Chapter 7
1339 Words
NADIA.
My name appeared on the first page.
NADIA WILSON.
Exclusive after-hours executive consultancy/Private Executive Retention and Confidentiality Agreement.
Sixty-night private review period for the Darius-Langton acquisition.
What the hell was this? It didn't look one bit like what he just called it.
I expected filth. Something crude and stupid I could be appalled by, could refuse, could throw at his bare chest and storm out on.
Instead it was brutally, immaculately clean.
I read the first paragraph, then the second, and then my eyes started moving faster.
For sixty nights, I would be assigned directly to Jeremy Kellason for the Langton and Darius acquisition cycle.
Sixty nights?
Why nights?
Why not days?
The agreement called it “after-hours executive availability,” which sounded harmless until I moved down to the next line.
I would be required to report in person whenever summoned for private review, urgent revisions, confidential briefings, or executive preparation.
In person?
Whenever summoned?
My fingers tightened around the page.
It got worse.
I could not discuss the arrangement with anyone outside approved executive counsel. Not coworkers. Not HR unless Jeremy authorized it. Not even Liam.
Especially not Liam.
Anything I saw, heard, handled, received, or “became aware of” inside Jeremy’s office, vehicle, residence, private suite, or off-site workspace would fall under executive confidentiality.
My stomach turned.
His suite, his bedroom, his laptop, the photos, me standing in his doorway while he touched himself to my video...
All of it would become something I was legally forbidden to talk about.
I kept reading.
I must maintain all existing personal, familial, and public commitments in good standing for the full duration of the review period, and shall undertake no action that materially alters her personal or domestic circumstances without prior written executive consent.
This is insane.
I could not request a transfer, nor could I resign from the acquisition team.
I could not refuse late assignments unless there was a documented medical emergency involving my mother.
My mother.
He had slotted her in the contract. I almost scoffed.
Then came the part that made my blood go thin.
I had to disclose any conflict of interest, hidden communication, financial arrangement, or personal tie connected to the Orlands family, their affiliates, or any unresolved legal matter involving them.
My father.
He had buried my father inside this legal language.
The contract was dense, demanding, and strict to the point of insult — but it was just a work contract. A brutal one.
Should I be relieved?
I sucked in a deep breath.
"This is a consultancy agreement," I said. "This is — it's just work."
I almost added 'so, what's the big deal?'
"Mhm..." He looked amused. "It's just work." He took a step closer to me. "Let me read it to you the way I wrote it before my lawyer thought it wise to modify it into legal language."
My heart thundered.
I knew it.
"Sixty nights." He nodded at the page in my hands. "That clause about availability after eight. It means when I call, you come. Not when it's convenient. Not when Liam's out of town. When I call."
"That's not what it—"
"It's exactly what it says. You just read it the wrong way." He took a sip.
"The emergency line? Your mother." He smiled, slow and cruel. "That's the only excuse I'll accept. Anything short of her dying—and I mean actively, clinically dying—you show up. Anything short of that, and refusing me is a breach."
"What?"
"The summons clause?" He tilted his head. "That means I don't ask, Nadia. I tell."
“If I call on your rehearsal dinner, you come,” he said.
“No...”
“If I call on your wedding morning, you come.”
“Jeremy—”
“If I call on your wedding night, Nadia, you leave his bed and come to mine.” He said through gritted teeth.
My eyes dropped back to the words. They hadn't changed. They still looked clean and innocent.
"The confidentiality clause," he went on after a deep, calming breath. "It doesn't just cover the company. It covers this room. The phone. The photographs. Me. What I do to you when you're in my space. What you let me do. What you beg me to do. What you don't let me do but I do anyway." He smirked. "Sign it, and you can never tell a soul what I am — not Liam, not a lawyer, not even a priest. You'd be the one in breach."
I was shaking. My face was hot. My thighs were pressed together.
"And most importantly." He nodded at the file. "The personal commitments clause? You are not allowed to break your engagement with Liam, no matter what happens."
I could feel the cage he had been building so carefully, bar by bar, and I couldn't breathe.
"Why? If you want me this much, then why make sure I marry your friend at all costs?" I held his gaze, "What kind of a man are you?"
He smirked. "That's not your clause to understand." The shutter came down behind his eyes as his gaze darkened. "Sign," he said, "and I stay quiet about your father."
I dumped the paper on the floor, shaking my head slowly. "No. I'm not signing anything. If you had enough to ruin me, you wouldn’t be bargaining." My jaw tightened. “I’m leaving.”
I turned, but his voice stopped me.
“Elias Wilson received fifteen thousand dollars from you last month,” Jeremy said behind me. “Seven the month before. Five before that. Always different accounts. Always the same intermediary.”
My hand froze on the strap of my bag.
“I have the transfer amounts. The routing number. The intermediary. The contact name. And now I have the message he sent today.”
He tilted his head. “Still want me to bargain?”
I let out an ugly, tired laugh as I turned to face him again. “You are sick, aren't you?”
“I’m just efficient.” He shrugged.
“This is not a contract, Mr. Kellason.” My voice broke despite how hard I fought it. “This is a leash.”
Jeremy walked closer, slow enough that I hated every second I had to watch him come.
“The contract is legal,” he said. “The leash is your father.”
“Sign,” he continued, “and I stay quiet.” His knuckles found the side of my face as he mocked me with his gentle caress. "And if you don’t, Liam finds out about this fugitive.”
My knees nearly folded.
I grabbed the edge of the table.
Jeremy’s eyes dropped to my hand, then back to my face.
“Don’t faint,” he said. “It wastes time.”
“You monster.”
He smirked and closed the distance between us.
God, I couldn't breathe.
I tried to step away, but I collided with the couch behind me.
His hand shot out before I could stumble, grabbing the back of my neck in his firm grip as he pulled me harshly into him.
I stumbled into his hard chest.
He didn't stop there. He leaned down to my height, burying his nose in the crook of my neck and dragging in a long breath.
"Why are you doing this?" Both my hands pressed firmly against his chest, but I couldn't even push him off.
He didn't say anything to that. He always left that statement unanswered.
"Fuck..." He said under his breath, almost inaudibly, as he breathed out warm air into my hair.
"Liam is your friend." I tried again.
"Shhhh..." He hushed. "Just sign it. You don't have a choice." He whispered.
“I hate you,” I said.
“I know.”
“I will never forgive you for this.”
“I didn’t ask for forgiveness.” He slowly pulled away. "I asked for sixty nights. Now. Sign."
- Writer
