday? I want to discuss this with her sooner than later.”

“No problem, William. I’m happy for you that you’ve found someone so special to you.”

“She is—but no woman will ever take Fran’s place.”

“I know that, William. Still, you’re a relatively young man. Hell of a lot younger than me. It’s important that you have someone to share your life. Have you set a date for the wedding?”

“Yes! Mark your calendar for September tenth.”

“That’s less than two months away. I better get moving on this! I’ll send a draft over to you in forty-eight hours.”

Six days after William and Bob met, Willow and William had dinner together. That prior week, she’d been on a whirlwind tour of department stores in Washington, DC, Philadelphia, New York, Boston, and Chicago. Perfume sales were steadily beating expectations as the tabloid coverage of, “The Millionaire Model and The Billionaire Boyfriend,” heated up.