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I put a hand to my forehead, trying to assimilate this information. It was terrible because it made sense. I didn't like the fact that it made sense. I'd wanted her to tell me that this contract was a complete joke and that there was no way it would be enforceable. That way I could have just married Waters, then divorced him, taken his money, and saved my mother. Unfortunately, that didn't seem like it was going to happen.
On the other hand, even with her encouragement, I was still hesitant. Fuck Anton Waters? Sure. Date him? From what I'd seen, a couple of really expensive dinners would be fun to get, but not much else. Marry him? God no. I wasn't naive. I didn't think marriage had to be for your one true love, but marrying for something other than love left a bad taste in my mouth. I must be a secret romantic. Who knew?
But what choice did I have?
I sighed. "Thanks for your time," I told her.
She looked surprised. "You don't want me to go over the contract with you?"
"Will that cost more than the free consultation?" I asked her. "Because I don't do anything but free so well."
Her eyes crinkled. "Oh, I'm sure I could go over it and even make some changes that you'd probably find useful, pro bono. Of course, I'd expect you to recommend me to your friends. And if anyone asks, drop my name as your prenup consultant."
"Wow," I said. "That's... uh..."
"No problem," she said airily. "It'll be great for my business." She fixed me with a sharp eye. "And if you marry Anton Waters, get used to that sort of proposition." She sat up and pushed the contract across the desk, flipping to the second page. "Now, here's the section about separate property..."
*
By the time I got home and had a shower, I was full of vim and vinegar and ready to take on the world, and Anton Waters in particular. I wasn't going to take any of this lying down. Wrapped in my threadbare bathrobe with a Hello Kitty towel smothering my wet hair, I called Empire Capital and demanded to speak to Anton Waters.
This didn't go over so well, until I remembered that I was apparently a VIP in the Empire empire and gave my name.
"Oh!" The poor receptionist sounded like she was going to have a very peppy heart attack, and I felt bad. But not very. She was part of the Evil Empire. She was the enemy. "Yes! Of course, Miss Dare!" The phone line clicked and my ears were flooded with baroque music. It lasted only a few moments before Arthur's voice came on the line.
"I'm so sorry, Miss Dare," he said smoothly, "but Mr. Waters is out of the office. Let me give you his private cell so you may reach him."
"I... oh." I was taken aback. I'd worked as a receptionist before, and let me tell you, in some places giving out someone's private cell number is tantamount to committing ritual hari kiri in the workplace. If you wanted to fast-track yourself to getting fired, give out a private cell number. The only explanation that I could come up with was that Waters had left specific instructions to give his number to me if I called.
Unnerved, I wrote down the number, thanked Arthur, and hung up.
Having to call a second number was less exciting than the first call. The courage I'd mustered from my meeting with my lawyer—and I had to give it to my father, being able to say 'my lawyer' was pretty exhilarating—was fast dwindling. Hearing the lower-level monkeys at Empire Capital—my sort of people—chirp excitedly at me did not help.
With a gulp, I dialed Anton's number, turned on the speaker, and put the phone out of reach so I wouldn't accidentally hang up, take a taxi to the airport, and buy a one-way ticket to Belize. After only two rings, the phone clicked, and his rich, deep voice answered: “Waters.”
For a moment I was tongue-tied. All the things I'd meant to say got tangled up and I couldn't sort through them fast enough to decide which I should start with. The silence got longer and longer. I knew this tactic. He was waiting on the other end of the line, waiting for the person who called him to fill up the silence. He was Anton Waters. He didn't have to talk if he didn't want to, and he certainly wasn't going to waste precious words asking someone something twice.
“Why is everyone at your company so nice to me?” I finally blurted. Hey, it was better than nothing.
“Ah, Miss Dare,” he said. “I was wondering when you would call.”
Uuuuuugh. He was such a twat. Such a movie-cliche twat. And I wanted to fuck him really badly, and I might actually maybe perhaps marry him. I should have gone to a shrink instead of a lawyer.
“That's nice,” I said. “Why is everyone so nice to me?”
“I told them we may be getting married,” he said.
I couldn't hold in my indignant shout. “What?” I hadn't even told my closest friends, and he'd probably sent out a company-wide memo about it.
“It wouldn't be good for their health if they found out after the fact,” he said. “Katy, my front desk receptionist, already called Arthur yesterday and apologized for being rude to you when you first walked in. I gather she was very contrite.”
It took me a moment to realize what he was referring to. “Oh. Well,” I said awkwardly, “I wasn't really dressed for visiting.” The only place my work clothes were fit for visiting was a street corner, and even then I'd need a nice cardboard sign to complete the ensemble. Will make poor life decisions for food.
Nervously I fidgeted with the towel I had wrapped around my head. Hearing his voice, even this pale imitation over my cell phone speakers, was bringing back memories of yesterday, when he cornered me in his office and pressed me against the wall.
My cheeks heated. Don't think about that! I commanded myself.
“Have you given any further thought to my offer?” he asked, which made it hard not to think about. Almost absently the hand toying with the towel on my head drifted down to the hot space between my thighs and began toying with that instead.
