Liam Samantha Jones is the kind of lawyer who doesn’t sle ep or believe in time off. She has a letter of engagement ready on Sunday for me to sign, and is gearing up to face off with Prescott Huxley in his own domain on Monday at one like it’s every day she goes after one of the top lawyers in the state, if not the country. Her dirty blond bob is cut asymmetrically to show off the lean lines of her even features. She isn’t classically beautiful, but there’s a piercing intelligence in her brown eyes that makes it difficult to look away. The black jumpsuit and heels are funereal—not hers, of course, but her opponent’s. The woman radiates an energy that says, “I kill, therefore I am.” There’s a reason so many celebs hire her to fuck up their spouses when love has vanished faster than extra arm flab on Ozempic. Huxley & Webber’s building soars up from the middle of downtown like a physical manifestation of the firm’s ambition. A sharply dressed rec eptionist smiles at the sight of us. “Good afternoon, Liam. Samantha. You’ll be in the Victory Conference Room. This way, please.” She leads us across the floor, cutting through the buzzing activity of over-caffeinated associates, all clean-cut, all in crisp suits and all serious, firm in their belief they too will one day become a name partner, just like Prescott or Jeremiah. Olivia is already inside. My heart rate picks up as her presence washes over me. The teary vulnerability is gone, r eplaced by a cool façade that hides everything from the world. It’s understandable that she doesn’t want to wear her heart on her sleeve, but does she have to be so guarded all the time? Regardless, I’m grateful I ran into her on Saturday and managed to put a smile on her face. And to have this opportunity. She’s pulled her hair back into a low ponytail and put on minimal makeup, just some lip gloss that makes her mouth plump and pink. The fitted pastel-pink dress suits her better than the pale white one from Saturday. Although the latter was pretty, it made her look too fragile and helpless. The Olivia I know is feminine and strong, kind and wickedly smart. A woman who found the time and energy to help re-home rescue dogs while juggling calculus and Black-Scholes in college can’t be as cold-hearted as the mask she wears. I shift my eyes to Prescott on her left. With still-thick dark hair, the man doesn’t look old enough to have fathered three sons, one of whom is a junior partner at the firm. His wide-set gray eyes take in me and Samantha impassively. A Musashino suit wraps around him like fine armor. Must be a gift from his zaibatsu wife. I wanted to have one made when I was in Japan a couple of years ago, but it was impossible to get an introduction. My dealings with him are minimal. He and his sister stay largely s eparate within the firm, although Silas says that they argue about all sorts of obscure legal points all the time. But the man on her right—he’s someone I’ve never seen before. An off- the-rack navy suit but well-cropped, slicked-back hair. His nails are neatly trimmed, and he taps his tablet a few times before lifting his head. The man would hint at efficiency and discretion, if it weren’t for his dark—and narrowed—eyes scrutinizing me as though I stole his girlfriend and his dog. What’s that about? “Hello, Liam,” Olivia says. My mouth dries; nerves jitter. Although we’re in the lawyers’ office with a contract between us, nothing’s set in stone until signatures are on the paper. I want so badly for this marriage to go through. “Hi.” I point to my right. “Samantha Jones. My attorney.” Samantha extends a hand, pumps it hard. Olivia gives as good as she gets,
gauging my lawyer. She glances at Prescott. He nods. “Sam’s pretty good.” “‘Pretty good’?” A corner of Samantha’s mouth quirks. “I’m awesome.” Prescott’s eyes half-mast briefly, and there might be the hint of a smile before his mouth flattens again. “Who’s this?” Samantha gestures at the unknown man. “Simon Voss,” Olivia says. “My assistant. I came from an off-site meeting, so he came along. He’s discreet.” “NDA,” Prescott adds flatly. Simon’s eyebrows snap together as though insulted. “Even without that, I’d never betray Olivia.” He pulls out a pale gray thermos from a bag next to him. “Your afternoon green tea.” He leans forward, his eyes lingering a little too long. I recognize the look because it’s the same one I often had in college. Hell, every guy who had a crush on her did. “Thanks,” she says. From her neutral smile, it’s difficult to tell if she is truly oblivious or chooses to be. “Can you wait for me outside?” There’s half a beat of hesitation, then he nods. “Of course. Let me know if you need anything.” Prescott pushes a stack of documents across the table. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. I thought it’d be thicker. At least twice the size. Samantha scans the papers. “Same as the ones you sent me and my client last night?” “Yes. Plus an addendum,” he says. Olivia presses her lips together, then looks away briefly. Her reaction doesn’t bode well. I flip through the pages to see what’s been added, ignoring the acid pooling in my gut. “An addendum?” Samantha cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t appreciate you changing the terms at the last minute.” “My client wants to lay down all her cards. The added material isn’t really necessary in my opinion,” Prescott says coolly. I scan the addendum. It’s fairly short—three pages about any children we may have during the marriage and when the marriage should end. What the fuck? She wants me to impregnate her... and then get divorced six months after the child is born? She never said anything about the marriage being temporary. I thought— “What is this?” My voice cracks. “It’s in plain English,” Prescott says. I look at Olivia. “I’m not worried about getting screwed over by legalese. I’m asking what this means.” For us. For the marriage. She clears her throat. “I thought it’d be best to ke ep things clear.” “Clear?” I clench my hands, as though that will help me cling to control. She notes my tight fists, then bites her lip. “I’d like a child as soon as possible. That means no protection at all. My doctor already checked me out. I’m perfectly healthy and capable.” Her matter-of-fact tone is unsettling. Discussions about children shouldn’t be so clinical, doctors and health checks and exactly zero excitement or anticipation on her face. This isn’t at all how I thought we’d conceive a baby together. We should at least have a flutter of thrill in our hearts. Well, I do. But does she? Can we be good parents to our children if there isn’t a shred of affection for them on her part? Samantha taps her long red nails on the document. “Are you asking my client to do a health check? To see about his sperm count?” “That would be prudent, if you want a child as soon as possible,” Prescott says diplomatically, his eyes darting in my direction. “Is that what you want, Olivia?” I ask. She exhales. “No. That isn’t what I want. I... I’m sure you’re capable of fathering a child.” She shifts in her seat. “Liam, can we talk briefly? Just the two of us?” “No,” Samantha says. “I won’t ask him to commit to anything without consulting you first.” Olivia looks into my eyes. “Please. Just five minutes.” “No—” “Fine,” I say, cutting Samantha off. “We can talk.” Tell me why you don’t trust me after acc epting my offer. Tell me why I’m being ambushed in front of lawyers like somehow I’m the enemy—like Tyler.
Olivia glances at Prescott. “Is there a room we can use?” “The one next to this one should be free. The Victory Strategy Room.” He starts to get up, but she puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Let’s go,” I say, heading out first. I can’t bear the stifling atmosphere in the conference room, and what Olivia and I are discussing isn’t something for public consumption. We move to the next room. It’s small, with a dark round table just big enough for four. Unlike the conference room, the walls are opaque. Probably a space designed for quick side-meetings between lawyer and client. I pull out a chair for her, and remain standing. Restlessness makes it impossible for me to sit. It’s all I can do to stop myself from pacing. Olivia looks at me, her eyes unreadable. “Aren’t you going to sit down?” she says finally. “I’m trying to decide if this is something I can take while sitting down,” I say honestly. The smooth mask on her face cracks, revealing a hint of anxiety. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you about needing a baby at Himeko. It was selfish of me.” It’s impossible to stay upset when her shoulders droop. I sigh and finally take a seat. We’re close enough that I can smell her shampoo and soap, see the veins and tendons on her delicate neck. “So why didn’t you?” “I think...” She licks her lips. “I didn’t want to look like a heartless bitch. This isn’t exactly the prettiest picture, and I didn’t want you to think badly of me, I guess.” Her voice grows smaller. The answer leaves me dazed. I thought this was about a lack of trust in me, not her vulnerability. “Olivia...” I reach over and hold her cool hand. “I’d never think badly of you.” “I debated with myself about it, about whether you need to know all the ugliness. Married couples have kids, so why bring it up?” She runs a slightly unsteady hand over her temple, then looks at me through her lashes, biting her lip. She’s flustered. The realization hits me hard, and my heart softens a little. “So why did you decide to tell me?” “Because you should know what you’re getting into before we sign anything. It’s the least I owe you.” Not exactly what I’d truly like, but at least she’s being honest with me. That must count for something. “Why the rush to have a baby?” I ask gently, hoping to understand what she really wants and give it to her. She presses her lips together for a moment, her eyes not meeting mine as she takes her time. A great internal debate seems to rage inside her. “Olivia, I’m on your side.” Finally, she heaves a sigh. Stubborn drive and a tinge of regret burn in her eyes as she faces me. “Hugh Desmond has been leeching off my mother’s trust for the last twenty years. And he’s been using that money not just to support himself, but his former-mistress-turned-wife and their illegitimate child.” “Brielle?” Olivia nods curtly. “Yeah. Brielle.” She takes a moment. “Anyway... I want to cut them off. To do that, I need to get married... and produce a child. Then the entire Whitmore Trust comes under my control, and Hugh and his family will be out on the streets. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this earlier, because... well, because it changes things. I’ll understand if you don’t want to proceed. Just, please... ke ep everything confidential, for my sake.” Underneath her dispassionate tone lie old pain and rage. I recall Brielle’s entitled and obnoxious attitude from college, and then more recently at Kingswood Stones & Designs. What Olivia must have lived through has to be much, much worse than what little I’ve witnessed. “Thanks for telling me. I’d want to do the same in your place.” I take a moment to mull things over. “But at the same time, I wouldn’t want our baby to just be... used, either. Kids require a commitment—and stability, and love... everything.” She blinks, then flushes. “I
wouldn’t just use and discard our child like a tool.” “There’s more to this than just them not being a tool. I want them to be loved unconditionally, regardless of their role in you securing your family trust.” I briefly drop my eyes to my hands. My children should never know the aching emptiness of realizing that their parents didn’t really value them, especially when they’re Olivia’s children too. Every time I look at them, I’ll see her in them—and that alone will make them more precious than anything else in the world. I raise my eyes, looking straight at her. She pales a little, her lashes fluttering. Her head dips, although she doesn’t avoid my gaze. “You’re right. I...” A soft sigh. “Guess I didn’t really think it through. I’m not even positive I can be a great mom.” Her lower lip quivers. “So, um... Do you... not want to have children with me?” Her voice grows impossibly small. I want to put my arm around her and kiss her on the temple. Even if I disagree with how she’s going about family planning, she shouldn’t beat herself up over it. Plus, the fact that she’s thinking about whether she could be a good mother shows she isn’t as detached as she appears. And I’m not giving up a chance to have a baby with the woman I’ve loved for twelve years. “Are you kidding? Of course, I do.” She doesn’t love me, but I’ll take this chance to change her mind. “As for the end of the marriage—” “It’s non-negotiable.” Her firm tone cuts me. “I don’t want to trap you, Liam. It wouldn’t be fair to you.” She gazes up at me with clear, expectant eyes, like a person ready to open a door to a cage for the bird to gladly fly away. “What if it isn’t a trap for me?” “It’s better this way.” Her gaze is unwavering, but she’s paler than moments ago. “You’re going to get hurt if you stick around for too long.” Her innocent expression is like poison that isn’t strong enough to rob me of life but painful enough to leave me breathless. “If it’s about the marriage not being about love, I know. I’m not going to get hurt—” She shakes her head. “It isn’t about that. Can you trust me to ke ep you safe? At least insofar as I can?” I want to argue, but trust goes both ways. If I want her to trust me, I need to do the same. I’ll use the time we have to change her mind. “Okay. Yes.” The tension drains from her. She gives me a grateful smile. “As for where we live, I can move in with you, unless you prefer a new place, in which case I’ll be happy to contribute. I’m sure we can find something that works for both of us.” I laugh. “Do you know what kind of house I have?” She shakes her head and shrugs. So cute. She could vomit and I’d think she’s adorable. God, I’m so in trouble. “My place is fine. It’s a beachfront property, nothing special, but it’s probably big enough for the two of us. And a child.” Wait until she sees it. I thread my fingers with hers. “So. Want to go back and have the lawyers hash out the details?” She nods. We return to the room. Samantha checks her phone. “Longer than five minutes.” “But every minute productive,” I say. She shoots me a sk eptical look, then turns to Olivia, one long index finger tapping the document. “Why the Whitmore name for your firstborn? The baby should bear the Kingswood name, or at least Kingswood- Whitmore. Although you’re really a Desmond.” Olivia’s eyes cool. “I’m not a Desmond, and I’ll thank you not to refer to me that way. I only happen to have been fathered by one. I’m a Whitmore at heart, where it really counts.” “And custody automatically goes to the wife with only visitation rights for the husband.” Samantha gives Olivia and me a meaningful look. I freeze. I missed that while I skimmed the document—was too shocked about the baby and the marriage ending six months after the baby’s birth.
While I process, Samantha turns her sharp gaze to Prescott. “Joint custody. That’s what the court prefers, unless you want to demonstrate my client is unfit?” “It’s a Whitmore child. At least the firstborn will be,” he points out. She shrugs. “And? It’s my client’s blood flowing in the kids’ veins too.” Prescott opens his mouth, but Olivia puts a hand on his sleeve. He turns to her. “Olivia, you need to protect yourself.” His warning fills my heart with bitterness. I’m not the one who’s hurt her. “It’s fine, Prescott.” She turns to me with an apologetic smile. “I think Liam will be a good father.” I nod, then shoot a cold look at Prescott. He’s just doing his job, but I still hate it that people look at me and see a guy who could be as cruel to Olivia as Tyler and Brielle. The lawyers jockey back and forth. I’m not paying much attention, my eyes on Olivia, who’s looking down at her hands, eyes hidden under the thick, long lashes. What is she thinking? Does she regret acc epting my proposal? Although the offer was impulsive, once it was made, I knew that it was what I wanted. Her firm insistence on ending the marriage six months after the baby is born gnaws at me, but I shove the unease aside. That’s at least fifteen months, even if she gets pregnant immediately—enough time for me to convince her I’m the man for her. Finally, the meeting ends, and Samantha stays back to discuss a couple of things with Prescott. I walk out with Olivia. I like how our st eps are in sync, right legs forward, then left, like we’re marching to a shared goal. Simon gets up from an armchair and follows closely behind her like a guard dog. “Thank you,” Olivia murmurs inside the elevator. “For what?” “For being so understanding back there. I should’ve been more open and disclosed everything. It’s just... I’m not used to sharing my thoughts and plans.” I feel Simon’s death glare from the side, but ke ep my eyes on her. “I understand.” I reach out and warm her cool hand. I can guess why she ke eps everything to herself—no point in saying anything unless you think it can make a difference. And apparently, nobody in her family has ever cared for her opinion. She probably had it worse than me—at least I had my brothers. The elevator dings as it hits the lobby. We walk out together. “I have an appointment with a doctor, so I’ll be heading out on my own. See you later, Liam.” She gives her assistant a small nod. “Simon.” She walks away, plunging a hand into her purse, probably looking for her fob. Watching her, Simon exhales a long and very audible breath. He turns to me. “Get tested for STDs.” Is this little shit serious? I cock an eyebrow. “Is that from Olivia?” Blatant contempt flashes in his eyes. “A guy born to parents like yours... Wouldn’t surprise me if you’re a walking Petri dish. Olivia shouldn’t have to suffer because of you.” A non-answer. “Is she going to do the same?” “Don’t be disgusting.” It’s practically a snarl. “She’s nothing like you.” Oh, Lord. This bastard is in love with her, whether he’s aware of it or not. He st eps up and puts a finger on my chest. “Know your place, Liam Kingswood. You’re a means to an end—a tool that’s going to be discarded when it isn’t useful anymore. Try to change that, and you’ll only hurt yourself and inconvenience her.” Intellectually, I understand he’s probably acting on his own. But his words still burn. Whistling softly, he turns and walks away, leaving me alone in the cold, vast lobby.