Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 847(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
After all, I couldn’t drag the money into Hell with me in a Louis Vuitton carry-on.
I added, as an afterthought, “The less I see of you, the better. No offense.”
“None taken.” She regarded me. “I have money, but…” she trailed off.
“But not my level of money. I dug into your finances during the background check.” I produced my phone and pulled up my contract app, setting the device on the table. “You come from a family of six with most of the inheritance passing down to your brothers. I’ll give you assets in the neighborhood of twenty million, but you’ll sign an iron-clad prenup.”
“Of course. And it will include some of my own conditions regarding my lifestyle budget and charities of choice.”
“Agreed on principle, subject to changes and fine print. My wife must be appointed to the boards of some companies I own.”
“The time commitment?”
“Three hours per week.”
“I want compensation for my time in the form of an apartment of my choosing in Shanghai.”
“Done.”
Another pause.
If this was everything Dad wanted for me, why did it feel fundamentally wrong?
“I want no more than two children. Three is too many and might interfere with my career.” She cocked her head to the side, studying the ceiling as if trying to fleece every demand she could think of from her brain. “And a wet nurse for each child. Up to twenty-four months. I refuse to raise IQ-deficient idiots.”
“Not a problem, so long as we split custody if you plan to continue practicing in New York.”
Mom would want to see her grandchildren on a regular basis. And that would tear her attention away from me.
Two birds. One stone.
Plus, I still held on to stupid hope that Dad wanted me to have a family for a reason that didn’t include saddling me with unnecessary bills, headaches, and sleep deprivation.
“This sounds acceptable enough.” Eileen inspected my face, possibly for signs that I’d run out the door. The only person I wanted out the door was her. “And… you’re sure you’ll be okay with this arrangement?” She tapped her knee again. Tap, tap, tap. “That you won’t suddenly decide you want love and teddy bears and all that nonsense. My sister says every man ends up only wanting one thing. Se—”
“Money,” I finished for her. “The rest of life’s vices bore me. I won’t change my mind.”
“That reminds me—separate beds?”
“Separate wings.”
“Am I really that unattractive to you?”
“It’s not you, Eileen. It’s me.”
Actually, it’s you, too. For being my mental clone. I already have sex with myself. It’s called masturbation.
Silence engulfed us.
With nothing more to discuss, I stood, brushing away wrinkles on my trousers. Eileen mirrored me, rising to her full height.
I imagined I’d one day resent the way she wore her lips—pursed in the shape of an asshole—because her expression was eternally sour.
I saved the contract draft on my app, eager to escort her off the premises. “I’ll have my people contact yours for further negotiations and instructions.”
“I don’t have any people.” She air-quoted the word with her fingers. “But yours can reach me on my cell. How about we shake on it?”
And then, without an ounce of consideration for how nauseating her touch was, she forced her hand into mine and gave it a firm, wet, hot squeeze.
Immediately, acid churned in my stomach.
I stood frozen for a moment, stunned and appalled, my gaze pinned hard on the spot where our flesh connected.
My arm had gone slack, my hand limp in hers.
I hated how pathetic I looked.
How pathetic I felt.
My mouth hooked into the shape of a scream, but nothing came out.
Let go of me.
Stop touching me.
Just fucking leave.
Bile traveled up my throat.
I swallowed it down, everything rigid except the arm she’d taken.
The contract. The marriage. The promise. I wanted to forget them all. To wash away my entire encounter with this inconsiderate imbecile.
But Dad.
Dad, Dad, Dad.
All my effort concentrated on waiting for Eileen to withdraw her hand first instead of jerking it away.
When she finally did, I nearly keeled over with nausea. The whole thing lasted less than two seconds but felt like an entire day.
Eileen pressed her thumb onto a cluster of mooncake crumbs she’d spilled on her dress, sprinkling them into her unfinished teacup without a care in the world.
Then, she reached into her wallet and fished out a business card from its depths, pressing it into my hand again.
More touching.
Great.
“Call me.”
“Argh.” My throat clogged up with a scream. I could not produce actual words. “Leave.”
Not exactly polite but the most I could manage.
“Sure. I’ll show myself out.” Eileen’s eyes ping-ponged between me and the conservatory door, as attuned to my misery as a prostate exam. “I’ll send you some Shanghai apartments via email. Please be sure to star me as a primary contact.”
My fingers curled into a fist, the unmistakable burn of human flesh spreading across my skin where she’d touched.