Terms and Conditions
1509 Words
Three minutes into the meeting, Derrick Cavell decided that negotiating with Anne Wheeler felt less like arranging a marriage and more like surviving an interrogation with someone who had already read the ending.
“She’s adding another clause,” Felix Darko said carefully.
“I heard you,” Derrick said, not looking away from Anne.
Anne sat across the conference table looking completely unbothered. Like she did this every Tuesday.
“I value privacy,” she said.
“You’ve said that six times.”
“Because your lawyer keeps acting surprised every time.”
Felix adjusted his glasses. “I hear you perfectly, Ms. Wheeler.”
“Wonderful. Write it down then.”
Gerald sat near the windows with his coffee, watching everything with the calm of a man who’d already seen this movie and knew how it ended.
The room looked really expensive, the kind of expensive that didn’t need to try, dark wood, floor to ceiling windows, coffee going cold on the table because nobody had thought to drink it since the meeting started going sideways.
Anne tapped the contract. “No one enters my office without permission.”
Derrick stared at her. “We won’t even share an office.”
“Good. Then this should be easy to agree to.”
Felix sighed quietly and typed.
“You’re very demanding,” Derrick said, “for someone who accepted a proposal four days ago.”
Anne’s head came up fast. “Excuse me, you proposed.”
“You accepted within twenty four hours.”
“You offered financial stability. I’m not going to apologize for having common sense.”
Gerald covered his mouth with his coffee cup. Derrick caught it immediately.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Tremendously,” Gerald said.
Anne flipped to another page. “I’m not changing my surname.”
Derrick looked at her. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
“It’s my name.”
“It’s a twelve month contract.”
“And it’s still my name.”
Felix typed without looking up, which was probably the only reason he kept a straight face.
Derrick rubbed his jaw. “You realize most people don’t negotiate fake marriages like they’re buying a small country.”
Anne narrowed her eyes. “You’ve done this before?”
“No.”
“You said that very fast.”
“Because it’s obviously true.”
“Or because you’ve rehearsed the denial.”
“I’m regretting this already.”
“That makes two of us,” Anne said pleasantly, and turned another page.
Felix cleared his throat. “There’s also the living arrangement clause.”
Both of them looked up at the same time.
“What living arrangement?” Anne said.
“What living arrangement?” Derrick said.
Felix looked between them. “You’ll be sharing a residence.”
Silence dropped over the table like something heavy.
Anne turned to Derrick. Derrick turned to Felix.
“That’s not happening,” Anne said.
“Oh good,” Felix said, looking briefly relieved. “Agreement.”
“No,” Anne said. “Agreement that it’s completely unreasonable.”
Felix recovered quickly. “A public marriage without a shared address raises questions. It affects credibility.”
Derrick looked genuinely irritated now. “So your solution is that I share my home with someone I met less than a week ago.”
Anne pressed a hand to her chest. “Your suffering must be enormous.”
“You spent eleven minutes discussing tax brackets on a balcony.”
“That’s called networking.”
“That’s called terrifying.”
“And you,” Anne said, pointing at him, “look like someone who schedules emotion in advance and then cancels it.”
Gerald laughed. An actual laugh. Into his coffee.
Derrick looked at him like he’d been personally betrayed. “Really.”
“I’m sorry,” Gerald said. He didn’t sound sorry.
Anne looked back at Felix. “Separate bedrooms.”
“Already in the draft.”
“Good.”
Derrick frowned. “You assumed that.”
“You proposed marriage in under two sentences on a balcony. I made reasonable assumptions.”
Felix wrote something down and did not comment.
They moved through the rest of the contract the way you move through something nobody is happy about but everyone has already agreed to, slowly, with frequent stops. Anne questioned three more clauses. Derrick disputed two of her additions. Felix quietly typed everything and said very little, which was probably how he’d survived this long in his profession.
When they reached the financial section, Anne sat up straighter.
“There it is,” she said.
Derrick watched her. “You said that dramatically.”
“Rich people always bury the money section. It’s like a tradition.”
Felix read it out. Monthly compensation throughout the contract period.
“No,” Anne said immediately.
Derrick frowned. “No?”
“I’m not taking an allowance.”
“It’s not called that.”
“It sounds like one.”
“You’ll be adjusting your entire life for twelve months. You should be compensated.”
Anne looked at him. Not angry exactly. Something harder to read. “I have my own money, Derrick.”
“I know you do.”
“Then stop talking about it like I don’t.”
He held her gaze. She held his. Neither moved.
“….Fine,” she said finally.
“That was easier than I expected.”
“I’m practicing maturity.”
“You looked pained doing it.”
“I usually do.”
Gerald watched the two of them and thought about rhythm. About how people who don’t know each other don’t move like this, the fast replies, the overlapping timing, the way they both knew exactly when to push and when to stop. It was too natural for four days. Too easy for strangers.
He kept that thought to himself.
Felix flipped to the last section. “One standard inheritance clause….”
“Skip it,” Derrick said.
Felix paused. Then nodded. “Of course.”
Anne looked between them. “That sounded strange.”
“Standard language,” Felix said smoothly.
“Mm.” She looked back at the page, and for half a second something moved behind her eyes. Then she picked up her pen.
They signed. Anne first, then Derrick. Felix collected the pages with the efficiency of a man who wanted to leave before anyone changed their mind.
“Congratulations,” he said carefully.
“Don’t say it like we survived something,” Anne muttered.
“Didn’t we?” Derrick said.
She almost smiled. Almost.
The room went quiet. Not uncomfortable, just new. Like the air had shifted slightly and everyone was adjusting to it.
Gerald stood from his chair near the window and straightened his jacket. He looked at both of them with the warm satisfaction of a man watching something go exactly right.
Felix handed over the finalized copies. Gerald reached for his own set, flipped briefly to the inheritance section, and let his eyes rest there a moment longer than necessary before closing the folder.
Nobody noticed.
Anne was already pulling on her coat. Derrick was checking his phone. Felix was organizing his briefcase.
Gerald tucked the folder under his arm and smiled at the room.
“Well,” he said warmly. “This is a good day.”
Anne looked up at him. Something about his voice tonight had been sitting just out of reach, familiar in a way she couldn’t pin down. She’d noticed it twice during the meeting and lost it both times before she could catch it.
She smiled back. “Is it?”
“I think so,” Gerald said. And he meant it. Just not for the reasons anyone in the room understood.
Anne picked up her copy of the contract. Looked at her own signature on the last page. Twelve months. Clean exit. Her firm stays separate.
She closed the folder.
Derrick was at the door now, jacket on, ready to leave. He glanced back at her. “I’ll have someone send the key card over tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
“Moving in Saturday.”
“Fine.”
He looked at her for a moment like he was going to say something else. Then he nodded once and left.
Anne stood in the empty conference room with Felix packing up behind her and Gerald already in the corridor, and thought about the inheritance clause Derrick skipped so fast she barely caught the title.
She opened her folder again. Found page thirty seven. Started reading.
Felix appeared in the doorway. “Ms. Wheeler, we can send the full copy to your,…”
“I’ve got it,” she said, still reading.
Her phone buzzed. Maya from the firm. She glanced at it, then back at the page. Then her phone rang, Maya again, client emergency, the tone that meant right now.
She closed the folder. Grabbed her bag.
She’d finish reading it later, so she thought.
She wouldn’t finish reading it later.
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