Engaged To The Tycoon

Chapter 10

...All right, I'll admit it: I was still inebriated. After my run-in with Waters and the embarrassing behavior I exhibited in his elevator as a result of it, I went back to my studio apartment and walked aimlessly about, feeling confused and helpless. I even started on a cleaning binge in an effort to cheer myself up, but when I realized that I had walked the same dirty plate back and forth from my futon to the low coffee table where I ate five times without even skirting my tiny kitchen area, I gave up and went back to watching television.

After taking a seat, I pulled out the agreement and started reading it. I'd been at it for about ten minutes when I decided to get a beer to accompany my reading at that point. When it comes to working through my issues, I handle them in a very mature way. My father had left me eight voicemails on my phone when I was meeting with Silva Bryan, but I had deleted all of them before we started our appointment. I was anticipating his next statement completely. Had I agreed to what Bryan had to offer? Had I? Had I? Had I?

I had had a lot more alcohol than I normally drank in a short period of time, and as a result, I woke up with nacho cheese in my hair, a new sculpture of a goat tied up and blindfolded, and a browser history on my computer full of webpages promoting kinky s*x.

Yeah.

This is the reason why I was in an Silva’s office. I was interested in knowing whether or not this actually... well, bound. In the event that I decide to sign it.

Which is not what I was. Because, come on.

The things that were written down in Waters' contract were definitely beyond my areas of expertise. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the occasional good s******g, but the things that were written down in Waters' contract—and my god, he had to have ice water running through his veins to dictate that sort of s**t to a lawyer, and the lawyer who drew it up had to be stone-cold to have typed it up without renouncing his license and retreating to a I had to look a few of them up to make absolutely certain that they were the same thing as what they sounded like.

I shuffled in my chair as I stared at the contract that was sitting in my lap and did my best to avoid thinking about the contents of the document. It was impossible for it to be within the law. I had something like a ninety-five percent certainty about it. If I did not "play the submissive" during at least seventy-five percent of our s****l sessions, he would not be able to legally pursue legal action against me. He could, right? And how exactly was he planning on keeping score? A vision of Bryan bending me over a table and f*****g me while entering it into the record or checking off a bead on the s*x Abacus first caused me a fit of laughter, then set my cheeks ablaze when I realized that he had instructed me to beg him to f**k me in exactly that manner.

And I had.

Shit.

I gave a thorough rubbing motion to my face. It was a relief to find out that the attorney I was speaking with was a woman. It was necessary for me to formulate some of my own requirements.

Not that I had any intention of actually carrying it out. That is a completely absurd assumption. Haha.

Despite this, the realization that my mother would go another twenty-four hours without receiving treatment hit me like a boulder in the stomach.

Shit.

"Miss Wayne ?"

My eyes popped out of the back of my head, and there was a dashing young paralegal standing at the entranceway. "Yes?" I said.

"You will see Ms. Ryan in a moment."

I jumped to my feet, flung my purse over my shoulder, and grabbed the contract like it was a shield. I entered the room with wobbly feet and stumbled around.

Being around lawyers has never made me feel particularly at ease. Pals of mine had attended law school; nevertheless, they did not go on to become Silva’s,rather, they were friends who had studied law. The majority of them, however, did not have the good fortune to find work in the legal field and wound up working as baristas rather than barristers. On the other hand, my paternal grandfather enjoyed the company of Silva’s very much—that is, as long as they were on his side. Before the majority of them started hitting on me when I turned sixteen, I liked some of them when I was younger. In fact, when I was younger, I liked some of them. And I knew for a fact that my father had used the law to take advantage of people who were unable to pay for it, people whose only crime was ignorance, need, or simply being poor. I knew this because my father had done it.

So it was with some trepidation that I entered Ms. Ryan office. When the sweet old lady dressed in a tweed business suit stood up from her seat at her desk and strode forward with a warm smile to shake my hand, I had to make a conscious effort to smile while my brain screamed at me: It's a trap!

"Good morning, Ms. Wayne , how are you doing this fine day?" She said in a cheery tone of voice. She more resembled a librarian than a lawyer from her appearance. Iron-colored hair with white streaks was pushed back into an elegant coiffure at the back of her head, and black eyes that sparkled brightly lit up her face.

I took a moment to reflect. I told her the truth when I said, "Been better."

She questioned me with, "But have you been worse?"

That compelled me to give it some thought as well. "Yes."

She responded with, "Then this is a wonderful day." "So, what exactly is it that I can do for you?"

I withheld my verbal consent on the contract. "I require your assistance in reviewing this document. This is a binding agreement. Or a prenuptial agreement. I'm not sure."

If she had been wearing glasses, I have no doubt that she would have aimed a pointed glance at me over the top of them. "You don't?"

I shrugged. I responded by saying, "That's why you're the lawyer and I'm not."

"Your fiancé hasn't revealed his choice to you, has he?"

"However, we are not yet engaged. He is just this random man who is interested in getting married to me."