I keep reading, but my mind is already made up. As I get to the conception portion of the contract, my heart stops in my chest.
“Conception: 1. Conception of offspring to occur through natural means. *Ms. Swan is to keep track of her menstrual cycle to best determine when she is ovulating and share that information with Mr. Voss.”
My brain short-circuits. Natural means. “Conception of offspring.” The veryfirstline he wrote about it.
There’s a footnote at the bottom.
“Natural means: including but not limited to sex, at the time of ovulation, as many times as necessary to produce results. Conception will not be tolerated via medical means.”
He’s not just asking for a child.
He’s asking tofuck me.
Not just once either, apparently, enough times to ensure it takes.
My cheeks burn, and my lungs forget how to work. I need to talk to him. I need toscreamat him. Is he taunting me with what he’d learned from those stupid texts? Did he choose me because I was the first person in his direct vicinity who had unintentionally confessed to sins when he got that email?
I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
So I do the only thing I can think of. I print off a copy, and I wrench open the door between our offices.
Chapter 8
Anthony
Karen’s voice is grating today. It always sounds a little like nails on a chalkboard. Smooth-edged, polite, but with that undercurrent of screeching steel she’s spent years perfecting. It digs under my skin like sandpaper directly against a nerve.
“This is the third season in a row that the European market’s plateaued,” she says, standing at the edge of my office and touching my trinkets like she owns the place. She spins a vintage globe on my bookshelf, and I nearly throw my laptop at her. “I’ve spoken with two of the buyers from Milan. They’re concerned about the creative inconsistency?—”
“They said that toyou?” I interrupt, raising a brow at her. “That’s interesting. I seem to remember both of them completely ignoring your presence at last year’s launch.”
She shoots me a glare. “They were busy then. They’re not busy now. That’s one of the problems,” she hisses. “They’re starting to wonder if you’ve lost your focus.”
I lean back in my chair, resting my temple on my fingertips. “Let them wonder. My focus is fine.”
What I don’t say is that I’ve never been this focused, not in a long time at least. My thoughts have whittled down to sharp points: the future, my name, my control, my heir. And April.
“Anthony, we need to talk about restructuring.” She steps closer, leaning on my desk. “You can’t put off your problems forever.”
“I’m not putting anything off,” I say slowly, holding her gaze instead of shouting at her. “I have everything under control.”
She gives me a look of heavy skepticism. As her brows come together, her wrinkles become more visible. “Does this mysterious “control” involve you actually sharing it with the board? Or is the issue with your successor going to be another solo endeavor where we all find outafteryou’ve already pulled the trigger?”
Before I can respond, the door swings open without warning.
April storms in like a hurricane with legs; her face contorted in what I can only describe asfury. Her cheeks are flushed, her blonde bun loose and disheveled, and one hand is clutching a bent copy of the contract.
She doesn’t even glance at Karen.
“Out,” I say to my sister-in-law, glancing at her briefly as I push to my feet. April stalls for a second, glancing at Karen as if she’s just now noticed she’s here.
“Excuse me?” Karen says, astounded. “We’re in the middle of?—”
“I said,Out!”
There’s no room for negotiation in my voice, and Karen quickly realizes it. She huffs, but turns and leaves, slamming the door shut behind her with a loud click.
The moment we’re alone, April throws the contract onto my desk like it’s just burned her.
