Chapter 11: Liars Like Us: Chapter 11

After the girls leave, I conduct three hours of forensic research on Callum on the internet, but still don’t have a solid view of who he is or what makes him tick. There’s only so much information about a person’s character you can glean from articles about charity donations and business mergers, product lines and expansion plans.

One thing I find peculiar is that in all the articles written about his family and their business, none includes a first-person account.

Not a single McCord has ever gone on the record about anything.

They don’t speak to the press. They don’t grant interviews. They smile for the cameras as they come and go from various parties and functions, but they never stop to chat with the photographers or reporters who call their names.

I mull over what he said to me at the restaurant about being good at keeping secrets.

“With the position my family is in, we never know who we can trust. So we don’t trust anyone.”

It would be impossible for the CEO of a publicly-traded firm to avoid commenting on the state of the company like that, but the privately-owned McCord Media isn’t beholden to shareholders for reports.

They run their multibillion-dollar international empire in total silence.

Half of me admires that.

The other half wonders what they’ve got to hide.

When I finish data mining the internet, I review Callum’s contract.

There’s a lot of confusing technical legalese and Latin terms that I have to google, in addition to long passages concerning marital assets and financial arrangements. But the section that really grabs my attention is one ominously titled Irrevocability.

Boiled down, it says that the terms of the contract can’t be voided after marriage, nor can they be challenged or changed by either party for any reason.

I suppose I could view it as an advantage. Callum couldn’t back out on his financial promises to me, which is the only reason I’m entertaining the idea of this wacko deal.

On the other hand, there’s something scary about that word.

Irrevocable.

It’s disturbingly permanent.

The other odd thing is that there’s no mention of what happens in the event of a divorce. I’m no expert on prenups, but it seems to me that’s their main purpose.

As I sit at my desk pondering that, my cell phone rings. Distracted, I answer.

“Hello, darling,” says Callum, his voice throaty. “What do you think of the paperwork?”

I groan in exasperation. “Stop calling me darling. And could you give me more than five minutes to go over it, please?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not familiar with all this legal terminology. I’ve got to find an attorney who’ll work for bookmarks to help me understand it all.”

“No, I meant why do you want me to stop calling you darling?”

I lean back in my desk chair, close my eyes, and rub my temple. “Please try not to aggravate me already. It’s only been ten seconds. And by the way, where’s all the stuff about what happens in the event we divorce? I think you forgot a few pages.”

“Nothing was forgotten.”

I frown. “Then why isn’t it in here?”

“Because there won’t be a divorce.”

I wait for him to laugh and tell me he’s joking, but I should’ve known better. Callum McCord isn’t a man who makes jokes. Which is probably because he doesn’t think anything is funny.

Except me, when I’m telling him I haven’t thought about having sex with him.

“You sound pretty confident, there, billionaire.”

“I am.”

“Pardon me for saying so, but that’s just dumb.”

“There aren’t any clauses about abuse or adultery either. Can you guess why?”

“I see where you’re going with that, but your logic is all wrong. Just because you leave something out of a contract doesn’t mean it won’t happen. Contracts are supposed to provide for all the contingencies, not pretend they don’t exist.”

In an amused drawl, he says, “I see. I didn’t realize you were such an expert.”

“Don’t get sassy. I’ve got that covered for both of us. Let’s go back to the part about abuse and adultery.”

“What about them?”

I think of his intensity and the way he always has to stop to control himself when he’s riled up in that unnerving way of his. “For starters, are you violent?”

His voice drops an octave. “Violence is a part of human nature.”

I scoff. “Nice sidestep, billionaire. You just made me think you’re a wife beater. Try again.”

“I’m not a wife beater.”

He’s telling me what I want to hear, but somehow, it’s still unsatisfying. “But you’ve never had a wife.”

“Not yet, I haven’t.”

“Hold on, now I’m even more confused! Just tell me the truth. Do you smack women around or not?”

“No. Of course not. If I did, every news outlet in the world would’ve reported on it.”

He makes a good point. Plus, that little huff of disbelief he made right before he answered was genuine. I can tell when he thinks I’m being ridiculous just by the tone of his exhalation.

It’s like we’re married already.

“I want sections about abuse and adultery.”

“Why? Are you planning on beating me and cheating with the gardener, darling?”

Gritting my teeth, I say, “I can say with confidence that I won’t cheat with the gardener, darling, but on the matter of beating you, the jury is still out.”

I hear a noise that could be muffled laughter. Then he comes back on, sounding cool and composed. “All right. I’ll have sections regarding abuse and adultery included. Anything else?”

“Yes. I want you to hire my best friend’s husband to work for your company.”

“Done. Next?”

I blink in surprise. “Don’t you even want to know what he does?”

“I don’t care what he does. We’ll find a position for him. And we’ll pay him double his former salary.”

That’s too important to go unchallenged. “Oh, yeah? What if he was making a million a year?”

Callum sighs.

“Okay, fine, he wasn’t making a million a year. I just don’t understand how you can promise to hire someone you don’t know anything about.”

In a hot, dark voice, he says, “Because my wife asked me to. And I’ll give her anything she wants.”

I sit there breathing unevenly and marveling at the gymnastics my heart is doing inside my chest, until he prompts, “Are you still there?”

“Most of me. My brain went on vacation.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe I’ll give you whatever you want?”

I laugh. “Gee, I don’t know. All the handsome rich guys who propose marriage to me over oysters say the same thing.”

His tone sharpens. “Handsome?”

“Oh God. Here we go again.”

“Don’t sound so disgusted.”

“Why must you always be hunting for compliments from me? Isn’t having every other woman in the world constantly slobbering over you enough?”

The silence that follows is electric. Then, in a voice both soft and dangerous, he says, “No. I don’t care what other women think of me. Because they’re not you.”

Damn, he’s good at that. I swallow nervously and fidget in my chair. “I have something to say.”

“You can just say it. You don’t have to make an announcement first.”

His reply is imperious. If only I could reach through the phone and strangle him.

“There’s no need to try to dazzle me with the whole sexy smoke show. I’m under no illusions that this arrangement is anything other than a business deal, so you don’t have to flirt.”

Another electric pause. We’re really starting to rack them up in this conversation.

“Emery.”

“Yes, Callum?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

I groan and slump over on the desk, pressing my forehead to the wood.

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, that was the sum of my feelings about the question.”

“Do you?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”

“Why not? It’s a perfectly reasonable thing for a husband to ask his wife.”

“Yeah, except we’re not husband and wife yet!”

He pounces on that like a tiger, saying slyly, “Yet?”

I sit upright and glare at the poster of the actor Sam Heughan as Jamie Fraser in the television version of Outlander hanging on the wall across from my desk.

“You know what we need to put into this contract? A section about mental health care. Because if I were to marry you, I’d need massive therapy on an ongoing basis to deal with the strain of being married to such a pain in the ass.”

He chuckles. “That’s another thing we have in common.”

I say flatly, “Put in a clause about murder being an acceptable way for me to end the marriage.”

“Darling,” he purrs, “you’re so adorable when you’re angry.”

“Stop being flirty. And stop calling me darling! It drives me mad!”

“I know it does. Why do you think I do it?”

“You know what? My blood pressure can’t handle any more of this conversation. I’ll call you back when I’ve stopped plotting ways to hide your dead body.”

I disconnect, toss my phone onto the desk, and sit there seething until the urge to dismember a certain cocky billionaire passes.

Which is exactly when Callum calls again. His timing is uncanny.

I pick up with a terse, “What?”

He snickers. “You forgot to tell me you love me before you hung up.”

I close my eyes and grip the phone so hard, it’s a miracle the case doesn’t shatter.

“All right, I’ll be serious. Are you listening?”

I mutter, “Unfortunately, yes.”

“There’s nothing in the contract about divorce because if you agree to marry me, you also agree to never leave me.”

“I want to leave every time I spend more than ten minutes with you. How am I supposed to promise I’ll stay with you forever?”

“Simple.”

When he doesn’t continue, I say, “Waiting over here in nail-biting suspense, Hitchcock.”

“Because you’re going to make a vow,” he says softly. “A very serious vow that includes the words ‘Until death do us part.’ And every time you think about leaving me, you’ll remember those words and that vow, and it will stop you.”

“I hate to break the news to you, but thousands of other couples make the same vow every day all around the world, and they end up getting a divorce later.”

“We’re not like other people. Our marriage won’t be like theirs either.”

He says that as if it’s written in stone, like some bearded guy in robes descended from a mountaintop carrying a granite tablet with the words engraved on the front.

I demand, “What exactly makes you think we’re so different from everyone else? I don’t even know you! No, be quiet, that wasn’t an invitation to speak. Now listen, Callum, I’m trying my best to take you seriously and not call the nearest asylum to try to get you committed, but you have to work with me here. Stop playing around with me and be straight.”

“If you insist.”

“I do!”

“Then here it is. I’m going to give you ten million dollars to do with as you wish. Ten million dollars. In return, you’ll marry me and give me your word you’ll never leave me. I require a wife to get my inheritance. If I divorce, that inheritance goes away. That’s it. That’s the bottom line. Everything else is just details.”

“So your father’s going to keep this inheritance thing hanging over your head forever, huh?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t tell me that before.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“What else have you been leaving out?”

He sighs heavily.

“We might as well put it all on the table now. You can’t expect me to make an informed decision if I don’t know where all the skeletons are buried.”

“You know what I find interesting?”

I mutter, “I can hardly wait to hear.”

“Aside from your caustic under-the-breath comments, of course, is that you have any hesitation at all.”

I laugh long and loud at that. “Gee, love yourself much?”

His voice hardens. “You misunderstand. This isn’t about me. It’s about the current position you’re in. It’s about the state of your life. Or should I say, the sad state of it. I’ve known felons with better prospects than you.”

I grimace at the poster of Jamie Fraser. He smolders back at me, all Scottish and heroic. He’d never been such a dick.

“Wow, that was cutthroat, billionaire. I see you’ve been sharpening your knives.”

Callum breezes right past that. “I also find it fascinating that if you find me so narcissistic, arrogant, and irritating, why you don’t simply ask to have separate bedrooms so you won’t be bothered by my presence at all.”

Strangely deflated by the idea, I sit slowly back in my chair. “Separate bedrooms?” I repeat uncertainly.

“I told you I’d give you whatever you wanted. All you need to do is ask.”

He’s giving me an out on the sex thing. I can’t decide if that’s what I wanted or not.

Wait, does that mean I’m supposed to be celibate for the rest of my life just to pay my bills?

I’m outraged until I remember that he’s not the one asking me to be celibate. He’s saying I can have whatever I want, including separate bedrooms if I decide he’s too aggravating to fuck.

I should test him.

“What if I asked to have a boyfriend on the side?”

“As I said, you can have anything you want. As long as you were extremely discreet, of course.”

There’s an unfamiliar edge to his voice that I can’t identify, but he sounds sincere. More testing is in order to be sure.

I make my tone flippant. “I guess we don’t need that adultery clause after all.”

“Then I won’t have the attorney include it.”

His answer is crisp and businesslike, and I’m completely unsatisfied with all of it. What kind of man wouldn’t care if his wife found herself a boyfriend?

A man who doesn’t love his wife, that’s who.

We’ve arrived at the biggest catch in the whole scenario.

If I marry him, my future will be free of financial worry, but also devoid of love. There won’t be any hand-holding or romantic dinners, no date nights, inside jokes, or special songs. I’ll be entering into a business agreement that will solve every one of my problems, with the price of admission being loneliness.

Which, let’s be honest, I already am.

Except I could cry in my Lamborghini instead of my beat-up Volkswagen, which sounds a lot better.

I sit thinking for a moment, until Callum’s patience comes to an end. He growls, “Emery!”

“Oh, hang on to your hat, Cal. I’m thinking.”

A dangerous noise rumbles through his chest. “What did I tell you about calling me that?”

“Something I ignored, obviously. So would you have girlfriends on the side too?”

He hesitates. “I think it’s best if we adopted a don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy about that. Just to keep things businesslike.”

I say tartly, “Then I guess you won’t be calling me darling after the wedding. You’ll save that for your girlfriends.”

“Is that a tone of jealousy I detect?”

“No, of course not.”

Translated, that means yes, definitely. I’m giving myself whiplash over here. I’m about to set a personal record for number of lies in one conversation.

“You can rely on me to be discreet. I have no desire to embarrass you publicly, nor do I wish to cause any problems that might endanger my inheritance. As long as we conduct ourselves with respect for the other, we’ll have no problems. Quite frankly, I think the arrangement is ideal for us both.”

He sounds so confident. So clearheaded and logical, as if this whole thing makes perfect sense, and I’m the one being unreasonable with all my silly questions and concerns.

It makes me crazy, but if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit…

Maybe I am being unreasonable.

He’s offering me everything I could want. Money, power, protection, a way to fix everything that’s broken in my life and start over again. Not only for me, but for everyone I love.

Business? Saved.

Lawsuit? Settled.

Huge tax bill? Paid.

Dani and Ryan moving? Canceled.

My employees’ problems caused by being out of work? Solved.

He’s offering me a magic wand that would make all my problems disappear with one wave.

Bottom line, what he’s really offering is salvation.

And never again would I have to deal with the anguish of heartbreak like I did with Ben. Never again would I get my hopes up and invest all my time and energy like I did with my two boyfriends before him before having my heart trampled when they left.

Never again would I get so horribly hurt.

I look at the papers spread over my desk, think hard about what I really want, and realize there’s one important thing we haven’t discussed that isn’t in the contract.

“What about kids? Don’t you want a family?”

“Do you?”

“No, I’m asking you. And I want you to be honest with me. This is important.”

The silence that follows is long and loud. It makes me nervous. Finally, his voice strangely hollow, he says, “No.”

“Oh.”

“Your turn.”

A wild mix of emotions rages through me. Thinking, I draw a slow breath and sit back in the chair as I fiddle with the edge of a page of the contract.

When I’ve gathered my thoughts, I say, “The truth is, I just always assumed I’d be a mom. I assumed I’d have time to think about it later. But I’m thirty now, so it’s technically later. And if my own relationship history is any indicator, finding a father who’d stick around to raise his kids would be a miracle. I’d be better off going to a sperm bank. But I know how difficult being a single mother is, especially when finances are tight.”

When I pause, I hear him breathing shallowly. I think I can feel his tension, too, the way he’s hanging on every word, but I know that’s only my imagination.

“Both my parents are gone. I’m an only child. The only real family I have is Dani and the people who work with me here at Lit Happens. They’re what matters to me most, not some possible future baby who doesn’t even exist.”

As I speak those words, something crystallizes inside me.

These people I love, this family I’ve created and cherish above everything…I can help them. I can help them all.

But only if I marry Callum.

And let’s be real. He can’t force me to stay married to him. If it turns out to be a nightmare, I’ll call one of those celebrity divorce attorneys. This town is so full of them, they’re hanging from the palm trees.

I take a deep breath, then release it along with the last of my hesitation.

“Okay, billionaire. You’ve got yourself a wife.”