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She’s like a witch, changing the weather with her moods. The embodiment of Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons.”
She eats one piece at a time, examining each for God knows what before gently placing it on her tongue and sucking it into her mouth. Tantalizing and adorable at once. “I guess it could be worse. At least you don’t smoke.”
Snatching the candy bag back, I dig for the reds. “I used to. The candy replaced it.”
She hums in thought. “What made you quit?”
“Someone strongly encouraged me to do so.”
Her eyes dart to mine, glacial now. “Someone important to you?”
“Very.” Truth.
And the truth flips a switch.
Her face and neck flush crimson, rage lurking beneath her creamy skin. Those icy-blue eyes shoot jealous daggers. It’s the damn Arctic in here now. I could tell her it’s not what she’s thinking, but I’d hate to bepresumptuous. She labeled me as such at the pub. Better, and a bit more entertaining, to let her stew in spite of the frigid air.
“Anyway,” she barks, “moving on. Did you sign the prenup?” A growl follows—a quiet yet unmistakablegrowl.
Christ, she’s fascinating—a one-woman amusement park. But I will not finish that thought because it’s too …Liam.
Instead, I swallow the strawberry-candy juice and pull out the papers we need, placing them in front of her. “I did. My lawyers added two clauses which require your signature though.”
She studies the first highlighted passage, awestruck gaze searching me. “If you don’t hold up your end of the agreement, I receiveten million dollars? Why would you add that?”
Because I need you to trust me. Quickly.“Insurance.”
“For whom? Me?Youwant to insureme?”
“Yes. There’s insurance for me already with you needing to stay for five years in order to receive your inheritance.” Not that she’ll be going anywhere after that, but if all goes right, she won’t want to by then.
“And if I stay after the five years?” she inquires.
Interesting. Perceptive or hopeful?
A broad smile climbs over my cheeks. “Then, you’ll have your money and all of mine, so it won’t matter.” Win-win.
“And vice versa,” she snarks, but she’s got it all wrong. Her money isn’t what’s valuable.
“I needyou, Little Storm. Not your money.”
She nods, stumped and silent, so I flip the page and point to another section of the document. “There’s also theothermatter my lawyers added.”
She reads over the section. “I have to adhere to all safety protocols put forth by you?” Her brows knit into a tense wrinkle. “What does that mean?”
Not expecting this to land well, I roll up my sleeves in prep for the heat. “You’ll be under my protection at all times. Guarded.”
“Okay, like a tail?” She tilts her head in thought, surveying a red Skittle and plopping it onto her tongue. “My father was paranoid too and often had security detail keep tabs on me, so I’m used to that. No worries.”
It wasn’t nearly enough for my peace of mind.
“This is a step up from that. I don’t trust many people, so one of the four of us will be with you at all times.”
Her chin jolts up, squinted eyes trained on me. “So”—she clenches her fists with a huff—“you’re saying I canneverbe alone now? For the next five years?”
The sugar-high isn’t going to cut it for this discussion. I reach into my other bottom desk drawer and grab the bottle of Macallan and a glass, pouring myself three fingers’ worth—no rocks, but desperate times, desperate measures. And this elaboration will amount to that. “You can have as much alone time as necessary within the house.”
A howl of laughter gushes out of her, bordering on maniacal. “And in the yard?”
