Contractual Obligation: The Contract
(Contractual Obligation, Book 1)
Lauren Keller
Copyright 2013, Lauren Keller
This story is a work of fiction.
Michael Davidson is playboy entrepreneur, and partying away his future. His father wants him to settle down and get his reputation in check, before he runs their company into the ground.
Natalie Cooper is a model not getting enough work. Frustrated with her money situation, she gets a lucky break and is offered the opportunity of a lifetime. What will she have to give up to win the prestigious job she wants to land - being Michael's trophy wife?
Can they strike a deal, or will feelings get in the way to complicate things? Michael wants his freedom, Natalie wants a secure future... but what they might find is something they never intended - love.
Contents
Contractual Obligation: The Contract
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 1
Kent Davidson slammed the paper onto the conference room table. “You made the god damn front page of The Times.”
Pulling the paper closer, Michael examined the photo. He didn’t remember the girl’s name; last night was all a blur. “At least they got my good side,” he said.
“Every flipping night you’re with another woman and another embarrassing photo surfaces. I refuse to let you run Bowman Industries into the ground with your reputation. I’ve worked too damn hard building this company. Either settle your ass down and get married by the time you’re thirty, or go find another job. I’ve had enough.”
“You’ve been married enough for both of us,” Michael spat at his father. “Besides, that only gives me one year, that’s ridiculous, I’m not ready to settle down.”
“You leave me out of this; I don’t get my picture splashed all over the papers in shameful drunken poses. I’m as serious as a heart attack. Get your shit together, Michael - the game is over. You can have a lifetime of success with Bowman Industries, take over when I retire, or you can go build your own god damn empire.”
“No, you just make the papers for all of your divorces,” Michael yawned. “What are we up to now, wife number five?”
“Get your shit together, boy. It’s time to grow up and take responsibility. How do you expect me to advance your career when all you do is piss off the board and our stockholders? You’re primed and ready, you’ve got your business sense about you, you’re a natural, but until you get your personal life in order, I refuse to give you any more power in this company. I’ve spoken to James - he’ll be dropping a file in your office later. Pick out a wife, Michael, and pick a good one.”
Kent ran his fingers through his silver hair, huffing and walking away before he went off on his son again. Michael was a damn genius in business, but his personal life was holding him back. He’d had enough. It would pain him to cut him loose, but after enough years of this nonsense – Kent Davison was done.
Bowman Industries was his baby, and had grown leaps and bounds in the last ten years. He’d worked his ass off, and he refused to let his son tear it down with a lousy reputation, with his picture splashed across newspapers on a daily basis.
Michael excused himself, shaking his head. His dad will get over it, just like he always does. He’d let him blow off his steam like usual, and things would calm down soon enough.
Rounding the corner to his office, he smiled at his assistant. He’d bedded her the first time he took her out and then once again for good measure. He was grateful she wasn’t clingy, since she already had a husband. She was in for the good time, and the better position as his first assistant. The money was worth it, and the occasional romp in bed was simply a bonus.
Sure Michael was a charmer, a total playboy, and with hands that had never worked a day of hard labor in his life, but he was also a great lover and had a big…well, you know.
Allison followed Michael into his office, dropping some files. “I separated what needs immediate attention, highlighted emails you should take a look at, and freed up a slot on your schedule for your meeting with James. Your father said it was a priority.”
“James?” His eyebrow arched, “He wasn’t serious was he?”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” he shook his head. He didn’t have time for this nonsense, and he wanted no part of settling down. Settling down did nothing for you anyway – women were gold diggers looking for an easy life, and he’d never find one woman that would satisfy his needs. Boredom always set in, and he was out sniffing around for something fresh.
“If you need anything,” his assistant walked toward the door, “just say the word.” What she wanted was another lunchtime quickie like they’d had a few months ago. Things at home were stale, and with the small fling, she could fantasize and believe her life was more interesting than she knew it was.
“Thanks Ally,” he didn’t look up, he was already buried in one of the files.
Running his hand through his dark hair, Michael stared at the papers in front of him. Sorting through his priorities, he turned to his computer and read the prioritized email. Normally focused and strong, his mind scattered, wondering what his future held and if his father was serious.
How did he expect him to meet his dream girl and marry her within a year’s time, when he hadn’t even found a girl to hold his interest for more than a week or two? Usually within two or three days, he’d grown bored of the socialites at the local club scene all looking to get drunk and laid, forgetting that they had tons of money and Mommy and Daddy had been too busy to spend any time with them in life, so they were out trying to fill that void…just like Michael was.
He was a man child, unwilling to grow up, unwilling to let go of his party life, and unwilling to follow the path his father had taken by marrying woman after woman, and then divorcing them one after the other.
Spinning his chair, Michael caught his reflection in the shaded window, overlooking the city. He was holding up well in his prime, and refused to give up the best years of his life to some lifestyle his dad was demanding. It’s absurd.
Michael put a call into James, “James, how are you today?” A hesitation, “Great, great, I’m just calling to let you know I won’t need those files after all. Right, go ahead and cancel our afternoon appointment. I have some business to attend. No, no, I’ll give you a shout when I have a few minutes later this week.”
With a Cheshire grin, he hung up the phone. That was easy enough, now to put the brakes on his father’s plans, but that would take some doing.
Within moments, his phone rang. Looking at the caller ID he frowned – seriously, that fast?
“Your canceled appointment has been moved up. He’ll be in your office in twenty minutes, and I’m on my way too. I wasn’t kidding, Michael. It’s time to make a choice – your personal life or business. Have Allison push all of your other appointments back.”
Michael stared ahead, annoyed that his father was putting him on the spot like this. It would serve him right if he got up and left the office now, but he realized he’d just be putting off the inevitable.
“Fine,” he said, hanging up the phone without another word.
When the men congregated, Kent started the conversation, telling him that James had done some research and found some women from local modeling agencies that were offered the job of becoming a possible trophy wife. He continued, “Many applied, and then James weeded through them, selectin
g a handful for you to look at. We didn’t want somebody too high profile.”
Michael snorted, “So you just plucked through some models, and offered them all cash to be seen as my partner. Lovely,” he spat out. “You’re a real class act, Dad.”
“Watch your tone, and get your shit together.” Turning his attention to James, “You can leave the files with Michael.” Turning back to his son, “When you’ve made your selection, let James know so he can arrange things, and if there’s more than one you’d like to meet, don’t dawdle making your choice. We need to get things rolling; we could use some better publicity.”
Staring at his father, his angst was noted.
“That will be all, James. Thank you for your time and discretion as always.”
“Is this how you meet your wives, Dad, hiring models that have nothing better to do than hang on the arm of an old man?”
“One of us has to run this company, and you’re apparently too busy partying.”
“It never interferes,” he shot out. “I’m damn good at what I do.”
“And you’ve got an incredible future if you’d stop ruining your reputation, and taking this company down with you. Mom would…”
“Don’t,” his hand shot up. “Don’t bring her into this.”
Kent looked at his son. “I’ll check in later with you. I’ve got a meeting to go to.”
Michael watched his father leave the room. His life would have been different if his mother was still alive. Instead, all he saw was his father use women and dump them when he got bored, right before their contract stated they would collect big. He’d let them believe they’d make it – but it was all planned. And with a confidentiality contract, if they opened their mouths, they left with nothing. They had to settle for a smaller settlement than they thought they were going to get going into the marriage.
He didn’t even want to look at the stupid files. Five folders sat on his desk, all women willing to sell their souls for a few bucks. That’s not what Michael wanted in a wife. He figured one day he’d fall in love the traditional way, somebody would capture his heart and soul, and he wouldn’t want to be without her…isn’t that how it’s done? Instead, he had files to rifle through, pictures to look at, and nonsense information to decide on - matchmaking at its worst.
He wondered if his father even remembered what it was like to be in love. He used to talk about his mother, share details of their lives as they were starting out, but he rarely mentioned her these days.
Michael barely remembered her, he was a toddler when the accident happened, but he knew how much his father loved her by the way he would look at her picture. There was something softer in his eyes, and when he’d speak of her – Michael wished he’d gotten the chance to spend more time with her.
When his first step mother came around, he thought it would be nice to have a woman in the house – but he was sadly mistaken. She took no interest in mothering a child, and shopping and lunches filled her days. Through the years, it was an endless parade of shallow women in it for the money – and fully aware what they were there for. How did his father expect him to live the same kind of life? What about love?
Dropping his head to his hands, he knew he’d have to open the folders eventually. They were attractive women, but the idea of picking through them to choose a mate made him feel like he was shopping, and felt cheap.
He tried to read the bio that went with each, and information, but they couldn’t hold his focus. He’d gone through the first three and tossed them aside. Two folders left to look at. Michael’s stomach churned, he hated this, the entire thought of this nonsense.
Picking up folder four, something happened. A dark haired beauty stared back at him, not with the usual blank stare, but with depth and vulnerability. It was all an act, he reminded himself – she applied for this damn job. She’s as shallow as the rest of them. Tossing it aside, he opened folder five – and there she was, the woman he would choose to meet.
It was an instant attraction, something in his gut, but as gorgeous as she was he reminded himself she was in this for one thing – money. It was a job.
Staring at the photo, he looked at the woman. Why would she take a job like this? She was obviously more than capable of meeting men, or was she a lesbian, not wanting to bother with them. This would be an easy solution, a loveless marriage, one where she didn’t have to care – just make a few appearances with him.
He’d dated a few models in his time out, but most were mindless tramps, looking for the next party, the next cock to ride, and for someone else to pay the bill for the champagne. Would she be any different?
This is ridiculous. He closed the folder and pushed it back on his desk. He’d meet his own damn woman; he didn’t need his father’s lawyer and personal assistant setting him up. He’d do it on his own. Thinking back, he couldn’t come up with one single woman that he’d dated over the past few years that he’d want to make his wife.
Pulling the file back into his view, he opened the folder. If he was going to play this game, he might as well choose a gorgeous one, and this model was cream of the crop.
He sent a text to James’s phone that simply said, “Number 5”. Michael’s stomach knotted. It felt wrong, but the wheels were already in motion.
Chapter 2
Natalie Cooper ran down the flight of stairs, her heart beating, as she rushed out onto the street. The row of yellow cabs that was usually there was down to two. Just as she pushed through the door, one more pulled away. Flagging the last cab, her arm up, she almost got there…almost, and then her heel broke.
Bending to pull her shoe off and grab the spike of her heel, she glanced up just in time to see her cab pulling away with somebody else in it.
“Come on!” Natalie reeled back and threw her shoe at the car, missing it by a few feet. “What the hell?”
People rarely paid attention in New York; she was just another person having a moment on an overly crowded sidewalk. Walking lopsided, she went and retrieved her shoe, trying to find a way to wedge the heel back on.
At least they weren’t expensive shoes – not like she could afford more than one pair of those. Pulling off the matching shoe, she tossed them in the trashcan. There was a discount shoe place around the corner. Thirty bucks and she’d be out the door in another crappy pair of shoes.
It’s not like she could afford to throw another thirty bucks down the drain. Her credit cards were already pushing their limits, and the last thing she wanted was to waste money right now. If she didn’t figure something out soon, she’d be in a rash of trouble.
If things kept up, she’d end up having to rely on buses in place of cabs. That was one luxury she wasn’t ready to give up yet. When she first moved to the city, learning to deal with public transportation was a trick in itself. Where she grew up, everybody had a car, and things were always a driving distance. In the city, if you had a car, it was usually just a hassle, trying to find parking, pay for parking, and traffic was a nightmare. She thought she could do it, thought she’d just shuttle herself around, but the reality was that her car was better off in her parent’s driveway now that she lived here.
It was a leap of faith to move to New York. She’d signed on with a smaller, lesser known agency, but they kept her working at first. She’d envisioned fashion model gigs, but what she got was catalog work, and hostess or waiting staff jobs, where real estate agents hired attractive staff to pass out hors d'oeuvres as upscale clients looked at insanely expensive properties.
Lately the jobs had been drying up, and without much buffer in her savings, being able to make the rent was getting harder and harder.
Today was important. She thought for sure she’d land the job, but after a few shots, the photographer went off about his artistic needs and how she wasn’t right for the job. Just like that, she was finished. Grabbing her things, she rushed out the door, hoping to make it home before the rain started…and as she walked to the curb, throwing her hand up hoping to hail a cab,
she broke her heel.
Here she was again, calling to a cab, in new thirty dollar shoes, wondering what the hell she was going to do.
When Victoria, her agent, first told her about a possible opportunity, she scoffed. He wants what? Wait, what does it pay? She reconsidered. If she couldn’t make rent, she’d have to go back home with her tail between her legs, showing her parents they were right all along. She couldn’t support herself working as a model, and she should have stayed in college like they wanted. Only she knew she’ be able to do it, felt it in her bones – and when she signed with her agency, she felt like she’d finally proven something.
Now, she was this close to having to give up. She couldn’t afford the New York lifestyle, or the prices that went along with every tiny thing. Her apartment was the size of a shoebox, and three times more than she’d pay at home.
“Come home,” her mother would say. “Settle down, get a job, live life how everybody else does. All that glitz and glamour is phony, you’ll never be happy.”
She’d prove them wrong, she didn’t care what the cost was, but so help her god, she’d prove them wrong. She’d make it on her own two feet, modeling in a world of glamour, and getting her face splashed on billboards and popular magazines one day. Then everyone at home who said she’d never amount to anything could kiss her ass.
As the cab pulled up, Natalie got in, giving her address. On arriving, she started the long trudge up the stairs. Her fifth floor walk-up kept her in better shape than schlepping around the city. It wasn’t always a walk-up, but the elevator that was ancient had a “do not use” sign on it since she’d arrived.
She could never carry up more than she could fit in her hands, which encouraged some savings. Dragging groceries up five flights of stairs was enough of a challenge. She could have found something on a lower floor, but in the city, decent apartments were hard to come by. Her shoebox was the best she’d found without breaking her budget. Well, until the jobs dried up. She hated the idea of having to settle for housemates or a studio in a lesser neighborhood that wore bars on their windows for safety.
Contractual Obligation: The Contract Page 1
