Don’t need it.
I shove those thoughts away as I whip into a parking spot at an office building.
Emmy gazes around. “What’s this place?”
“I should have mentioned it earlier. It’s my lawyer’s office, David. He’s waiting after hours for us. We’ll get to Borelli’s on time.”
A little frown puckers her forehead. “Okay. Why are we here?”
“Prenup. A man like me doesn’t get married without one.”
Realization dawns on her heart-shaped face. “Ah, gotta protect those millions. I’ve never been wealthy, so I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Getting everything on paper is the smart thing to do, although money doesn’t make a person happy,” I say gruffly, my hands tapping out a beat on the steering wheel as I wonder what her reaction is going to be when she reads what’s in it. I called David earlier and adjusted a few items.
“It’s a cliché, but only people with money say that.”
We’re still talking as we get in the elevator. She’s telling me about her day at the bookstore. Apparently Babs had an altercation with a customer who insisted on taking a book into the bathroom with him, when the sign clearly said that merchandise wasn’t allowed. He’d been coming in a few times a week to go to the restroom—always with a book that he never paid for. She’d have to toss it in the trash after he left. She told him he could poop without a book, and he argued that his IBS was better with the smell of ink. She finally let him go to the restroom after he’d agreed to buy the book afterward.
I chuckle in the right places, but I’m on pins and needles as we reach David’s office and walk inside. He greets Emmy, ushers her to a leather chair, and pulls out the papers I’ve already signed.
She scans the pages for several minutes, confusion growing on her face. “Okay, hold on. I understand the NDA, it’s what we discussed, but this prenup agreement is . . .” She trails off as her green eyes rise to meet mine, incredulous as they search my face. “What’s going on, Graham? We should have discussed this.”
I’m standing next to the window, as far from her as I can get in the room. I actually feel my heart beating in my chest.
Damned inconvenient. She reminds me of the girl in my dream, the one who appears to me after I’ve been tackled on the field. I shove it away.
“What’s the issue? Once the inheritance comes in and our divorce is final, once you put your signature down that we’re over, you’ll receive a million dollars, hopefully enough to pay off the mortgage on your apartment—or do whatever you want with.”
“It’s enough. Graham . . .” Her throat moves. “Is this a trick?”
“No.”
She sputters. “You agreed to keep the store and only sell to someone who’ll keep it, and now this. I-I don’t understand why you’d do so much for me . . .”
“To make sure you’re happy when you leave. I’ll need your silence forever, Emmy. You can never go public, or we’d have to give back the inheritance.”
She nods slowly. “Okay, I get that.”
“Plus, you’ll need somewhere to go after we divorce. You’ll need a home. What would people think if we divorced, and you got nothing? It’s not just about your silence; it’s about appearances.”
Her face dips, hiding her expression as she reads the papers. “You could have just started with all of this from the get-go.”
But that was before I learned you were having trouble making your mortgage.
I want her to have this safe harbor, a landing spot once we’re over. And I don’t even know why. Perhaps because she is achingly familiar to me in a way I can’t describe. Every fiber of me wants to take care of her. It happened the moment I got down on my knees. It felt right.
“Just sign the papers, Emmy,” I murmur.
She shakes her head. “I can’t. You’re handing over money to me when you could have used it to buy Brody a place for his gym.”
“I’ve never come across a woman who didn’t want a gift from me, if you can even call it that. It’s for services rendered in the future.” I put my back to her, my hands tightening as I stare out into the city. “Making sure you’re happy ensures your silence. If you break the contract, then you’ll be in court, and I’ll take the money back.”
There’s a charged silence as I watch her in the reflection in the window, tracing over her features. Her brows are pulled down, and her teeth nibble at her bottom lip. It’s the expression she gets when she’s considering something impulsive. Like dragging me into her room, probably the same one she had before she stole my car, and she certainly wore it when I “officially” proposed to her in the bookstore kitchen.