Contractually Yours: Chapter 7

Two days after I meet Sebastian in his office, my chauffeur James drives me to Gion Shiyaki for our lunch date. Bianca is sitting next to me and unloading all her concerns.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Her dark eyes dart back and forth between me and the windshield. On her ears are the diamonds I gave her for her last birthday.

I smile to reassure her. “I’ll be fine.”

She raises an eyebrow and makes a vaguely skeptical noise. She knows me, probably better than I know myself. We grew up together, ever since her dad started working for Mom as a chauffeur when we were babies. Went to the same schools all the way up through college. My mom and grandfather paid for her private tuition because they wanted me to have a friend I could count on.

Bianca’s been that and so much more. I don’t know how I would’ve managed everything that’s been going on with Roderick and Peery Diamonds without her. She even got into an I’m going to scratch your eyeballs out fight with Vonnie when we were in high school because she tried to sleep with my boyfriend.

Bianca slides an impeccably manicured hand along her black chignon. It’s something she does when she’s unhappy about a situation. She was shaking mad when I told her what I discovered when I walked into the suite in Barcelona. If I hadn’t told her I needed somebody to hold me, she might’ve driven to Preston’s place and run him over with her car.

Which would’ve been a shame. She just bought her dream car—a pretty silver Mercedes coupe—and getting blood all over it would have been terrible.

“I don’t like any of this,” she says finally. “Sebastian Lasker is a capital-J jerk.”

“He doesn’t want to marry me. So his attitude is understandable.”

“But ignoring my request for an appointment for over a week, then treating you like that in front of his assistant?”

“He didn’t know he was on speaker. I’m sure he was chagrined about that.” But he clearly doesn’t care about my feelings. He couldn’t have made it more obvious that he hates me and this arrangement.

“And he was seen with his girlfriend immediately after you went to see him! You know he did that on purpose!” Bianca rages, her hands clenched.

“I know, I know.” Google Alert sent me links to the photos of the two. They looked amazing together. Gabriella Ricci is a stunning woman, gorgeous enough to grace Sebastian’s arm. She pressed her breasts against his arm with a sexy smile, and he dipped his head and whispered something in her ear, the picture of a loving boyfriend.

She must be the woman he loves, the one he has to give up to marry me. The thought lances me with an abrupt force that leaves me breathless for a moment.

“Based on how obnoxious and rude he’s been, he’s going to stand you up and do everything he can to humiliate you,” Bianca adds.

“He won’t,” I say, although I’m not so sure. I texted him the lunch date details, but he never responded. In case he thought my messages were spam, I told him it was me, but still nothing. I know he read them. Maybe he wants to be difficult and contrary, just like he was when I visited him.

If he stands me up, he stands me up, I tell myself, even as dismay wriggles its way to my heart at the possibility. I’m not going to let it bother me too much as long as he shows up for the wedding. He wouldn’t be the first person to humiliate me. Lots of people have, and I’ve stopped expecting anything better, even though a part of me is extra-disappointed at the thought of him doing it.

He was so nice to me in Paris. Showed me what I needed to do to fight.

And I am going to fight. Once I get Roderick out of the way, I’m going to pour all my energy into getting the Sebastian Peery collaboration launched. I need something to show the board at the next shareholders’ meeting that I have what it takes to keep my position as CEO. Some of the board members, especially those from Nesovia, are going to be nervous that Roderick will no longer “manage” me. They might even try to replace me with somebody else—someone with a penis, of course.

“Even if he does come, he’s still too old for you,” Bianca grouses.

“He’s only nine years older.”

“Nine years more insulting.”

“He’s just busy.”

“So busy that he had you buy your own flowers?” She snorts. “I can’t believe I spent five hundred dollars of your money on a bouquet. A bouquet that’s only going to make him look good. So annoying. He should pay for his own PR.”

I pat her hand. “You know what’s at stake.” Bianca can be hotheaded, and I don’t want her to be overly antagonistic toward Sebastian, since both of them will be in my life.

“He’s getting Sebastian Jewelry for marrying you.” The subtext is clearly he should be grateful to you.

“And I’m getting my life back.” I smile and lay a hand on her forearm. “Look, I know what I’m doing. I promise.”

“If you’re sure. But I swear, he’s not the guy I would’ve wanted for you. I was relieved when Preston was willing and able.” Suddenly she sighs. “Sorry. I’m totally not defending that cheating asshole. I’m just a crappy judge of character.”

“Hey, I was fooled too.” He was slick the few times we met. All smiles and charm.

“I hope his dick falls off.”

I laugh.

“Both their dicks, actually.” She’s still fuming over Sebastian.

“And I’ll be stuck with…what?” I’m still laughing.

“I’ll buy you all the toys you need. Silicone Dream has this new line.”

Before Bianca can tell me about the cool adult toys she found, the Cullinan comes to a stop in front of Gion Shiyaki. James opens the door, extending a hand. I take it and step out. Bianca has errands to run, so he’s going to drop her off at a nearby store and return.

The waiting area past the front entrance of Gion is a gorgeous stone garden. A thin stream of water pours down into a hole in a bamboo tube, which flips, hitting the wet black rock underneath with a dull thunk as it empties the water into the garden pond. I saw one in Kyoto a few years ago—the tour guide called it a “souzu” and said the sound it makes as it slaps the rock scares wild animals away.

A lithe Asian woman in an ivory kimono with colorful butterflies on her skirt comes over with a smile. “Welcome to Gion Shiyaki. Do you have a reservation?”

“Sebastian Lasker? Party of two?”

“Oh yes. He’s here,” she says.

I let out a breath and relax a bit.

“This way.” She gestures to my right. Another lady in a pale blue kimono leads me through an elegant wooden corridor with off-white walls and wooden carvings and partitions. Many of them are decorated with bold Japanese calligraphy. The soothing sounds of Asian string instruments being plucked comes from the speakers.

Gion Shiyaki is a Japanese restaurant that opened not too long ago and is always booked. It’s considered one of the chicest places to dine in the city.

Gion doesn’t have a menu you can read and order off. It only has omakase, which leaves the meal up to the discretion of the chef. He serves whatever his inspiration leads him, adjusting for allergies and food intolerances. You can’t dine here if you’re concerned about price or have a fear of trying something new.

When I spot Sebastian seated at a dark lacquer-wood table, I put a hand on the hostess’s arm. She turns to me, eyes curious, but I shake my head and study him for a moment.

My fiancé. Something hot and cold skitters along my spine, gathering in my chest until it’s difficult to breathe. Those two words aren’t something I’d ever thought to associate with Sebastian Lasker. Not because I don’t care for him, but because I never thought it would be possible. Paris wasn’t the only time I saw him. He came to my mother’s funeral seven years ago.

I was able to hold back my tears, but when he said, “I’m sorry for your loss,” I started to silently cry. Instead of acting awkward or annoyed, he wiped my tears away. I could tell from the way he looked at me that he didn’t remember that night in Paris. He was simply being nice to a young woman who’d just lost her mother in a Jet Ski accident.

When Roderick tried to apologize to him for my “inappropriate” behavior, he coldly said, “There’s nothing wrong with a daughter mourning her mother.”

That made more tears fall, as it seemed okay to be sad that Mom was gone—even though she’d never really been there for me—because she was the only one who showed she cared at all. But Roderick considered my grief a nuisance—though he never said so publicly—and Grandfather thought I was being overly emotional.

“You can’t wear your heart on your sleeve, Lucie,” Grandfather said with a frown. “Not if you want to lead a company like Peery Diamonds.” To this day, I wonder if my tears at Mom’s funeral factored into his ultimate decision that I needed a man to direct me. As medieval as Nesovia is, there are ways to get around its rules, if you’re willing to expend the energy and resources.

It’s too bad there’s no way for Grandfather to come back from the dead to change his will. I didn’t shed a single tear when we buried him.

Sebastian has changed quite a bit since Mom’s funeral. His muscles are thicker underneath the bespoke suit. And he’s still taller than I am—somehow, when we’re in the same space, I don’t feel like an awkward giant. He gazes at the world with a casual languor that hides the sharp edge of his personality. It hurt when he was being so mean in his office. It was all I could do to smile and act like nothing could touch me. I’ve read articles about him, and they all say he’s highly capable and intelligent. Some of the gossipier pieces praise his sense of fashion and generous nature.

But I’m certain that isn’t all. The media is all about cultivating an image. They can only report on whatever persona he’s decided to show the world.

Sebastian’s large hand cradles his phone, and he’s studying the screen with a frown that leaves small lines between his slanted eyebrows. No groom-to-be’s happy anticipation. He might be meeting an IRS auditor for all the excitement he’s displaying, which is disappointing. But of course I shouldn’t be depressed. He never wanted this. His family didn’t want this for him. They made themselves clear when they said he was too good for the likes of me. And his attitude two days ago only proved that he agrees with them.

When he lifted his cool gaze and regarded me like a poisoned apple, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him I was the girl he was so kind to in Paris eleven years ago. Or that I only want his help for a few years to make my family pay. Maybe I was scared he would mock me for thinking any of what happened back then meant anything to him, when it meant so much to me.

Would he like me a little if I’d managed to maintain a better reputation? People look at me with lurid curiosity because they’ve all heard about me. But I don’t know how to have a good-girl rep. Everything I do is judged harshly, and I’ve given up on explaining myself. The more I try, the worse it becomes.

A cup of green tea is in front of him, and he brought the bouquet of pink-orange dahlias I had Bianca order this morning.

Time to play my role.

I paste on my most carefree smile and infuse all the excitement I can muster into my step.

“Sebastian!” I say with a broad smile.

He looks up. “Lucienne.” He stands, then places a hand on my shoulder. I air-kiss him, and he gives me the bouquet. “For you.”

“How pretty! I love dahlias! How did you know?” I gush.

His expression grows guarded. “A little birdie told me.”

He pulls out a chair for me, all solicitous. Our waiter brings out hot tea and water. I ask for lemonade, and he leaves.

The small amount of warmth on Sebastian’s face disappears. He probably doesn’t want to make an effort when it’s just the two of us. But at least he isn’t as overtly hostile as he was the last time.

“Next time, let me handle the props,” he says. “That bouquet you ordered was embarrassing.”

“By all means.” I look down at the gorgeous flowers. “But what was wrong with the flowers?”

“Too shabby. Nobody gives flowers like that, unless they’re trying to be insulting. I had my assistant buy a different bouquet.” His jaw muscles flex.

There’s no way five hundred dollars gets you something that awful. “I thought you wanted to be insulting and difficult about our marriage.” Making a joke of the situation seems the best way to go. I don’t want to fight him over some dahlias.

“My personal feelings about our union aren’t for public consumption. Furthermore, giving you crappy flowers would make me look like an asshole, which I’m not. In public, at least, we’ll play a civil couple. You might enjoy the attention of paparazzi and gossip rags, but I don’t.”

The tight muscles around my shoulders loosen over the fact that he’s going to make an effort in public. He could’ve vowed to say all sorts of horrible things about me, and everyone would believe him. No matter what happens, I’m the bad guy. I can’t even sneeze without someone attributing it to some awful intent. “Thank you.”

He stares at me for so long, his expression inscrutable, that I wonder if I have something stuck between my teeth. My smile falters, and his eyebrows tighten.

Our server brings our first course of sashimi and cold tofu simmered in some kind of light brown sauce on delicate white and blue plates. I take a bite of bright red maguro.

“How’s your day been so far?” Sebastian asks abruptly. “Done anything productive?” His tone says he expects the answer to be no.

I let myself smile a little. “Very. I went over our financials, and I was finalizing the distribution agreement with the Hae Min Group for the joint venture between Peery Diamonds and Sebastian Jewelry.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “You really care about Peery Diamonds.”

“Of course.” I didn’t at first, but then I realized it was a means to ensure Roderick, Karl and Vonnie got nothing. And the more I learned the business and worked at the company, the more I loved it. “It’s my legacy. It means everything to me.” I’d rather die than let Roderick and his awful children take a piece of it.

“You know, it is possible for companies to do joint ventures without marriage. Contracts are binding and enforceable regardless of our marital status,” he says to me like I’m a misled child. “Your lawyer should’ve advised you of that.”

“Jeremiah’s great. It’s not her, it’s the laws of Nesovia. That’s where the company’s incorporated, if you didn’t know. I can’t control Peery Diamonds fully without getting married.”

He tilts his head. “Even if you’re the sole heiress?”

“Nope. Roderick controls the company on my behalf by voting my shares in a special trust.” I can’t keep my face completely impassive. The top of my head feels tight with rage, especially since the company isn’t the only thing he controls. I can’t audit how my own trust fund is being used because I’m not in charge yet.

“Like a regent for an underage queen in the old days,” Sebastian says.

“Yes. And that’s not what I want. I’m old enough to vote, drink and get married. I should be considered old enough to manage Peery Diamonds without Roderick—or anyone else—exerting undue influence.”

It makes my blood boil that he would touch anything at Peery Diamonds. He’s unworthy. He only married Mom for her money and couldn’t even bring himself to stay faithful to her for giving him the lavish lifestyle he so desperately dreamed of. He’s been trying to find me a spineless husband he can control so he can leech off me for the rest of his life. He’s still pissed that Darren and I broke things off because he considers the CFO of Peery Diamonds eminently manipulatable. But Darren couldn’t keep his penis to himself either.

I squint a little. Are Mom and I both cursed with cheating men?

“Barbaric,” Sebastian mutters.

“Yes. Precisely. Anyway, there are a lot of things I want to do once I’m in charge. There are multiple projects on hold because I’m not able to spearhead them properly.” I lean forward as excitement builds over all the possibilities. “I know we can grow so much bigger. Peery Diamonds can become more than just a jewelry company. I want our employees to feel proud to work there. When people hear our name, they’ll think of beautiful things that can make them feel inspired and special.”

Grudging respect flickers in his gaze as he listens. “When do you find the time to do all that and party?”

“I don’t party. Not nearly as much as the gossip sites make it sound like.”

He grunts. “Must not. Or maybe you have the vision, but not the will to work through it.”

I pull back. “What’s the point of having a vision if you don’t work to make it happen?”

He shrugs. “Some people think it’s enough to just have the vision.”

“An ‘idea guy’? Yeah, I’m not one of them. You’ll see.”

“I look forward to it.” A corner of his mouth quirks up in amusement. The shutter in his eyes disappears, revealing a glimpse of warmth.

My heart starts to pound. Although the restaurant is cool, my cheeks grow heated.

“By the way, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have our civil ceremony in San Francisco,” I say.

He looks slightly suspicious. “Why there?”

“Because that’s where Mom and I had our last mother-daughter trip. It’s sentimental.” We went a few months before she died, just the two of us. She was nice to me, like she wanted to make up for being neglectful. Although it was too late, I appreciated the gesture. And we had a good time without Roderick, Karl and Vonnie around to create issues.

His expression softens. “That’s fine.”

“Thank you.” Thank God he gave in without a fight. “And can we have a party and invite people after our elopement to celebrate our wedding? And a couple of photographers, too?”

Quick annoyance replaces the sympathy. “Is that going to be in San Francisco as well?” He probably thinks I’m trying to circumvent his edict about a boring civil ceremony.

“No, L.A. It’ll be good for publicity before launching our Korean collaboration. You should’ve received a preliminary report on the venture.”

“I didn’t.” He taps the table with a small frown. “Explain it to me.”

Did he really not get it? Bianca told me she sent everything Sebastian needed for the collaboration. Or…this could be some kind of test to see if I can pitch the idea without fumbling. He might have doubts about my capacity as an executive. Guess I’ll have to reassure him, just like everyone else who doubts my abilities.

I start as soon as our waiter finishes serving our second course: fish and vegetable tempura. “The Sebastian Peery venture will target couples. Korea is a small but lucrative market. Their per-cap expenditure on luxury goods is the highest in the world, over three hundred dollars according to Morgan Stanley. It went up twenty-four percent last year, and many experts expect the trend to continue. In addition, they spend more on wedding jewelry than many other countries.”

“It’s just a couple of rings,” he says dismissively.

He either really hasn’t read the report or he’s being difficult. My money’s on the latter. He’s too good an executive. “Actually, it’s not. The bride receives a set of diamonds and a set of pearls, each consisting of a ring, necklace and earrings, in addition to the wedding band and a watch. The groom in return is given a ring, watch, tie pin and cuff links, possibly a bracelet as well. The bride’s mother is gifted with a pearl set or a high-end purse. The groom’s mother gets a high-end purse. We can create special pendants and loops for those bags.”

His eyebrows pinch in surprise. “You’ve done a lot of research.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have approached Sebastian Jewelry without solid market data. Just so you know, not all couples follow this custom, since it’s expensive to buy all of that on top of paying for the ceremony and honeymoon. But many do, and they love to splurge.”

His eyes defocus slightly. “I can see possibilities.”

“Plus, we can also add what Koreans call ‘couple rings’ to our offerings.”

“‘Couple rings’?”

“The locals buy a set of matching rings to wear as a couple while dating. Just imagine the double-dipping we can do as we sell them their ‘couple rings’ and then the wedding sets. Anyway, since these are the kind of products we’re launching, I want to make sure we have the proper publicity lined up. You’re a handsome man. You’ll look fabulous in photos.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “And you?”

I shrug, trying to hide my discomfort. I’m not particularly pretty or feminine. I’m too tall, and I give off too cold an image. Some people even say I look downright bitchy. I doubt makeup would be able to soften me up much. “I’ll do my best to be presentable.”

He regards me like he’s trying to peel back layers. “These ceremonies and parties are really about the bride. You should shine.”

I give him a small smile to hide the uncomfortable, squirmy feeling in my stomach. He seems sincere, but I rarely “shine,” even when the event is about me. For whatever reason, something always goes wrong, and I’m thrust into the center of some controversy or scandal. I hope that having Sebastian by my side changes my luck. I just can’t picture anything going wrong when he’s around. The confidence he exudes says everything happens the way he wants.

“Anyway,” Sebastian says finally. “We can have your party.”

“Thank you. I’ll send you a few possible dates.”

“A week or so after our ceremony should be good.”

“Okay.” I make a mental note. “And since you’re being so agreeable, I’ll let you ask me for a favor later.”

“I didn’t agree to get a favor out of you.” He sounds mildly annoyed—even insulted.

“I know, but I want to be fair. I know this has been an imposition.”

He opens his mouth as though he wants to say something, then waves his hand dismissively. “I’m never calling it in, so don’t think this is how you can placate me.”

It’s a little sad that he can’t accept what I’m offering at face value. On the other hand, nothing about what’s happening between us is normal. “All right, but if you change your mind…” I shrug. “Just ask.”

We finish our lunch. He picks up the leather folio our server brings.

“Here.” I slide my credit card toward him. “For lunch. I figure I should take care of it, especially since you didn’t want to come.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t let my fiancée pay for lunch.” He pushes my card back and sticks his card into the folio instead.

I curl my hands around the hot green tea the server brought out with our bill, warming my fingers. I try not to put any meaning behind him calling me “my fiancée” even though my stomach is fluttering. He might call me his fiancée, but his attitude says he’d do anything to change that.

However, he plays the part, escorting me like a gentleman through the restaurant as we exit, his hand at the small of my back. The warmth from the touch seeps through the thin silk of my dress. Little electric frissons rush down my spine. His presence wraps around me like a shield, like his coat did in Paris. I feel warm and protected for some inexplicable reason, even though it can’t be real.

I spot a sandy head following us in my peripheral vision. It’s a paparazzo who’s been after me ever since I graduated from college. I call him That Stalker because he’s everywhere. And when he shows up, others do too, like sharks scenting blood.

“I’m sorry, but the paparazzi are ready to snap some photos.” I lean toward Sebastian and whisper it with a small smile for the benefit of any onlookers.

He curses under his breath, but he doesn’t give away his annoyance. “How many?” he says, tilting his head in my direction.

“Too many to evade. It happens.”

“It happens? You put up with them?” Disapproval and disbelief crackle in his voice.

“What can you do? These days they all have those superpowered lenses and can get a shot no matter how far away they are. I prefer to know when I’m being watched.” I paste on a warm smile, since I have no idea how many of them are busy snapping away. “Why? Do you want to give them something to post?”

His eyes narrow. “Maybe we should.”

I tilt my head up. It’s nice—and kind of novel. I’m too tall to look up at most men. Even Preston complained about my height, saying I should only wear flats. Apparently, it isn’t “cool” for a woman to be so tall. Probably because he’s half an inch shorter than me in heels.

Sebastian tightens his arm around my waist, pulling me closer and making me gasp. Little fireworks go off along my back where he’s touching, and his mouth slants over mine.

His tongue pushes in between my lips, strokes mine. He plunders me like he has the right—like I’m his property. I should be alarmed, even offended, at the blatant display of ownership, but the hot rush from the kiss makes it seem unimportant. Every inch of my body heats and shivers with a potent thrill. I grip his shoulder, feeling like the ground is shifting.

He flexes his long fingers along my side, digging in a little, like he wants more than a kiss.

Yes, yes…

A loud honk pierces the sensual fog clouding my head. I jerk back, breathing hard. My lips throb, and his mouth is red and wet. Absurdly enough, I want to kiss him again.

Get a grip, I tell myself, forcing some emotional distance between us.

A glimmer of something that’s halfway between disappointment and greed surfaces in his darkened gaze, then disappears.

Disquieting need digs deeper into my belly, but I shake it off. This isn’t real, I remind myself. But it doesn’t feel like a show.