I decided I'd head to Damian's office first, before going to mine. It has to be discreet, so I'll drive there myself. The morning air feels tense, as though even the universe knew I was about to seal my fate.When I arrive at Damian's office building, a staff member greets me and ushers me into the reception. His staff, all neatly dressed in black and white corporate attire. One of the receptionists, a lady with sleek dark hair and red nails, stands and offers me a polite nod.
"I'll let Mr. Westwood know you're here," she says, her voice smooth like velvet.
"Thank you." I sit down in the reception area, deliberately taking in the sight. This definitely isn't your average reception. The walls are a deep grey, adorned with tasteful art that seemsboth expensive and oddly vague. The furniture is sleek, a mixture of polished chrome and soft leather. A faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air. Classy. Expensive. Cold. Much like the man himself.After a short wait, the receptionist returns with a smile.
"You may go in now."
I rose, smoothed down my skirt, and walked towards the double oak doors. I knock once before pushing them open.There he was, Damian Westwood. Feet casually propped on his mahogany desk, his chair slightly reclined. The first two buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, revealing a peek of ink on his chest, the tattoo I had glimpsed the previous day but could now see more clearly. He held a sleek black mug in one hand, sipping...tea or coffee. I couldn't tell. He gestures lazily towards the seat opposite him. I sit down, maintaining a composed expression. I hold back the urge to scan his office, the modern bookshelves. I don't want him thinking I'm impressed...or intimidated. Instead, I crossed my legs, placed my bag on my lap, and tapped my fingers against it. Waiting.
"It's common courtesy to greet, you know,"
he says, his voice low, laced with a mocking edge.
"Then why didn't you?"
I snap, glaring at him.His eyes darkens as they locked onto mine. He rises slowly, rounds the desk, and sits on the edge, leaning in.
"This sort of behaviour could attract...punishment," he says, something flickering in his gaze. Anger? Amusement? I can't tell. I straighten my shoulders and meet his gaze head-on. No way was I letting him shake me. God...am I seriously going to be married to this man?He holds my stare for a heartbeat longer before standing and returning to his chair.
"Let's get this over with."
"Right. We're going over the rules and agreements before we put pen to paper. If we're able to finalise this morning, I'll have the contract ready and sent to you by evening."
"You're really calling the shots, Rachel," he says with a smirk. I don't like the way my name sounds on his tongue, like he owns it.
"Forget the fact that our fathers were friends. I never even knew you existed," I shoot back.
"Aww, and I knew you did. I'm so hurt." His words were laced heavily with sarcasm, sharp enough to cut glass.I roll my eyes.
"So...what would you like to lay down?"He chuckles.
"Ladies first."
"Fine. First of all, no Intimacy, whatsoever. It's a contract marriage, not a real one. No expectations of a physical relationship. Second of all, a public appearance clause. We maintain a united front in public. Events, family gatherings, corporate functions.Third of all, separate living spaces. We will not share a bedroom. Boundaries must be respected. Fourth of all, no Interference in personal affairs. I handle my life; you handle yours. No meddling in each other's personal relationships outside the contract.Fifth of all, the duration of the marriage is just one year. After that, we part ways with no strings attached. Sixth of all, confidentiality agreement. Neither person speaks of this arrangement to the public. And lastly, mutual respect: no insults, no undermining. This is a business arrangement." I blabbed in one breath.
"Your turn," I said.He leans back, that devilish smirk still on his face.
"Okay. So, in as much as this is staging, we have to be honest with one another. As long as it concerns the marriage. Anything else is irrelevant. Also, there'd be an emergency clause; that is, in case of unforeseen circumstances, we back each other up.
Oh yeah. We'd have to show the public how 'deeply in love we are with each other'. I do expect you to play the perfect wife in public,hand-holding, small gestures when necessary. You're an actress. Act. Yeah, I think that's all. For now. Public Affection Clause? I'm supposed to display public affection? I'm not entirely the romantic type, but I find public affection worse. It cringes and creeps me out. I think mostly because I'm a little bit shy. I laughed to myself. Who'd believe that the only daughter of a business mogul was a shy girl? The only person who knows that side of me is Aiden, my ex.But then... public affection to a man I'd rather hit on the head with my heels? Oh good lord.
"Um, Damian," I started.
"Calling me by my first name. Getting comfortable already?" He raised an eyebrow and had that smirk on his face that I so much wanted to slap off.
"About the public affection...to what extent does it have to be?" I needed this cleared up before it became an issue.
"What extent can you take?""I could hold hands..."
"That's the bare minimum, Rachel. We'd hold hands, of course. Lock arms, even. You might have to sit on my lap. Give me a kiss on the cheek. That's vice versa."
I felt my whole body heat up. I couldn't do all that. My face was turning red; I was sure of it. I heard him chuckle."
"What's so funny?"
"Look at you. You're red as the color itself."
I wanted to stab him with the pen on his table. My eyes darted to it involuntarily, imagining myself lunging for his throat. He must have noticed because he casually picked up the pen and rolled it between his fingers.
.
"This is going to be interesting," he said, wearing that irritating smirk. I scoffed.
"That's what public affection entails, Rachel. And it's necessary if you want to keep up a believable front," he added, his tone growing serious.We both fell silent after listing our terms.
"So...it's settled then. I'll have the contract ready by evening," I said, gathering my bag.
"I'll send someone to pick it up."
Without waiting for any further exchange, I stood, gave him a curt nod, and left. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I walked out of his office.The moment I slid into my car, I gripped the steering wheel tightly.
"You've gone and done it this time, Rachel."
I drove to my office with a swirl of mixed emotions clawing at me. Was I making a mistake? Probably. But it was too late to back out now.By midday, I was sitting at my desk, staring blankly at my laptop, replaying the conversation with Damian when the door slammed open.
"Rachel!!"I jumped.
"Layla, keep it down!"
Layla, my best friend and resident chaos-bringer, strolled in with a mischievous grin.
"Ooo... somebody's in a shitty mood. How's your mom?"
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "She's good. Except she now wants me to marry Dad's lawyer's son."
"Crazy." Layla plopped onto the couch, crossing her legs.
"Are you going to?"
"Of course not. He's practically a kid."
"I do have someone in mind," she said, eyes glinting.I shot her a suspicious look. "Who?"
"Aiden."I gaped. "No way, Layla. No way."
"Oh, come on. He's still in love with you."
"And I'm not," I deadpanned. Aiden was my ex. We'd dated for two years, until he turned into a sex-starved man-child. I wasn't ready, and instead of respecting that, he literally begged me. Begged. On his knees. The memory still made me cringe. That was the beginning of the end.
"Oh, Rachel, don't be like that." Layla pouted. "Anyways... too late. He's flying back to Los Angeles next week."I whipped my head around.
"Excuse you? What did you do?""I just told him you're still single and haven't found anyone since him...so maybe he still had a chance."
She gave a sweet, unapologetic smile. I wanted to scream.
"Why did you do that?! Gosh, Layla!" I slumped back into my chair."
"Well, you've got until next week to figure it out," she said, standing.
"Layla, I want to kill you."
"Awwn. Love you too" she said as she laughed. As soon as she left, I grabbed my phone and called Courtney.
"Get me pizza. Please."
Because if I was going to drown in this mess, I might as well do it with a slice of pepperoni in hand.
