Page 21 of The Contract Marriage

You can take all the advantage you want. But I keep that to myself, since she can’t stop turning the ugly ring on her finger, the gesture growing quicker and jerkier. “I can get a different lawyer,” I say.

She shakes her head. “No. I’ll get a new one.”

“But you like and trust Prescott, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“So keep him. There are plenty of lawyers for me to choose from.”

Gratitude glimmers in her eyes. “Okay. But promise me you’ll get a shark mean enough to take a bite out of Prescott.”

“Deal,” I say calmly, even though my heart drums a beat of triumph in my ears.

Chapter Eight

Liam

Samantha Jones is the kind of lawyer who doesn’t sleep or believe in time off. She has a letter of engagement ready on Sunday for me to sign, and is gearing up to face off with Prescott Huxley in his own domain on Monday at one like it’s every day she goes after one of the top lawyers in the state, if not the country.

Her dirty blond bob is cut asymmetrically to show off the lean lines of her even features. She isn’t classically beautiful, but there’s a piercing intelligence in her brown eyes that makes it difficult to look away. The black jumpsuit and heels are funereal—not hers, of course, but her opponent’s. The woman radiates an energy that says, “I kill, therefore I am.” There’s a reason so many celebs hire her to fuck up their spouses when love has vanished faster than extra arm flab on Ozempic.

Huxley & Webber’s building soars up from the middle of downtown like a physical manifestation of the firm’s ambition. A sharply dressed receptionist smiles at the sight of us. “Good afternoon, Liam. Samantha. You’ll be in the Victory Conference Room. This way, please.”

She leads us across the floor, cutting through the buzzing activity of over-caffeinated associates, all clean-cut, all in crisp suits and all serious, firm in their belief they too will one day become a name partner, just like Prescott or Jeremiah.

Olivia is already inside. My heart rate picks up as her presence washes over me. The teary vulnerability is gone, replaced by a cool façade that hides everything from the world. It’s understandable that she doesn’t want to wear her heart on her sleeve, but does she have to be so guarded all the time? Regardless, I’m grateful I ran into her on Saturday and managed to put a smile on her face.

And to have this opportunity.

She’s pulled her hair back into a low ponytail and put on minimal makeup, just some lip gloss that makes her mouth plump and pink. The fitted pastel-pink dress suits her better than the pale white one from Saturday. Although the latter was pretty, it made her look too fragile and helpless.

The Olivia I know is feminine and strong, kind and wickedly smart. A woman who found the time and energy to help re-home rescue dogs while juggling calculus and Black-Scholes in college can’t be as cold-hearted as the mask she wears.

I shift my eyes to Prescott on her left. With still-thick dark hair, the man doesn’t look old enough to have fathered three sons, one of whom is a junior partner at the firm. His wide-set gray eyes take in me and Samantha impassively. A Musashino suit wraps around him like fine armor. Must be a gift from his zaibatsu wife. I wanted to have one made when I was in Japan a couple of years ago, but it was impossible to get an introduction.

My dealings with him are minimal. He and his sister stay largely separate within the firm, although Silas says that they argue about all sorts of obscure legal points all the time.

But the man on her right—he’s someone I’ve never seen before. An off-the-rack navy suit but well-cropped, slicked-back hair. His nails are neatly trimmed, and he taps his tablet a few times before lifting his head. The man would hint at efficiency and discretion, if it weren’t for his dark—and narrowed—eyes scrutinizing me as though I stole his girlfriend and his dog.

What’s that about?

“Hello, Liam,” Olivia says.

My mouth dries; nerves jitter. Although we’re in the lawyers’ office with a contract between us, nothing’s set in stone until signatures are on the paper.

I want so badly for this marriage to go through. “Hi.” I point to my right. “Samantha Jones. My attorney.”

Samantha extends a hand, pumps it hard. Olivia gives as good as she gets, gauging my lawyer. She glances at Prescott. He nods. “Sam’s pretty good.”

“‘Pretty good’?” A corner of Samantha’s mouth quirks. “I’m awesome.”

Prescott’s eyes half-mast briefly, and there might be the hint of a smile before his mouth flattens again.

“Who’s this?” Samantha gestures at the unknown man.

“Simon Voss,” Olivia says. “My assistant. I came from an off-site meeting, so he came along. He’s discreet.”

“NDA,” Prescott adds flatly.