“Forewarned, but not contractually obligated,” he says. “What are you going to tell them, exactly?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I can do my best to keep things in general terms.” My head hurts. At least the buzz from the margaritas has worn off. The whole conversation would probably have been better to have tomorrow. Though I doubt either of us would have gotten any sleep with this hanging over us. “Beck, I don’t want this relationship to isolate me. I don’t want to agree to anything that runs the risk of me winding up resenting you one day.”
An indentation appears between his brows.
“You wanted someone who wasn’t after you for your money,” I say. “And yet the money is such a big part of everything now.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can I have the NDA, please?” He reaches out, rising to his feet. I hand over the papers. Turns out he’s off to find a pen. The one he returns with gleams like polished metal in the firelight. Platinum probably. If you’re going to sign your name to million-dollar deals, I guess you may as well do it in style. He sits back down, and sets the paperwork on the coffee table. Several lines of text are crossed out with a swift series of authoritative strokes before he writes something at the bottom of the contract. “See if that’s agreeable.”
“All right.”
I reach for the papers, but for a moment he holds on to them, almost glaring at them. Then he takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. “Let me give you some context. About sixteen years back, when he was in college, Ethan started dating this girl. A journalism student. It got serious fast. He was planning on asking her to marry him once they graduated, but it was all fake. Turns out she was writing a book about the family and using him as a means of research. Dad managed to get the book shut down, but that’s when the background reports and the NDAs became mandatory for everyone.”
I take the papers. “No wonder he’s bitter. That’s horrible.”
Beck sits there, looking for all the world like a lost little boy. Just for a moment. Then his jaw firms, his gaze hardens. “Ethan and Penny are right; I need to protect both my interests and my family here.”
“From me.”
He says nothing. There is no denial.
And that stings. In fact, this whole fucking conversation is misery. What to do when your boyfriend turns into a complicated and costly legal dispute. Someone needs to write that how-to book. I swallow hard, my throat dry. “While I basically understand where you’re coming from, this is a lot to take in.”
“What did you think of the cohabitation agreement?”
“It seems pretty straightforward. It’s also very generous. A little too generous.” I rub at my temples, trying to alleviate the ache starting up inside my brain. “The allowance is a definite no. I’m going to find more work. Sitting at home waiting for you to have time for me in your busy schedule does not appeal.”
“It wouldn’t be like that.”
“There’s also the self-respect side of things to be considered.”
He presses his lips together for a moment. “All right.”
I hand over the second lot of papers and he peruses them, searching for the relevant subsection. This too is crossed out before he signs the contract.
I clear my throat. “As for the dissolution part—”
“That stays. You’ve upended your life and moved to Denver for me. The settlement should we terminate the relationship is fair and based on how long we’re together. I won’t negotiate that. You and your future must be protected too.” He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Have a lawyer look it over. But I’m not open to changing that part of the contract, Alice.”
“The amount is exorbitant.”
“Some of my exes would disagree,” he says, tone cynical. “At any rate, it stays.”
“If I sign that, are you going to be able to trust that I’m here for you and not the money?” I ask. “Because if all this does is plant doubts in your head than what is even the point of going any further?”
He just stares at me.
“Well?”
He jerks his chin. “Think of it this way. The more generous the dissolution settlement, the more financial incentive you have to leave me. If you stay—”
“When I stay.”
“Then it will be obvious to everyone that you’re here for me, for us, and not for the money.”
I’m not entirely sure that signing a contract saying I win a jackpot if I walk out really provides evidence of my feelings towards him, but apparently this is the best I’m going to get. “All right. What’s next? Monogamy is just obvious. I see that written notice of dissolution of the relationship includes text messaging. That’s acceptable, though I’d hope we’d have the maturity to sit down and talk. As for any gifts given during the—”
“They’re yours. You keep them. The car, the watch, all of it.”
I sigh.
“There’s a lot about the money that just complicates the fuck out of my life. But buying you things isn’t one of them,” he says, face set. “It makes me happy. Okay?”
“Okay. The STD tests and contraception shot makes sense,” I say. “I’m fine with doing those as soon as possible.”
“I’ll have my assistant make the appointment tomorrow. Get it out of the way.”
“Okay. I suppose it would be only fair to ask you to have the tests too.”
“Of course.”
Silence.
“Why didn’t Smith give me these on the plane?” I ask.
His eyes are dark in the low lighting. “Because I told him not to. You barely knew what you were walking into as it was. If he’d given you those, you’d have made them turn the jet around and take you straight back to LA.”
My heels sit abandoned on the floor. A pair of black leather Jimmy Choo pumps with a pointed toe. So much for my plans of seduction and hopes for drunken fumbling. This night has well and truly gone to shit. “You’re probably right. So when were you going to give them to me?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to think about it.” He rises, his movements tense, shoulders set. “If you’re happy with the documents as they stand, then perhaps we can leave them for your lawyer to look over tomorrow. I’ve got some work to do. Be in the office if you need me.”
Neither of us are romantic or touchy-feely. What not a surprise. This feels more like a legally binding agreement than a relationship right now. I kind of want to scream. Loudly.
Instead, I read the new addition at the bottom of the NDA. The thick blue ink of Beck’s writing streaming across hard black print. He accepts my discretion in deciding who and what I talk about to a few to be agreed upon close family and friends. I can live with that. Beck has already added his signature to both documents. After reading over them both twice—a task easier said than done—I add my own signature. Having a lawyer look it over would be the smart thing to do. But in this moment, I’m so fucking done.
After a long shower, I crawl into bed. Still no sign of the moody complicated billionaire. Not that I care (a total lie).
It’s when I’m on the verge of sleep, my mind all floaty and finally relaxed (so hours later), that the mattress dips. His chest is against my back, nice and tight. It’s comforting.