by Ava Lore
Bartered Seduction: The Billionaire’s Wife, Part 2
Ava Lore
Copyright 2012 Ava Lore
Kindle Edition
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This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.
Bartered Seduction: The Billionaire's Wife
by
Ava Lore
Part II
The next morning found me sitting in a lawyer's office and nursing a powerful hangover.
...Okay, fine, I was still drunk. After my encounter with Waters and my subsequent shameful display in his elevator, I'd knocked around my little studio apartment, feeling dazed and useless. I even went on a cleaning binge to try to make myself feel better, but when I realized I'd moved the same dirty plate back and forth from my futon to the low coffee table where I ate five times without even skirting my tiny kitchen area, I gave up.
Sitting down, I'd opened up the contract and begun to read, and made it about ten minutes before I cracked open a beer to go with it. I'm very mature when it comes to handling my problems. During my meeting with Anton Waters, my father had left me eight voicemails on my phone and I'd deleted all of them. I knew what he was going to say. Had I accepted Waters' proposal? Had I? Had I? Had I?
I'd downed a six pack in short order—way more than I usually did—and as a consequence I woke up with nacho cheese in my hair, a new sculpture of a goat tied up and blindfolded, and a browsing history on my computer full of websites about kinky sex.
Yeah.
That's why I was at a lawyer's office. I wanted to see if this was actually... well, binding. Should I choose to sign it.
Which I wasn't. Because, come on.
Don't get me wrong, I like a little spanking now and then, but the things codified in Waters' contract—and my god, he had to have ice water running through his veins to dictate that sort of shit to a lawyer, and the lawyer who drew it up had to be stone-cold to have typed it up without renouncing his license and retreating to a mountaintop to seek a cleansing of his defiled soul—were definitely out of my realms of experience. I'd had to look a few of them up, just to make sure they were what they sounded like.
I shifted in my chair, staring at the contract in my lap and trying not to think about what was in it. There was no way it was legal. I was, like... ninety-five percent sure. He couldn't actually take me to court if I didn't "play the submissive" for at least seventy-five percent of our sexual encounters. Could he? And was he going to be keeping track? A vision of Waters bending me over a table and fucking me while entering it into the record or ticking off a bead on the Sex Abacus first gave me a fit of the giggles, then set my cheeks aflame as I remembered that he had told me to beg him to fuck me in exactly that way.
And I had.
Shit.
I rubbed my face vigorously. I was so glad the lawyer I was consulting was a woman. I needed to come up with some demands of my own.
Not that I was thinking about doing this. That would be ridiculous. Haha.
And yet the knowledge that my mother was now another twenty-four hours without treatment was a rock in my gut.
Shit.
"Miss Dare?"
My head shot up, and I saw a handsome young paralegal standing in the doorway. "Yes?" I said.
"Ms. Gray will see you now."
I stood hastily, throwing my purse over my shoulder and clutching the contract like a shield. On unsteady feet, I tottered through the door.
I was never very comfortable around lawyers. I had friends that had gone to law school, but they weren't lawyers, they were friends who had studied law. And most of them weren't lucky enough to get jobs in law and ended up baristas instead of barristers. My father, however, loved to have lawyers around, provided they were on his side, of course. I had even liked some of them when I was younger, before most of them started hitting on me when I turned sixteen. And I knew for a fact that my father had used the law to screw people over, people who couldn't afford it, people whose only crime was ignorance or need or just being poor.
So it was with trepidation that I stepped into Ms. Gray's office, and when the kindly old lady in a tweed business suit rose from her seat at her desk and strode forward with a warm smile to shake my hand, I had to make a concerted effort to smile while my brain screamed at me: It's a trap!
"Hello, Ms. Dare, how are you this morning?" she said in a chipper voice. She looked like a librarian more than a lawyer. Iron-colored hair streaked with white was pulled back into an elaborate coiffure at the back of her head, and her bright dark eyes shone in her face.
I paused to think. "Been better," I said truthfully.
"But have you been worse?" she asked.
I had to think about that, too. "Yes."
"Then it's a good day," she said. "Now what can I do for you?"
Wordlessly I held out the contract. "I need you to look over this for me. It's a contract. Or a prenuptial agreement. I'm not sure."
If she had worn glasses, I'm sure she would have given me a sharp look over the top of them. "You don't?"
I shrugged. "That's why you're the lawyer and I'm not," I said.
"Your fiance didn't tell you which it was?"
"He's not my fiance yet. He's just this guy that wants to marry me."
Her eyebrows shot up. "And do you want to marry him?"
"Not really," I told her. "But if I did it would solve a lot of problems."
For a long moment she looked at me. I could practically hear what she was thinking, which was unsurprising because I had thought many of those things myself.
Finally she gestured for me to sit down, and I did, sinking gratefully into one of the rich leather chairs in front of her desk. She sat across from me and began to thumb through the contract. The pages ruffled loudly in the quiet of the room, though through the thick windows of her office I could hear the city going about its business. My father had worked in New York all his life, but commuted from out of state. My mother currently lived in San Francisco. The sounds of the city were usually comforting to me, but as the silence between us stretched out longer and longer I began to wish I'd brought some headphones. I wouldn't even have to plug them into anything. Just stick one end in my pocket and pretend I didn't care about how this ridiculous contract made me look. Pretend I didn't care about anything. I tried to ignore the few times she cleared her throat and looked at me, opting to study the law tomes lining her walls, which were just as dull as I thought they would be.
At last she set the contract down and folded her hands in front of her. She appeared to be searching for words. My stomach, still on the mend from the abuse I'd put it through last night, clenched, and I tried to shrink into my clothes.
"Miss Dare," she said at last, "I haven't ever quite seen a contract like this. I can only assume your reasons for considering it are good ones, but it is my professional opinion that this contract is not legally binding."
I sat up. "So... that's like a loophole, right? I can sign it and get married and then divorce him?"
Her lips twisted, a
nd I knew her answer wasn't going to be quite that simple. "The problem, you see, is that it is a prenuptial agreement in the strictest sense. If you choose to divorce Mr. Waters for any reason, you will get nothing. That he wishes you to, ah, allow him certain liberties and wishes to codify them into a contract, then he may choose to terminate the marriage if you do not agree." A frown creased her face, traveling along well-worn lines. "Sexual provisions in prenuptial agreements cannot be enforced, as the refusal of one spouse would render said sexual interaction as rape rather than consensual sex, and the law cannot condone nor enforce rape. This clause would be found invalid in a court of law, should Mr. Waters choose to sue you."
I felt the last shred of hope slipping through my fingers. "But... wouldn't that invalidate the whole contract?" I asked plaintively.
Ms. Gray sighed. "I'm afraid not. There is a severablity clause included. Should one part of the contract be rendered invalid, it will be removed, but the contract is still valid. Therefore, should you choose to sign this contract, Mr. Waters will be able to terminate your marriage for any reason he desires, and you will be left with only the assets with which you entered. If you terminate the marriage, the same thing will happen."
I bit my lip. I didn't like this one bit. "What does it say, exactly?"
She leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. "Well, it's fairly standard outside of the, ah, sexual provisions. Both parties are expected to be faithful. You will be given an allowance, both for yourself, your vocation, and for various projects you choose to pursue. In the event of Mr. Waters' death, you would receive very little, I'm afraid. He also appears to have included a clause wherein should his death be suspect, you will receive nothing." She sniffed. "He is a very... thorough man."
"You mean he's totally bugfuck," I said.
"I have not met him," she replied primly. "I'm sure you would know more about that."
"I only met him yesterday," I said.
Her lips thinned and she appeared to be debating something. She inhaled and leaned forward. "Miss Dare, may I speak frankly with you?"
Hooboy. Here it came. The motherly lecture. "Sure. Why not?"
She laid her hands on the contract. "As far as sexual perversions go, the ones in this contract are fairly light."
I raised my eyebrows. "Oh?"
"Yes. There's nothing in here about sex with animals or other people or even a sexual schedule, which I have seen before. Well, not the sex with animals part," she amended. "That is highly illegal. But the other things, yes. Are you doing this for the money?"
I felt like crying. "I don't know if I'm doing this at all yet."
"But there is a good reason?" She glanced down, then back at me and said, almost gently, "There is a clause in the contract that covers any medical expenses you might need. I noted that it does not mention you specifically as the recipient of medical attention. Is that it?"
I nodded miserably.
She sat back. "Then you should do it."
My mouth dropped open. I closed it, then opened it again.
"What, seriously?" I said.
She nodded. "I know who Anton Waters is. Most people do. From what I can tell, this marriage would be a little bit of putting the cart before the horse, yes? You are not currently romantically interested in him?"
Not romantically, no. I shook my head.
She patted the papers in front of her. "The man who drew up this contract wants a woman who cannot betray him. This indicates he has a lot of problems, but he is also treating you as an object rather than a person. The former does not excuse the latter. In my opinion there is nothing in the world that should keep you from taking all you can from him, while you can. If you play your cards right, you would be able to launch a career from this marriage, or become a highly lucrative name. The world would be your oyster should you marry this man. You would not want for money should you choose to divorce him." She shrugged. "If the sex is good and you get something out of the marriage, I don't see why you shouldn't do it." She gave me a kindly old librarian smile.
I put a hand to my forehead, trying to assimilate this information. It was terrible because it made sense. I didn't like the fact that it made sense. I'd wanted her to tell me that this contract was a complete joke and that there was no way it would be enforceable. That way I could have just married Waters, then divorced him, taken his money, and saved my mother. Unfortunately, that didn't seem like it was going to happen.
On the other hand, even with her encouragement, I was still hesitant. Fuck Anton Waters? Sure. Date him? From what I'd seen, a couple of really expensive dinners would be fun to get, but not much else. Marry him? God no. I wasn't naive. I didn't think marriage had to be for your one true love, but marrying for something other than love left a bad taste in my mouth. I must be a secret romantic. Who knew?
But what choice did I have?
I sighed. "Thanks for your time," I told her.
She looked surprised. "You don't want me to go over the contract with you?"
"Will that cost more than the free consultation?" I asked her. "Because I don't do anything but free so well."
Her eyes crinkled. "Oh, I'm sure I could go over it and even make some changes that you'd probably find useful, pro bono. Of course, I'd expect you to recommend me to your friends. And if anyone asks, drop my name as your prenup consultant."
"Wow," I said. "That's... uh..."
"No problem," she said airily. "It'll be great for my business." She fixed me with a sharp eye. "And if you marry Anton Waters, get used to that sort of proposition." She sat up and pushed the contract across the desk, flipping to the second page. "Now, here's the section about separate property..."
*
By the time I got home and had a shower, I was full of vim and vinegar and ready to take on the world, and Anton Waters in particular. I wasn't going to take any of this lying down. Wrapped in my threadbare bathrobe with a Hello Kitty towel smothering my wet hair, I called Empire Capital and demanded to speak to Anton Waters.
This didn't go over so well, until I remembered that I was apparently a VIP in the Empire empire and gave my name.
"Oh!" The poor receptionist sounded like she was going to have a very peppy heart attack, and I felt bad. But not very. She was part of the Evil Empire. She was the enemy. "Yes! Of course, Miss Dare!" The phone line clicked and my ears were flooded with baroque music. It lasted only a few moments before Arthur's voice came on the line.
"I'm so sorry, Miss Dare," he said smoothly, "but Mr. Waters is out of the office. Let me give you his private cell so you may reach him."
"I... oh." I was taken aback. I'd worked as a receptionist before, and let me tell you, in some places giving out someone's private cell number is tantamount to committing ritual hari kiri in the workplace. If you wanted to fast-track yourself to getting fired, give out a private cell number. The only explanation that I could come up with was that Waters had left specific instructions to give his number to me if I called.
Unnerved, I wrote down the number, thanked Arthur, and hung up.
Having to call a second number was less exciting than the first call. The courage I'd mustered from my meeting with my lawyer—and I had to give it to my father, being able to say 'my lawyer' was pretty exhilarating—was fast dwindling. Hearing the lower-level monkeys at Empire Capital—my sort of people—chirp excitedly at me did not help.
With a gulp, I dialed Anton's number, turned on the speaker, and put the phone out of reach so I wouldn't accidentally hang up, take a taxi to the airport, and buy a one-way ticket to Belize. After only two rings, the phone clicked, and his rich, deep voice answered: “Waters.”
For a moment I was tongue-tied. All the things I'd meant to say got tangled up and I couldn't sort through them fast enough to decide which I should start with. The silence got longer and longer. I knew this tactic. He was waiting on the other end of the line, waiting for the person who called him to fill up the silence. He was Anton Waters. He didn't have to talk if h
e didn't want to, and he certainly wasn't going to waste precious words asking someone something twice.
“Why is everyone at your company so nice to me?” I finally blurted. Hey, it was better than nothing.
“Ah, Miss Dare,” he said. “I was wondering when you would call.”
Uuuuuugh. He was such a twat. Such a movie-cliche twat. And I wanted to fuck him really badly, and I might actually maybe perhaps marry him. I should have gone to a shrink instead of a lawyer.
“That's nice,” I said. “Why is everyone so nice to me?”
“I told them we may be getting married,” he said.
I couldn't hold in my indignant shout. “What?” I hadn't even told my closest friends, and he'd probably sent out a company-wide memo about it.
“It wouldn't be good for their health if they found out after the fact,” he said. “Katy, my front desk receptionist, already called Arthur yesterday and apologized for being rude to you when you first walked in. I gather she was very contrite.”
It took me a moment to realize what he was referring to. “Oh. Well,” I said awkwardly, “I wasn't really dressed for visiting.” The only place my work clothes were fit for visiting was a street corner, and even then I'd need a nice cardboard sign to complete the ensemble. Will make poor life decisions for food.
Nervously I fidgeted with the towel I had wrapped around my head. Hearing his voice, even this pale imitation over my cell phone speakers, was bringing back memories of yesterday, when he cornered me in his office and pressed me against the wall.
My cheeks heated. Don't think about that! I commanded myself.
“Have you given any further thought to my offer?” he asked, which made it hard not to think about. Almost absently the hand toying with the towel on my head drifted down to the hot space between my thighs and began toying with that instead.
No matter how I sliced it, that couldn't be a good sign. I didn't take my hand away, however. The richness of his voice had made me wet and slick.
