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“Does it matter? Most marriages in this tax bracket are a contract between two acquaintances who once upon a time enjoyed screwing one another. If anything, since the only exchange of bodily fluids will happen in a medical setting, we’ll be the least filthy couple in this town.”
She nodded, pushing back her shoulders. “I want to continueworking.”
It felt too soon to lay down her terms and conditions. At the same time, it was exactly what I’d craved.
Someone who saw marriage as a business opportunity.
Eileen pushed away her plate, getting down to business. “I love my work. I know my mom told yours that I want a sabbatical?—”
“Work as much as you want.” I raised one palm up, stopping her from launching into a speech. “With the exception of the last trimester of your pregnancies. My heirs must be taken care of and arrive in Like New condition.”
This was the only part of reproducing that actually made sense to me. Creating a genetically superior workforce from scratch to continue my business after I croaked.
After all, I couldn’t drag the money into Hell with me in a Louis Vuitton carry-on.
I added, as an afterthought, “The less I see of you, the better. No offense.”
“None taken.” She regarded me. “I have money, but…” she trailed off.
“But not my level of money. I dug into your finances during the background check.” I produced my phone and pulled up my contract app, setting the device on the table. “You come from a family of six with most of the inheritance passing down to your brothers. I’ll give you assets in the neighborhood of twenty million, but you’ll sign an iron-clad prenup.”
“Of course. And it will include some of my own conditions regarding my lifestyle budget and charities of choice.”
“Agreed on principle, subject to changes and fine print. My wife must be appointed to the boards of some companies I own.”
“The time commitment?”
“Three hours per week.”
“I want compensation for my time in the form of an apartment of my choosing in Shanghai.”
“Done.”
Another pause.
If this was everything Dad wanted for me, why did it feel fundamentally wrong?
“I want no more than two children. Three is too many and might interfere with my career.” She cocked her head to the side, studying the ceiling as if trying to fleece every demand she could think of from herbrain. “And a wet nurse for each child. Up to twenty-four months. I refuse to raise IQ-deficient idiots.”
“Not a problem, so long as we split custody if you plan to continue practicing in New York.”
Mom would want to see her grandchildren on a regular basis. Andthatwould tear her attention away from me.
Two birds. One stone.
Plus, I still held on to stupid hope that Dad wanted me to have a family for a reason that didn’t include saddling me with unnecessary bills, headaches, and sleep deprivation.
“This sounds acceptable enough.” Eileen inspected my face, possibly for signs that I’d run out the door. The only person I wanted out the door was her. “And… you’re sure you’ll be okay with this arrangement?” She tapped her knee again.Tap, tap, tap. “That you won’t suddenly decide you want love and teddy bears and all that nonsense. My sister says every man ends up only wanting one thing. Se?—”
“Money,” I finished for her. “The rest of life’s vices bore me. I won’t change my mind.”
“That reminds me—separate beds?”
“Separatewings.”
“Am I really that unattractive to you?”
“It’s not you, Eileen. It’s me.”
