Liars Like Us

29

Eleven

A

fter the girls leave, I conduct three hours of forensic research on Callum on the internet, but still don’t have a solid view of who he is or what makes him tick. There’s only so much information about a person’s character you can glean from articles about charity donations and business mergers, product lines and expansion plans.

One thing I find peculiar is that in all the articles written about his family and their business, none includes a first-person account.

Not a single McCord has ever gone on the record about anything.

They don’t speak to the press. They don’t grant interviews. They smile for the cameras as they come and go from various parties and functions, but they never stop to chat with the photographers or reporters who call their names.

I mull over what he said to me at the restaurant about being good at keeping secrets.

“With the position my family is in, we never know who we can trust. So we don’t trust anyone.”

It would be impossible for the CEO of a publicly-traded firm to avoid commenting on the state of the company like that, but the privately-owned McCord Media isn’t beholden to shareholders for reports.

They run their multibillion-dollar international empire in total silence.

Half of me admires that.

The other half wonders what they’ve got to hide.

When I finish data mining the internet, I review Callum’s contract.

There’s a lot of confusing technical legalese and Latin terms that I have to google, in addition to long passages concerning marital assets and financial arrangements. But the section that really grabs my attention is one ominously titled Irrevocability.

Boiled down, it says that the terms of the contract can’t be voided after marriage, nor can they be challenged or changed by either party for any reason.

I suppose I could view it as an advantage. Callum couldn’t back out on his financial promises to me, which is the only reason I’m entertaining the idea of this wacko deal.

On the other hand, there’s something scary about that word.

Irrevocable.

It’s disturbingly permanent.

The other odd thing is that there’s no mention of what happens in the event of a divorce. I’m no expert on prenups, but it seems to me that’s their main purpose.

As I sit at my desk pondering that, my cell phone rings. Distracted, I answer.

“Hello, darling,” says Callum, his voice throaty. “What do you think of the paperwork?”

I groan in exasperation. “Stop calling me darling. And could you give me more than five minutes to go over it, please?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not familiar with all this legal terminology. I’ve got to find an attorney who’ll work for bookmarks to help me understand it all.”

“No, I meant why do you want me to stop calling you darling?”

I lean back in my desk chair, close my eyes, and rub my temple. “Please try not to aggravate me already. It’s only been ten seconds. And by the way, where’s all the stuff about what happens in the event we divorce? I think you forgot a few pages.”

“Nothing was forgotten.”

I frown. “Then why isn’t it in here?”

“Because there won’t be a divorce.”

I wait for him to laugh and tell me he’s joking, but I should’ve known better. Callum McCord isn’t a man who makes jokes. Which is probably because he doesn’t think anything is funny.

Except me, when I’m telling him I haven’t thought about having s*x with him.

“You sound pretty confident, there, billionaire.”

“I am.”

“Pardon me for saying so, but that’s just dumb.”

“There aren’t any clauses about a***e or a******y either. Can you guess why?”

“I see where you’re going with that, but your logic is all wrong. Just because you leave something out of a contract doesn’t mean it won’t happen. Contracts are supposed to provide for all the contingencies, not pretend they don’t exist.”

In an amused drawl, he says, “I see. I didn’t realize you were such an expert.”

“Don’t get sassy. I’ve got that covered for both of us. Let’s go back to the part about a***e and adultery.”

“What about them?”

I think of his intensity and the way he always has to stop to control himself when he’s riled up in that unnerving way of his. “For starters, are you violent?”

His voice drops an octave. “Violence is a part of human nature.”

I scoff. “Nice sidestep, billionaire. You just made me think you’re a wife beater. Try again.”

“I’m not a wife beater.”

He’s telling me what I want to hear, but somehow, it’s still unsatisfying. “But you’ve never had a wife.”

“Not yet, I haven’t.”

“Hold on, now I’m even more confused! Just tell me the truth. Do you smack women around or not?”

“No. Of course not. If I did, every news outlet in the world would’ve reported on it.”

He makes a good point. Plus, that little huff of disbelief he made right before he answered was genuine. I can tell when he thinks I’m being ridiculous just by the tone of his exhalation.

It’s like we’re married already.

“I want sections about a***e and adultery.”

“Why? Are you planning on beating me and cheating with the gardener, darling?”

Gritting my teeth, I say, “I can say with confidence that I won’t cheat with the gardener, darling, but on the matter of beating you, the jury is still out.”

I hear a noise that could be muffled laughter. Then he comes back on, sounding cool and composed. “All right. I’ll have sections regarding a***e and a******y included. Anything else?”