“I’m confused. If it’s one night, why the exclusivity clause?”
I meet her gaze. Her cold brown eyes are as dull as mine, but hers are from years of dodgy dealings and endless amounts of scum crossing her path.
“I want the long term plans in the small print. I know he won’t bother to read that part. I want it to be a surprise.”
Silence expands between us, like she is drifting out to sea while contemplating my sanity.
“You are aware,” she says carefully, “that contracts cannot legally bind affection?”
“I’m aware they can bind behavior.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s enough.”
She types something on her laptop, then pauses.
“Does he know?”
“Not yet.”
“Is there a spouse?”
“She’s irrelevant.”
Her fingers still.
“That could become… complicated.”
“Everything worthwhile is.”
“It would be wise to include the spouse in the contract to prevent any possible claims. Will they be involved in the discussions?”
“She will and that’s fine to include her.”
Marina leans back in her chair, assessing me the way doctors do when they’ve decided if a patient has a chance of survival.
“So, you’re asking me to construct a cage that looks like a gift? It’s highly unethical and could have consequences.”
I allow myself a small smile. I couldn’t have worded it better myself.
“Yes, it is.”
She scrutinises me for a moment, trying to dissect my plan and looking for any potential risks.
“And you want him to walk into it? Just like that? Take over his life?”
“Yes.”
I’m not sure why this is so difficult to comprehend.
“How long do you plan to keep him around?”
“Indefinitely.”
She nods once, brisk and finally accepting of the situation.
“I’ll draft something flexible, with a termination clause on his side. Golden handcuffs tend to be more effective when they’re padded.”
