Lush (4 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Ah, yes. He would ask that. Nothing was ever easy or taken at face value with Cal. He always looked at cause and effect. He hadn’t gotten to where he was in business without examining things from every angle before coming to a decision or making a commitment. She supposed she should’ve been relieved he took the same care in his personal life, however impersonal this marriage really was.

He’d opened his home to her in her most desperate time. Whatever he was getting out of this marriage, she was getting far more. It wouldn’t be fair not to let him know exactly what he was getting himself into. She only hoped he wouldn’t back out once he learned just how screwed up her life was and how much of it she was bringing to his doorstep.

“Well,” she began. “I need the money. If I could find a job with the same pay, hours, and perks, I’d take it.”

He swallowed a rather large amount of his drink. “No doubt.”

“I recently lost my babysitter, so I’ll have to look for a new one right away. Which brings up another question—when will I start getting paid?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, see
,
I kind of need to. Without someone to watch Poppy, I can’t go in to work tomorrow.” She hated how reedy and needy her voice sounded.

He refilled his drink and then hers. She hadn’t realized she’d drained the glass.

“Darlin’, I’d really appreciate it if you’d get to the part where you answer my question. Why did you agree to marry me?”

She looked down at Poppy, who had fallen asleep with her little fist in her mouth. She’d do anything for her baby. Anything. She gulped back more liquid courage and forged on.

“I’m getting to that.”

“Is it all about the money?”

“No.”

“Then what’s it about? Cuz I’ve got to tell you, darlin’, you look like a woman running from trouble. I think as your husband-to-be I should get a heads up, don’t you?”

She went for another swallow only to find her glass empty. He offered her another refill, which she accepted. Admitting to Cal how completely stupid she’d been about everything and throwing herself at his mercy had to be one of the lowest moments of her life. A couple more sips and she might be able to get it all out. As long as she didn’t look at him.
Just look at Poppy.

She drained the glass once more, but this time instead of refilling it, he pried it from her hand and set it on the table.

“My mother would watch Poppy for me while I went to work,” she began. “It wasn’t the best situation, but she was the only babysitter I could afford. It’s hard to turn down free, you know?” She glanced up at him to find him watching her with that Cal intensity that both thrilled and unnerved her.

“What happened with your mother?”

“I was late picking Poppy up. I had to make up the time at work that it took to go into Dallas.”

The time it took her to come to his office and ask for her old job back, Cal realized. There was more going on here than losing a babysitter. He believed her that it wasn’t all about money. If it took all night, he’d get to the bottom of it.

“When I got to her house,” she continued, “there was a car I didn’t recognize in the driveway. It was Kevin’s.”

So this was about her son-of-a-bitch ex. Great.

“He wasn’t supposed to be there. But Mother let him in to see Poppy. He doesn’t have visitation. To my mother, a family is a unit no matter what. She took his side against me. If I leave Poppy with her, she’s going to let Kevin see her.”

“Why doesn’t he have visitation? Because of his arrest for bigamy?”

“That’s partly why. Also he’s threatened to take Poppy back to Utah with him. I’m afraid he’ll make good on that threat, and if he does, I might never get to see my daughter again.”

Something wasn’t jiving here. But her fear that her ex would take her baby was very real. She was terrified. It was that terror—way more than the need for money and the flexible-hours bullshit—that had driven her to accept his offer. The disappointment he felt over that revelation surprised him. He knew she hadn’t agreed because she loved him or even wanted him. He was literally her last and only resort. But
son of a bitch
. A part of him had hoped she might care for him at least a little.

“That’s one of the reasons I asked about moving in early,” she admitted. “The gates and security. I promise we’ll stay out of your way. You’ll hardly know we’re here. Poppy’s a very good baby. We’ll clean up—”

He put a hand up to stop her. “You’re not a guest here, Lucy. You’re going to be my wife. This is going to be your home as much as mine.”

“Okay. I just don’t want you to think I’ll take advantage.”

“Stop acting like I’ll kick you and Poppy to the curb for the slightest infraction. As long as you wear my ring, you have a place here.” He wanted to add that as long as she wore his ring she had a place in his life
and
his heart, but he didn’t think she could handle much more pressure than she was already under.

His instinct told him there was more to the story, something to do with the ex. Maybe the feelers he put out earlier that day would pay off and he’d get a look at the whole picture and know exactly what he was up against.

She shifted Poppy to the couch next to her and adjusted the blanket around her. She was a devoted mother to her daughter. It had occurred to him more than once that Poppy could be his. He and Lucy had certainly been careless more than a time or two. If things had gone differently between them…

She glanced down at the ring on her finger. He’d spent nearly the entire afternoon looking for the right ring, betting against the odds that she’d agree to marry him. Maybe it wasn’t fashionable to have colored stones in an engagement ring, but the sapphires reminded him of her eyes. She said she liked it, but she kept staring at it oddly, like it didn’t quite fit her.

“Thank you,” she said, eyes still on the ring. “I promise I’ll do my best to uphold our bargain and be the kind of wife you need me to be.”

He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and splashed more into each of their glasses. She was acting like a wounded puppy, and it pissed him off. He wanted the Lucy who went toe-to-toe with him and gave as good as she got. So maybe he’d have to draw that Lucy out.

“What kind of wife do you think I need?” he asked.

“Well,” she started and then took a sip. “You said you needed a hostess, someone to hold dinner parties?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m a fairly good cook, but I think it would probably be best if we had the dinners catered.”

“And what about the charity balls? You do know how to dance, don’t you?”

“I…ah…know how to sway…”

She finished off her drink, so he refilled her glass. He wondered if she’d realized it yet that she was too drunk to drive home.

“Do you know anything about corporate wives?” he asked.

“I’m not sure if I’ve met very many.”

“And your wardrobe. We’re going to have to make some changes. That blouse you’re wearing, besides being cut too low—” but not low enough for his taste, “—is too small. I can see half your bra.”

She glanced down at her chest, then her head popped up. The fire was back in her eyes just as he intended. “You cannot see half my bra. It gapes a little, but it’s not obscene.”

“Darlin’, from where I’m sitting, my eyes have practically gotten to second base with you. And your skirt—”

“What about my skirt?”

“It’s tight enough for when we’re at home. Personally the office sex kitten look does a lot for me, but it sends the wrong message to every other man who is
not
your soon-to-be husband.”

“Look, I know I’ve put on some weight—”

“Yeah, and you put it in all the right places. That’s what counts.” He ran his gaze over her the way he’d been wanting to ever since he’d seen her again this afternoon. She flushed under his gaze. “You’re making me want to add an addendum to the option we discussed in my office.”

Her gorgeous mouth dropped open for a second and then she rebounded. “You’re a pig.” She didn’t sound half as pissed off as she would’ve been if she wasn’t so intoxicated.

“I can’t help it. I’m a male pig. And you, darlin’, are very female.”

“I have a question about that option.” She downed the last of her whiskey and pushed her glass at him for more. He obliged. “How open to options is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just how many option clauses do you have open?” She was slurring her words now.

“Just the one, darlin’. Just the one.”

She tried to point at him, but she couldn’t quite focus enough to nail him down with it. “I mean, there’s not like a brunette option or a redhead option or even another blonde-headed-ded-ded option, is there? Cuz, I know you. You’re a man who likes his options. So if we’re gonna get married, I’m gonna have to insist you cut…” she made a slicing motion with her hand and tipped over slightly then recovered, “…all your other options. You get me, cowboy?”

“I get you, darlin’. Yours is the only option for me. But I’m going to want the same assurances from you.”

“Psshh.” She waved him away. “Between my giant ass and Poppy, there aren’t any men who would even give me a second look let alone options.” She rolled her eyes, weaving a little, and then finished off her glass.

He took it from her before she could ask for another.

“I seriously doubt that. But just so we’re clear on all our options, why don’t we write them down.” He wanted her to remember this conversation tomorrow.

“Oh! Like a contract. Good idea. And we should have it notarized so there’s no weaseling out of it.”

He was halfway to grabbing a sheet of paper when her words stopped him. “You want to make our agreement formal?”

“Well, yeah. Sure. Why not? You like binding contracts, don’t you?” She giggled. “I know for sure you like binding.” She waggled her eyebrows at him.

“You want to put binding in our binding contract?”

She slapped her knee, wide-eyed. “We totally should!”

He sat back down next to her with a pad of paper and a pen and started writing. “So binding is option number one. What’s option number two?”

“No, no. Scratch that out. Number one should be the option that says neither one of us doesn’t get any other options. Or we’re the other’s only option. No other optioning. Or something like that. Otherwise I’m not havin’ any kind of options with you.” She shook her finger at him, then held up three fingers. “Two can be binding. Oh! And we should make three or is it four…I can’t remember…but it should definitely be that thing you do with your teeth and your tongue right here.” She made a sweeping gesture that encompassed her whole body.

He started writing, jotting down all of the
options
she wanted, adding a few of his own with her permission. When they were done, they had a five-page list of some of the most inventive sexual activities ever compiled.

“Okay. Okay,” she said. “I’ve got one more. This is the last one. I promise.”

Somehow when he wasn’t looking she’d gotten ahold of the whiskey bottle and refilled her glass…two…no, maybe three times.

“And what would that be?” He really couldn’t believe it. She’d outdone anything his imagination could come up with by yards. He couldn’t wait to see what she came up with next.

“We need a…” she hiccupped, “…an optional option.”

“An optional option. What exactly is that?”

“It’s an option that says that all of the options are completely optional.” She waved her hands around. “Optionally speaking of course.”

“That goes without saying.”

She snorted. “Right. That’s what
I
thought. Didn’t turn out that way.” She tapped the page with her finger. “Write it down. I want it in writing this time. Op-tion-al.”

He stared at her for a moment, not quite believing what she’d inadvertently told him. What in the hell had her marriage to that asshole been like? Had he forced her to have sex with him? How bad had things gotten for her?

He cleared his throat, which had become inexplicably clogged. “How about: Everything in this option agreement is absolutely and completely optional, and either party can pull their option at any time during any option?”

“Oohhh. That’s good.”

He wrote it down. “Now what?”

“Now we sign. Wait! No. We need a notoriety to make it all officially official.”

“You mean a notary.”

“Right.” She squinted up at him. “Isn’t that what I said?”

“Close enough. Let me make a phone call.”

Twenty minutes later they had a signed and notarized option agreement thanks to Cal’s business connections. It was going to cost him a couple of hundred dollars extra for the late-night service, but if it made Lucy feel secure in marrying him, then it was money well spent.

He was still trying to wrap his head around what Lucy had let slip. What had she been through in the past seventeen months? Whatever it was had nearly broken her spirit. He was going to have to be extra gentle, extra careful to gain back her trust and make her feel secure again.