Callie reached for her mother’s hands and held them tightly. “He makes you happy?”
She didn’t need her mother’s nod or the shy smile to tell her the answer. It was shining in her eyes and it was wonderful to see.
32
Freddie wasn’t speaking to him because Jason had turned down his pet sitcom project for a second time, in roughly the same belligerent tone with which he’d rejected it before.
His secretary wasn’t speaking to him because he’d bitten her head off once too often.
Henry wasn’t speaking to him because of Callie.
In fact, the only person in the world who seemed anxious to talk to him was his mother, and she wanted to see where things stood between him and Callie.
It all came back to Callie. She was everywhere he turned. He hadn’t had a peaceful moment since he’d walked out of Baines’s apartment and out of her life.
By now, though, that attorney of hers must have told her that she could be released from her contract if that’s what she wanted. And Dave Stoddard at Stoddard, Bentley and Gates would have called her with a job offer on Wall Street. He’d done his damnedest to set everything right. Her life was her own again.
And his was his.
The only trouble was, he suddenly hated his life. It felt empty and lonely and a whole lot like a prison sentence. He’d given Callie her freedom and sealed his own pitiful fate. It was no worse than he deserved for dragging her into his world in the first place.
He was balling up unread memos and tossing them halfheartedly toward a trash can when he heard a commotion in his outer office. It sounded suspiciously like a faint cheer, uttered by his secretary and Freddie. He shrugged and dismissed it. Maybe they were watching a Mets game. Nobody seemed to be interested in getting a lick of work done around here, anyway, least of all him.
He crumpled up another memo—Within Our Reach ratings this time, he noted without bothering to read them—and aimed for the trash can just as his office door burst open.
In sailed Callie, followed by Walter Whittington.
Uh-oh, Jason thought, suddenly sitting up a little straighter. His blood pumped like a fire hose at a four-alarm blaze. His gaze locked on Callie. He couldn’t seem to tear it away. She looked gorgeous. Every bit the femme fatale he’d envisioned.
She also looked just the slightest bit furious. Jason swallowed hard and forced his gaze to the attorney.
“What can I do for you?”
Whittington glanced nervously at Callie, then met Jason’s gaze directly. “A bit of a problem has arisen,” he said.
“Oh?”
“It’s about Ms. Smith’s contract.”
Jason braced himself for the news that she wanted out. He’d offered her the chance to go. Why did the expected decision create this terrible sense of loss deep inside him? This was exactly the plan he’d set into motion.
“Whatever Ms. Smith wants is fine with me,” he said.
Whittington cleared his throat. “I’m not sure,” he began.
Callie glared at him.
The lawyer tried again. Jason was beginning to get the idea that Whittington was uncomfortable with whatever Callie’s demands were. Jason decided to cut to the chase.
“As I told you the other day, if she wants out, I won’t fight her. She’s probably anxious to get back to Wall Street.”
“Not exactly,” Whittington said.
Jason caught on then that whatever Callie wanted, it was so outrageous that even the attorney couldn’t bring himself to spell it out. He directed a look straight into Callie’s eyes. They were blazing with anger and something else. Vulnerability, Jason realized with a sudden clenching of his stomach. What did that mean?
“Perhaps, Ms. Smith ought to spell this out for me herself,” he suggested.
“Fine,” she said, walking up beside his desk and removing what appeared to be her contract from her purse. She ripped it in two.
Jason winced. “I get the message.”
“I doubt it,” she said. She glanced toward Whittington, who pulled new papers out of his briefcase. She laid them on Jason’s desk. “I think it’s self-explanatory.”
“You may find it a bit unconventional,” Whittington began but fell immediately silent at a scowl from Callie.
Jason skimmed over the first paragraph. It was a personal-services contract, not unlike the one she’d just destroyed. He went through it paragraph by paragraph. It was identical to the contract they’d negotiated months earlier, which made no sense at all.
Then he reached the final paragraph. Jason read it, then read it again. “This sounds like a...” He couldn’t even form the words.
“A prenuptial clause,” Callie said sweetly. “It’s my newest perk. It has been brought to my attention recently that I have a lot of clout around here. I figured it was about time I exercised a little of it.”
Jason swallowed hard and tried to calm the sudden racing of his heart. “You’re not serious about this?” he asked nervously.
“Oh, but I am.” She glanced at the attorney. “Aren’t I, Walter?”
The attorney grinned at last. “Oh, yes,” he assured Jason. “She’s very serious.”
“But this is unprecedented,” Jason protested. It was the most massive understatement he’d ever made.
Callie moved slowly until she was behind his desk. She swiveled his chair around until their knees were touching. Desire ripped through him with predictable speed and savagery. It was raw and primal and urgent.
“Perhaps,” she said softly, “no one has ever wanted you as badly as I do.”
The words were an echo of Jason’s own taunting remark on the day they’d signed that first agreement. He was no more able to resist the deal now than he had been then, outrageous perks and all. But he couldn’t help negotiating one final detail himself.
“I notice there’s no lifetime guarantee,” he said to Whittington, even as he pulled Callie into his lap. “Pencil it in and we have a deal.”
Callie’s eyes met his and held. “Walter, I think I can handle it from here,” she said. Her voice was vaguely breathless, despite the confident statement.
The attorney slipped silently away just as Jason sealed their bargain with a
