CLARA: Uh…yes?
I ducked into the nearest business on my walk to Mia’s daycare so I could compose myself.Nash appearing in my messages sent my heart racing, and I needed to take a moment to handle this.As I wandered into a trendy coffee shop, my phone buzzed again.
NASH: What is it?
CLARA:
NASH: Buttons?
CLARA: It was a fake last name from childhood.
NASH: Another fake name, huh?
CLARA: I was seven.
I didn’t add that it had been a nickname my late mother had given me.Keeping that nickname alive was one of the ways I kept her sweet memory with me.I missed my angelic mother so much to this day, and hated that Mia never got a chance to meet her.But diving into all those details seemed too intimate for what Nash and I were embarking upon here.
NASH: It started young then.Thought maybe it was another new identity I needed to get acquainted with.Check email soon.
I smiled wryly, trying to tamp down the odd surge of satisfaction that coursed through me.I liked when he ribbed me about the past.I liked even more that the past didn’t seem to deter him when it came to whatever this was.
My fingers danced over the phone to open my email.Right at the top was a new email from [email protected] heart jumped into my throat as I opened it.
Clara - Please review the attached contract and suggest any changes.We can discuss terms later if you're available.- N
Below that was an encrypted link that required a password.The password was in a separate text:Scarlett24.
If the past few days were any indicator, Nash intended to rib me plenty about the past.I grinned, looking around to see if anyone had noticed what I was doing.As though random strangers could somehowtellthat I was considering a contract to marry a handsome billionaire.Nobody was paying attention to me—who paid attention to anyone in New York?—but still, I felt like I needed more privacy.It seemed wrong to open my first ever NDA-protected agreement in the middle of a coffee shop.Nash Nightingale would expect better from his future wife.
There weren’t too many private options here.I headed for the bathroom, locking myself in a stall before I clicked the link.A PDF opened on my phone screen, and I had to zoom in to read the tiny text.
MARRIAGE AGREEMENT
The title alone made my breath evaporate.Holy shit.The conversation in Nash’s Architectural Digest-inspired corner office wasn’t a fever dream.He actually needed a fucking wife and for some bewildering reason, choseme.
Was this real life?
I swallowed a squeal and returned my focus to the contract.I needed to pore over this thing.Every last letter and line would be inhaled, analyzed, and pondered.I was playing in the big leagues now.Yes, even from inside this bathroom stall, I was a real professional.
I made my way through the opening paragraphs—legal jargon about parties and considerations—until I got to the meat of it.By this time, my legs were already going numb from sitting on the toilet seat for so long.The terms were laid out in stark, businesslike language:
Duration: Effective upon signing until Jan 1stof the following year.
Compensation: $500,000 USD paid in equal, once-monthly portions throughout the duration of the agreement.Additional $500,000 to be delivered upon successful outcome of committee meeting.
Additional benefits: Medical insurance, housing allowance, childcare expenses, wardrobe budget
Living arrangements: Separate residences permitted provided both parties maintain credible public appearance of cohabitation
Certain phrases echoed in my head so loudly I could barely read further.Medical insurance?Wardrobe budget?Credible public appearance?I drew a few deep breaths.
He'd found a way to make it work.The part-time arrangement I'd insisted on was right there in black and white.
I pumped my fist in the air.Hell yes, I’d negotiated with a billionaire.
Never mind he’d had to remind me to add a zero to my payout.
I kept reading, my heart pounding.
