Page 1 of The Contract Marriage

Chapter One

Liam

My parents called me a “superfluous child” when I was growing up, and it was agonizing. But to see Olivia Desmond being disrespected and dismissed by her fiancé is another level of torture. She deserves better.

A helluva lot better.

They’re sitting on the cream-colored Italian leather couch in an exclusive private salon of Kingswood Stones & Designs. She’s in a calf-length white dress that reminds me of a bridal gown…or maybe the flowing skirt Giselle wore in that tragic ballet. Her midnight hair is looped into an elegant chignon, revealing the delicate line of her neck, and her sky-blue eyes are downcast as she studies the designs spread out on the table before her. Only diamonds adorn her, two studs in her ears and a single solitaire on her ring finger. The latter is too plain—almost thoughtless, the kind a man picks up as a performative gesture. He should’ve at least made the effort to get her a starburst setting, possibly with a round yellow twenty-carat stone in the center with the smaller stones in a matching shade. Nothing less would be worthy of her.

Her fiancé, Tyler, is barely paying attention to the designs—or her, something I simply can’t fathom. If she were sitting next to me, I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything but her.

He probably came straight from the office. Clean-shaven, his sandy brown hair slicked back with a bit too much wax. His pinstripe navy suit is off the rack but altered to fit him properly. His tie is done in an Eldredge knot, probably to appear dashing. But it’s badly done, just making him look gauche. He apparently works at some private wealth management firm. Nothing prestigious like OWM, though—he’s the type who’d brag if he worked for someone like Gavin Lloyd.

Just what does Olivia see in him? Tyler’s a slightly less greasy and far poorer version of Gordon Gekko from Wall Street. Okay, he’s younger, but what else does he have going for him? What’s so special that Olivia chose him out of all the men she could have had, including me?

“So what do you think about this one?” Olivia asks, pointing at one of the five design sketches for their wedding jewelry.

His eyes barely move from his phone. “Yeah, I guess that’s fine.”

Her gaze flickers with resignation and hurt at his dismissive tone. The corners of her mouth droop, like wilted flowers.

Bastard. What’s so important when she’s asking him a question? Whatever he’s looking at can’t be about work—not with that little smirk on his face.

I surreptitiously push the tray of Belgian truffles toward her, hoping a chocolate will soothe her. Every time she had a complicated problem at Stanford, she’d frown and pop a piece of chocolate into her mouth. And soon the tension in her forehead would ease, and she’d smile.

“I think that ruby in the center looks too small.” Olivia taps the stone on the draft. “It’s going to look like an error rather than something done on purpose, especially with so many diamonds around it.”

Tyler’s eyes are still glued to the screen. “Uh-huh.”

My hands curl and uncurl. I itch to snatch his phone and throw it across the room. Except that would be considered rude and uncalled for, especially when Olivia isn’t objecting to his behavior. But Kingswood Stones & Designs is my domain, damn it. And Olivia is—

The door to the salon bursts open, and a bottle-blonde with slightly dark roots barges in. “Hey, everyone!”

My assistant rushes in, pursuing the blonde. “I’m sorry! She just ran right past me—”

“It’s fine! I’m family!” The unforgettably annoying voice belongs to Brielle, Olivia’s half-sister. She’s in a tight crop top and a leather skirt with a side slit all the way to her upper thigh. She has very few manners and even less class. The kind of woman my grandmother looks down on. If it weren’t for the Hermès bag in her hand, she’d look like a streetwalker who stumbled into the wrong store.

I signal my flustered assistant to back off, and then make a shooing motion. She reluctantly retreats, shutting the door behind her with a glare.

“Brielle, what are you doing here?” Olivia asks. Her tone is guarded but holds just enough politeness to stop me from evicting the interloper myself.

Brielle struts across the floor, her eyes on Olivia’s. A small smirk, still the same as all those years ago, curls her lips. “Hey, sis, you forgot your favorite lipstick.” She hands Olivia a silver tube.

Olivia takes it and glances at the bottom. “I don’t wear red.”

“Well, maybe you should.” Brielle smiles, showing off her own bright red lips. “Men love red.”

Not this man.

She perches next to Tyler and places her crimson-nailed hand on his shoulder. “What do you think, Tyler? Don’t you think red looks great?”

“Depends.” His eyes crinkle. “But that shade is stunning.”

Depends. He sounds like an adult diaper commercial. But then he has shitty taste, so I guess that makes sense. Plus, his eyes are the color of fresh dog poo—brown, dull, and disgusting.

Just what does Olivia see in him?

Brielle grins. “That’s why I put on this particular shade! I knew you’d like it.”