Episode Eleven
962 Words
**Chapter 11: The Morning After the Morning After**
Claire woke up in Daniel’s bed.
Not the guest suite. His.
The sheets were expensive. The mattress was too firm. The pillow smelled like him. Lemons and soap and something that was just Daniel.
She wasn’t alone.
He was awake. Sitting up against the headboard, laptop closed on the nightstand, coffee in hand. He was wearing the same black t-shirt from yesterday. The one with the hole in the collar. His hair was a disaster.
He looked at her like he’d been waiting for her to wake up. Like he’d been watching.
“Morning,” he said.
His voice was rough. Not CEO rough. Morning rough. Real rough.
Claire pulled the sheet up higher. Not because she was shy. Because she needed armor.
“Morning,” she said.
He held out the coffee. Her mug. *I SURVIVED ANOTHER MEETING THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN AN EMAIL*.
“You made coffee,” she said.
“You’re in my bed,” he said. “Seemed like the minimum.”
She took it. Their fingers brushed. Neither of them pretended it didn’t happen.
On the nightstand, between the laptop and his phone, was the contract.
*MARRIAGE AGREEMENT: 90-DAY TERM*
It had been there for 35 days. Untouched. Except for the coffee ring from Day 12.
Claire set the coffee down. Picked up the contract.
Daniel didn’t stop her. He just watched.
She found a pen. His pen. Black. Of course.
He watched her uncap it.
“Claire,” he said.
“Daniel.”
“If you’re about to—”
“I’m not,” she said.
She wasn’t leaving. She wasn’t ending it.
She flipped to the first page. To the term clause.
*Duration: Ninety 90 days from date of execution.*
She drew a line through *Ninety 90 days*.
Her hand was steady.
Under it, she wrote: *INDEFINITE*.
She looked up at him.
He wasn’t breathing.
She capped the pen. Set it down.
“There,” she said. “Updated.”
Daniel stared at the page. Then at her.
He didn’t say *noted*.
He said, “Good.”
One word. Like *It was a date*. Like *I want you*. Like everything that mattered was too big for more than one word.
Claire exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.
“So,” she said. “What now.”
Daniel set his coffee down. Picked up his laptop. Closed it. Put it on the floor.
“Now,” he said, “we are terrible at not working.”
“We are,” Claire agreed. “I don’t have a protocol for this.”
“Neither do I.”
He lay back down. Not touching. But close. The kind of close that used to be illegal under Clause 2.
Claire lay down too. On her side. Facing him.
They had 55 days left.
They had indefinite.
The math didn’t matter anymore.
“What do people do,” Daniel said, staring at the ceiling, “when they’re not working.”
“I think they talk,” Claire said. “Or watch movies. Or eat pancakes.”
“I don’t know how to make pancakes.”
“I do. But I’m not making them. This is your house. Your kitchen. Your emergency.”
“It’s our house,” Daniel said.
Claire’s chest did a thing.
“Our house,” she repeated. “Right.”
They were quiet. Not the loaded kind of quiet. The soft kind. The kind that came after the storm.
“Did you mean it,” Daniel said.
“When.”
“Last night. When you said screw the contract.”
Claire rolled onto her back. Looked at the ceiling. “Yes.”
“Good,” he said again. “Because I’ve already called my lawyer.”
She shot up. “What.”
“To nullify it,” Daniel said, calm. “The 90-day term. The clauses. All of it. I don’t want a contract. I want…” He stopped. Looked at her. “You. Without paperwork.”
Claire stared at him.
Then she got out of bed.
Daniel sat up. “Where are you—”
She walked to the dresser. Opened the top drawer. Pulled out one of his t-shirts. The one with the hole in the collar.
She put it on.
It hit mid-thigh. It smelled like him.
“There,” she said, turning around. “Now I’m wearing your shirt. On purpose. And you’re aware of it. So that data point is updated.”
Daniel’s eyes went dark.
“Claire.”
“Daniel.”
“You’re in my shirt. In my bed. After I told my lawyer I want you without paperwork.”
“Yes.”
“And you think I’m going to be able to work today.”
“No,” Claire said. “I think you’re going to be late. Again.”
He was out of bed in two seconds.
He didn’t kiss her. Not yet.
He picked up the contract from the nightstand. Walked to the trash can by the desk. Dropped it in.
The sound it made was very quiet.
But it was the loudest sound Claire had ever heard.
“No more clauses,” Daniel said, turning back to her.
“No more clauses,” Claire agreed.
He crossed the room. Stopped in front of her.
This time, there was no desk between them. No post-its. No rules.
Just him. And her. And 55 days that didn’t matter. And indefinite that did.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she said.
He smiled. The real one. The one that wrecked her.
“You’re terrible at not working,” she said.
“You’re worse,” he said.
He kissed her.
And they were late.
Very, very late.
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- Writer
