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"I..." My voice trails off as I try to gather my thoughts. "This is a lot to take in, Ivan. You're talking about marriage, a child. This isn’t just some business transaction I can make a quick decision on."
He looks at me with an uncharacteristic softness. "It's a practical solution to both our needs," he responds, his tone steady.
Practical. There’s that word again. It's so typical of the man who views the world through a lens of efficiency and logic. But life, love, family—those aren't just practical matters. They're emotional, personal, complex.
The magnitude of Ivan's proposal leaves me grasping for words. "Would you expect me to continue working as your assistant?" I finally manage to ask, my voice tinged with incredulity.
His response is immediate yet thoughtful. "That will be your choice," he says. "But I would prefer if you stayed home with our child once he or she is born. From there, you could easily work on your nonprofit."
I'm speechless, my mind a blank canvas. The scenario he's painting of me being at home, raising our child, working on my dream project—it all feels like something out of a parallel universe. The theme to “The Twilight Zone” starts going off in my head.
It's tempting, undeniably so, but it's also a complete upheaval of everything I know. And he's not even done yet.
"I'll have a prenup drawn up by my lawyers," he continues, his voice calm. "You can read it at your leisure."
A prenup. Of course there'd be a prenup. Everything neatly arranged, legally binding, no loose ends. It's so like him to think of every detail, to plan for every eventuality.
"Any requests?" he asks.
The question catches me off guard. Requests? What kind of requests do you make in a situation like this?
I stare at him, trying to process everything he's just said. This isn't just a marriage proposal; it's a life-altering decision, a crossroads that could lead me down a path I'd never imagined.
"Requests?" I echo, my voice barely above a whisper. "I... I don't even know where to start." The truth is, I'm overwhelmed, trying to navigate this strange new territory between personal desires and professional boundaries.
Ivan watches me, waiting patiently for my response. But what can I say? What can I ask for in a situation as bizarre and unprecedented as this?
Seated there in his office, with the man I've known only as my boss offering me a future so radically different from anything I've ever considered, I realize the gravity of what's being asked of me.
This goes beyond any job offer or request. This is a complete transformation of my life as I know it.
Chapter 8
Julie
“We can start with making one thing clear: you will be my wife, not my employee.”
“What about love?”
He’s unflappable, the word not giving him even a moment of pause. "If I were marrying for love, there would be a contract drawn up for that woman as well." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like love and contracts go hand in hand.
"So are you saying feelings aren’t important to you?" I can't help but ask. It slips out, a genuine question amidst the absurdity of this whole situation.
"I want an heir," he says matter-of-factly, as if discussing a business merger rather than a child. "I didn't build this company to watch it die with me."
“You’re worried about an heir? But why? I mean, I get why, but why now? You’re still young; you’ve got all the time in the world. Not like you’re a year away from retirement or something.”
He responds with a small, almost imperceptible shrug, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I’m forty-five. Not exactly old, but I don’t have all the time in the world as you’ve stated.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize,” I say, genuinely surprised by his age. I assumed he was in his mid- to late thirties, forty at most.
He looks at me, his gaze assessing. "Does the age difference bother you?" he asks, his voice neutral, giving nothing away.
"No, age isn't the problem. The problem is the ridiculousness of this whole situation."
To my surprise, Ivan reaches out and takes my hand, his touch firm yet not overbearing. He guides me to the sofa in the corner of his office, a piece of furniture that's always seemed more for show than actual use. We sit down, facing each other, and the unexpected intimacy is disarming. I'm close enough to see the subtle flecks of color in his dark eyes, the faint lines that speak of long hours and hard work.
Sitting on the couch so close to him, I feel like I'm on the verge of combusting. His touch, though simple and seemingly innocuous, feels intensely intimate. It's different from last night.
