Still. Marriage is not fine print.
People are going to ask questions.
The normal people that are very much a part of my life outside of all of this. My sister, Iris, my parents.
You can’t just keep a marriage a secret, especially when it’s to someone as well-known as Callum Hardin.
As if he can see the wheels cranking back and forth in temptation and hesitation, Callum speaks. “I know it’s a lot. But we can work out the details.”
“What happens if people see us together?”
“You work for me. They know that. Our relationship outside of that doesn’t matter to the press.”
“Clearly you don’t watch a lot of reality TV,” I snigger.
“And clearly you don’t know how heavy my hand is in this industry,” Callum steps in front of me. “I will give you twenty-four hours to think it over.”
“And if I say no?” I ask.
“You keep the promised salary, and we get an annulment. That should be enough money for you to live comfortably.”
It would be. I could change my 30-year loan to a 15. Maybe snag a new car. Pitch in for my sister’s honeymoon.
But the other number…that would change my life in less than a month.
And…if my sister thought I was seeing someone, she might get off my back.
No more double dates.
No more hooking me up with her fiancé’s air-head friends.
Hell, I might even be allowed to live my own life! That in itself is worth more than gold.
Callum hands me a folder. “These are the artists we just signed. They’re going on tour in a few months. Familiarize yourself with their music style and write something better.”
I nod, taking the folder.
Callum heads for the door but looks back just before walking out.
“Oh, and Amanda? I don’t regret it. Any of it.”
With that, he disappears down the hall, taking my breath and my better judgement with him.
Chapter 11
Callum
Ihave lost my fucking mind.
One night out with Noah in Vegas and I have officially gone batshit.
I march down the hall with my head high, so nobody knows the wiser. Meanwhile I tug at my suit, adjusting it to make up for the fact that I feel disheveled as hell from that entire conversation. Not only that, but my slacks are so tight I’m surprised my cock hasn’t burst through the seams, destroying what is probably a fifty-dollar zipper.
Fuck me.
Just, fuck me.
As I make my way to my office, I can’t stop replaying the conversation in my head. Obviously, it sounds insane. But is it? I mean, what are the odds that our little charade in Vegas would turn out to be legal? And right before my lunatic father drops the bomb that whoever inherits Hardin has to be married? Talk about prehistoric stipulations. In my head, a woman would only get in the way. But I suppose the whole heir thing does make sense. Either way, I find myself hoping she will say yes.
