Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115198 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Panic is starting to really set in, and I reach for my phone, which is down to two percent—absolutely something a billionaire’s wife would never let happen!
Or maybe she would? Maybe the billionaire’s wife version of me is so busy and important I never remember to charge my phone? But more likely I have someone whose entire job it is to make sure my devices stay fully charged? With a groan, I hit Vivi’s profile photo in my contacts.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says as soon as the call connects. “I was going to call you in a few. I talked to Mom about getting you some more shifts and—”
“Viv, no, this isn’t about that.”
“Oh.” I can hear in the resulting silence the way her concern intensifies. Unless something is on fire or I think I’ve just spotted Zac Efron at Target—for the record, it’s never him—I don’t call her. Texts are perfectly fine for civilized people these days. “Oh shit. Is it David?”
I press a shaking hand to my forehead. Of course that’s where her mind went—it’s where mine would go, too. “My bad, no, no. Dad is fine. It’s not that. I agreed to do something and it’s sort of huge and unhinged and I think I need you to talk me out of it. Or into it. I’m undecided.”
“Anything,” she says immediately.
“Can you come over? I need you here.”
An only child raised by a single father, I am stubbornly independent. Vivi has never heard these words from me before.
“I’ll be there in thirty.” Vivi’s love language: coming to the rescue. She hangs up without further discussion, and instead of plugging in my phone like a normal person, I toss it to the mattress beside me. Vivi’s coming, I tell myself. Just breathe.
But I can’t. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know if I should. And if I do, I absolutely don’t know how to prepare. Why the hell did I say yes? And how can I ensure that I don’t end up being completely fucked over by a man who has spent his academic life so far learning how money works?
* * *
IT TAKES ALL OF fifteen minutes for me to explain the situation to Vivi, but another forty-five for her to stop screaming about how crazy and amazing this all is long enough for her to register that I’m in a blind panic.
“Babe, babe,” she says, cupping my cheeks. “There is no downside here. Are you kidding? This is life-altering good.”
“You don’t see a downside because you love chaos.”
“I do not!” she protests.
This liar. I’ve read that people who grew up in an unstable environment often seek out that unpredictability. This couldn’t be further from the truth with Vivi. Her childhood was idyllic; her parents are actual angels. Personally, I think she loves chaos because she’s a Scorpio.
We both scream when the doorbell rings and stare at each other in shock.
“Is it him?” she whispers.
“I don’t know!” I whisper back.
“Do you think he’s bringing you a briefcase of money?”
My eyes go wide. “Is that really how they do it?”
With glee, I fling the door open. It isn’t West with a suitcase of money. It’s a courier in a blue and yellow uniform.
“Oh,” I say, deflating. “Hello.”
“Name?” he asks, looking down at a clipboard.
“Anna Green.”
Vivi leans over. “I thought it was supposed to be Weston.”
“Right!” I say. “Anna Weston. Wait.” I speak to her out of the side of my mouth. “Would I go Weston? Wouldn’t I firmly stay Green?”
The guy clears his throat and looks at me, flat boredom in his gaze. “Either is fine. I have both here.” He passes over an envelope thickly stuffed with papers. “This is for you. Liam Weston asked that you review and sign. In fact, he said, ‘Tell her to actually review this, and then sign.’ ”
“Wow, drag me, West,” I whisper.
“Once you’re done,” the dude says, “come back out. I’ll be over by my van and can bring the rest up.”
I take it with a mumbled thanks and close the door again.
“Holy shit does West Weston love a contract.” I pull out a chair at the kitchen table and sit. “You bet your ass this time I’m going to read every single word of this.” I open the envelope and the thick stack of documents slides heavily onto the tabletop. Staring down at it, I amend, “I’m going to read some of this.”
“What did he mean, ‘bring the rest up’?” Vivi asks, parting the curtains at the front window and peeking out at the parking lot. “Maybe you sign that first and then get the briefcase of money.”
I have no idea what “the rest of it” could possibly be, but there’s no time to think about that now. The top sheet is a nondisclosure agreement stating that I’m not to share the terms of this arrangement or the conditions of our marriage with anyone for all of eternity, otherwise West can sue my face off. Whatever, easy. I just won’t tell him about Vivi, whom I presume is grandfathered in anyway: I haven’t signed anything yet.