Contractually Yours: An Arranged Marriage Romance (The Lasker Brothers Book 4)

“This entire venture is doomed to fail.”

Mental fatigue. That’s what this negative voice is generating. I smooth my expression and gaze at Darren. He always appears in my office after our afternoon meetings to tell me I’m wrong. Ever since I caught him with his assistant, he’s dedicated his life to informing me how wrong I am on every metric.

What he really wants to say is I was wrong not to go ahead with our marriage.

He firmly believes that men occasionally make mistakes, and it’s “a woman’s lot in life” to let those mistakes go. As he stands opposite my desk and stares down at me, he looks awfully like one of those humorless old-time Jesuits—minus the somber piety, fiery intellect and thick beard. But he has the scowl down pat.

Even if he hadn’t cheated on me, our marriage would’ve been a spectacular failure.

“We can agree to disagree.” I give him a we-can-agree-you’re-wrong smile.

“You don’t even have the distribution sorted out.”

I lean back in my executive chair and cross my legs. “But I do. The Hae Min Group.”

“Have you signed a contract?” He sneers almost immediately. “No, of course not.”

“We’re in negotiation. But even if it doesn’t work out, there are other chaebols and their luxury department stores. You should consider broadening your horizons.” Thinking of horizons makes me think of horizontal, which brings back the memory of him screwing his assistant on his desk. She sure was horizontal then. Ugh. I need to stop thinking about that. It’s gross and counterproductive.

His gaze drops to my cleavage—creep!—then climbs back to my face. “I can’t allow you to spend money on frivolous new designs.”

I prop my elbows on the desk and let a couple of beats pass. “‘Allow’?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. Please, explain exactly how you won’t ‘allow’ me.”

A feverish attempt to come up with something clever is going through his head. I hope it doesn’t break the gears in his little brain… Nah, who am I kidding? I hope it does.

Finally, he slashes the air with a stiff hand. “You’re just being difficult because you’re bitter over our breakup. I know you still love me.”

“They say hope springs eternal. I guess delusion does, too. Whatever affection I might’ve felt for you died when I saw you with Frankie.”

“She doesn’t work for me anymore!” Like that makes everything okay.

“Only because Grandfather said it was going to be you or her—and you chose to throw her under the bus. Selfish, but typical. He should’ve fired both of you.”

Frustrated anger twists his face. The sight of it gives me a small, bittersweet pleasure, even as a slightly insecure voice inside my head wonders what Frankie gave him that I couldn’t. Whatever it was must have been greater than all the benefits of being my husband.

“But he didn’t,” Darren says finally. “I don’t give a damn what you say, but I’m opposing this collaboration. Your father’s on my side, too!”

“Of course he is. He’s never met an invertebrate he didn’t like.”

“God, you’re such a bitch!”

“Would you care to say that for the record, in front of HR?” I give him my most soulless smile.

He storms out, although his rapid pace ruins the effect. He’s probably scared I’m going to call HR for real. But I won’t. The pleasure of firing him face to face when I finally have control of the company is too great to pass up.

I’ll never know what Grandfather ever saw in him when he decided to pair me up with that godawful excuse for a man. I thought Grandfather would pick somebody who would at least be faithful. But Darren simply isn’t capable, and our engagement ended six months before Grandfather’s death.

In retrospect, I think Grandfather felt bad, although he had too much pride to admit he was wrong to hand-pick Darren. I wish he’d felt bad enough to allow me to run Peery Diamonds with free rein.

But no. He just couldn’t trust me to run it because I happen to be missing a penis.

So unfair.

Karen Jackson, COO and my right-hand woman, knocks. She’s in her early fifties and has been with Peery Diamonds all her life. She’s also probably the only woman my grandfather respected. She has sharp gunslinger eyes and an attitude to match. She doesn’t play games, and she doesn’t believe in wasting time or energy on things that don’t add value. The only makeup on her pale narrow face is mascara and red lipstick, and she’s always in a black pantsuit with a white top. She’s barely five-five, but doesn’t bother with heels. Black ballet flats only.

Next to her, I’m a giant.

She comes into my office, closes the door and sits down, facing me squarely with her feet on the floor and legs uncrossed. “We’re having issues getting buy-ins from everyone on the Sebastian Peery collaboration.”

“I know.” Like Darren.

“You need to find a way to get rid of Roderick. He’s toxic, and he doesn’t care about the company, just whatever money he can get out of it. He’s been submitting dodgy expense reports.” A deep frown lines her face. But then, Karen rarely smiles. She takes her job seriously.

“I know.” I sigh heavily. “But accounting didn’t pay him, so…”

Amazingly, her frown gets even deeper. “They did pay him last pay cycle. Darren asked them to.”

“What?” That bastard! Actually, make that bastards! “Claw it back.”

“That’s just a bandage solution. He’s creating operational issues. Darren is claiming Roderick needs to be paid for the ‘work’ he’s done,” Karen says.

“I’m going to get rid of Roderick permanently soon.” I don’t say more. I don’t want to jinx anything. Look how things with Preston turned out, and I only told seven people about him.

Although Karen is loyal, I want to be extra careful.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she says.

He’ll be gone before the next shareholders’ meeting, I vow to myself.

We discuss some of the labor shortage issues in some of our stores in the bigger European cities. Karen says she’s coordinating with the local teams to sort them out. If they can be resolved in the next two weeks, it won’t be a big deal. If it takes longer, we’ll need a contingency plan.

After the meeting, I wrap up a few urgent items on my agenda and shut down my laptop. Have to hurry to make my flight.

As I walk through the lobby and into my waiting Cullinan in front of our headquarters, I have the feeling that something is missing…but can’t put my finger on what. I have everything, including an overnight bag that Matthias packed and sent to my office after lunch.

As the car glides smoothly through the L.A. traffic, it hits me. That Stalker wasn’t around when I came out of the building. Normally, he’s always hovering, ready to follow me everywhere, even when I change my schedule abruptly. But not today.

And the other paparazzi weren’t around, either. The tension in my shoulders dissipates, and I let out a soft sigh as my whole body relaxes. It’s nice to know that I can move at least somewhat freely, without somebody watching all the time, ready to capture an innocent moment and turn it into an opportunity to judge me.

Still, when I arrive at the airport, I don my armor—spine straight, shoulders pushed back and head held high, with a cool expression that says nothing can touch me. But there’s no sign of the paparazzi anywhere. And it’s the same when I land in San Francisco and my hired car takes me to the hotel near city hall.

Weird… But I’m not going to complain about the reprieve. Maybe the universe feels sorry for the current outlandish scandal and is proffering an olive branch.

Well, universe, I hope you keep on being nice to me, because you have a lot to make up for. Over a decade’s worth of sheer crap.

I check into my suite, shower and change into an ivory dress with a modest bateau neckline. It’s made of silk and lace with little pearls sewn in. It fits me like a glove until it flares out below my hips, with layers of lace and chiffon adding volume. It’s long enough that it hides the matching stilettos I’m wearing. Although it’s an arranged marriage that my husband-to-be doesn’t want and there won’t be a photographer or anything special, I want to look pretty. I put on some makeup, braid a portion of my hair, then twist everything into a nice updo. A few flower-and-butterfly pins made with lavender alexandrite in my hair add the final touch.

Pretty enough, I decide as I study my reflection in the full-length mirror, then scan the opulent suite, which is as silent as a tomb. Mom and I stayed in this same hotel, although not this particular suite. What would she say if she knew what I was doing? Would she tell me to be kinder to Roderick? He was everything to her, only because he somehow conned her into believing he was the only one who could give her the kind of love she sought.

I wish Bianca were here. She’d give me a pep talk and cheer me up. But she has a more pressing issue, and I don’t want to be selfish. I make a mental note to send her aunt some flowers.

On my way out, I instruct the concierge to overnight my suitcase to my place in L.A. and check out so I can head to the city hall.

The structure is enormous—taking up two full city blocks. It’s taller than the U.S. Capitol, with a trace of baroque architecture. The dome reminds me of an old European church, not a modest one you might see in a village of farmers, but one the Vatican spared no expense on. I step inside.

Our ceremony is going to take place on the balcony rather than the rotunda. Jason told me there’s a two-hour window when we can do it.

I walk across the marble floor and up the steps until I reach the balcony, which overlooks the grand staircase. My pulse throbs unevenly, for inexplicable reasons. I’ve been content with the arrangements from the beginning when I approached the Comtoises to hammer them out. At first, I was disappointed that they didn’t want to match me with Sebastian. He was so sweet to me—twice—and if I had to have a fake husband, I wanted one who’d be kind. After all, I’m trying to get rid of the jerks in my life, not just replace them with different jerks.

However, meeting Preston allayed my anxiety because he seemed like perfect husband material—nice looking enough that nobody would doubt I’d fallen in love with him at first sight, and smart enough that he wouldn’t let himself be swayed by Roderick, although I didn’t factor Vonnie into my calculations.

But this marriage with Sebastian? He can’t hide how much he hates me. Although he’s been polite and considerate in public, I have no clue what he’s going to be like in private, when it’s just the two of us sharing the same home. He told me to even the scales back in Paris, and I imagine he will do exactly that with me for messing up his relationship with Gabriella and forcing him into marriage. The only question is how.

I feel shaky, like I’m stepping onto a frozen lake. It’s murky under the ice, and I don’t know how thin that ice is going to be. But it’s too late to stop now. I have to keep on walking.

My stomach lurches, nerves fraying.

Lucienne Elise Brigitte Peery, get a grip. Within the next hour, I’m going to be my own person. Turning back now isn’t an option, no matter how unnerved I am all of a sudden.

Footsteps ring from behind me. I turn and see Jason approaching. He hasn’t changed much since our time in high school and college. He was one of the few guys in school who was actually a little taller than me. A black suit fits his lean frame well, and his rectangular wire-rimmed glasses give him an air of scholarly sophistication. He smiles broadly, his arms spread wide. “Lucie!”

“Jason.” I step toward him with a smile of my own.

His arms wrap around me tightly. I hug him back, closing my eyes with relieved happiness. It’s so good to see an openly friendly face. I realize I really needed to feel like somebody was on my side today.

“You look good,” he says finally, pulling back a little, his hands still on my arms.

“Thanks! So do you. How long has it been?” The hair on the back of my neck bristles abruptly. Goosebumps break out, sending hot and cold shivers through my belly. The paparazzi, finally?

I glance around for That Stalker, but I don’t see the familiar sandy head. Instead, my eyes collide with seething green and gold.

“Sebastian,” I whisper. He approaches like an avenging angel in an impeccably tailored black Brioni suit, an elegant ruby and platinum tie pin the only splash of color. His self-reassured presence looms large, much bigger than Jason. Just staring up at him sends an electric chill racing along my spine, which I straighten further to hide my reaction. The hard set of his jaw says he doesn’t want to be here and everything about the situation is infuriating.

The ice underneath my feet grows more brittle.

My smile turns polished and practiced. “Hi, Sebastian.”

He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me away from Jason and drawing me close until my side is flush against his. At this distance I can smell his pine scent and soap—something minty and refreshing. His body radiates so much heat that I start to tingle. I make a surreptitious attempt to put a little space between us, but his arm just tightens.

“Who is this?” he asks, his voice entirely too sweet for me to trust.

“Jason Choi. The friend I told you about.” I gesture. “Jason, this is Sebastian Lasker.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jason says with a neutral smile.

“Likewise.” Sebastian’s mouth is curved into a beautiful line, but his eyes are hard. “My fiancée said you were doing us a favor.”

Why did he put that strong emphasis on “my fiancée”?

“Well, it’s not much of a favor. Anything for Lucie.”

“Lucie.” Sebastian repeats the name like it’s a curse. “I didn’t realize you two were so familiar.”

“Yeah, we’ve known each other since high school. Actually dated our senior year.” Jason laughs. “Prom king and queen.”

“How lovely.” Sebastian’s tone is like broken glass. “Luce must’ve been stunning.”

I start, stunned that he’d use my nickname. It’s like he’s having some weird competition with Jason, except he has no reason to engage in such a silly contest.

“The most beautiful girl in the world.” Jason’s eyes take on a dreamy look.

What? He’s never behaved like this when we’ve talked about our time in high school. And it’s a little alarming, because hostility is now starting to openly pour from Sebastian.

Jason’s phone rings, and he checks the screen. “Oh, damn. Sorry, but I have to take this. I may be a few minutes. Excuse me.” He adds the last part more for me than Sebastian, then walks away, head bent to his phone.

“Well, well, well.” Sebastian’s eyes are dark with disapproval. “You never told me about your history with Jason.”

“Because it’s not relevant.” What is he getting at, anyway? If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was jealous, but why? He couldn’t have made it clearer that he would’ve never agreed to marry me if it weren’t for the contract between me and his family. And he’s in love with Gabriella.

“You could’ve told me an ex-boyfriend was marrying us,” he says.

“I could have, but I don’t see how it matters.”

“You don’t? Especially after that spectacle?” He points where Jason was just moments ago.

“What ‘spectacle’?” What did the gossip sites publish now?

“You were all over him.” His eyebrows pinch together in harsh judgment.

“Don’t be absurd! We gave each other a friendly hug!”

“A friendly hug? More like a friendly dry hump.”

Is he serious? Outrage bursts in my chest. “For God’s sake, we didn’t do anything of the sort. You should get your eyes checked, just in case you’re going blind in your old age.”

Sebastian’s jaw flexes.

“What?” I hiss.

“I don’t like the way you said ‘we.’”

Oh my God. I’d rather face the paparazzi. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I said ‘we.’”

His eyes burn. Instinct says I should back down, but pride won’t let me. Besides, I can’t let him boss me around just because he gets out of sorts. It’ll set the tone for our marriage.

I jut my chin out, my eyebrows raised. Sebastian glares like he wants to wring my neck. My heart races, tendrils of fear and something luridly exciting spiraling up inside, like I’m facing an unrestrained tiger. His gaze drops to my neck, and my heart pounds faster.

“Finally!” comes a booming voice from my left, shattering our standoff. “My apologies, kids. The traffic in this town!”

A tall man is approaching. He and Sebastian share a striking resemblance. The man looks to be in his late fifties—maybe early sixties—his hair still dark, without a hint of silver. He’s overdressed in a cream-colored tux and a pale blue bow tie, but he’s fit and the clothes look good on him. A Rolex glints on his thick wrist as he waves. This must be Ted Lasker, Sebastian’s father. I’ve never met the man, but who hasn’t heard of one of the most successful movie producers of all time?

A pale man with an exceptionally huge forehead and over-gelled orange hair follows him in. Mr. Orange Head is in a white dress shirt and black slacks, no jacket or tie. However, he’s carrying an absolutely enormous bouquet of at least a hundred red roses.

“For the happy bride!” the producer says, coming straight for me.

The pale guy starts to extend the bouquet toward me, but Sebastian blocks his path. “Back off, Joey.”

The guy bounces backward, and I glance at Sebastian. What did this Joey do to deserve this treatment?

“I’m so thrilled to be here.” Seemingly oblivious, Ted Lasker puts theatrical hands over the center of his chest, and his neatly shaped eyebrows scrunch like he’s overcome with emotion. Then he stretches out his arms and pulls me in for a tight hug. “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

I have to laugh. I can’t think of a time somebody was this exuberantly happy to meet me. Most are too worried about all the rumors. “Thank you.”

“This is my father, Ted,” Sebastian says between clenched teeth. “He’s here to be our witness for the wedding.”

“And I’ll be helping,” Joey says with a wide smile.

Sebastian doesn’t respond, but I’m close enough to catch a quiet snort.

“What’s your name, love?” Ted asks. “Sebastian never told me.”

“Because you never remember,” Sebastian mutters.

My God, Sebastian is in the worst mood. He doesn’t have to be so overtly unhappy about our marriage. However, pointing that out would probably just upset him more, so I do my best to smooth the situation over. “Lucienne. But you can call me Lucie.”

Ted spreads his hands. “Like I Love Lucy!”

“Just like that.” I smile.

“It’s perfect! You know, if we were to reboot that show, you could star in it”—he makes a noise of satisfaction deep in his throat—“even if you’re not Sebastian’s type.” He looks me up and down. “He likes them buxom and Mediterranean, like Gabriella.”

The mention of Sebastian’s ex is a little deflating. I guess Ted has seen the embarrassing “articles.”

“Not that she matters. When a woman bitches about another woman taking her man, it just means the first woman wasn’t hot enough to hang on to him. You’re so much better than her anyway. Nordic beauties are like diamonds—perfect the way they are. Not all women are created equal, you see. Some look better when covered in clothes, but not you. I can just tell. I’ve seen millions of women.”

Sebastian makes a choking noise, but Ted ignores him. I keep listening in mute fascination. I’ve never been around a person with such an unpredictable bulldozer of a mouth before. It’s amazing how he can say things that are simultaneously complimentary and offensive.

Ted continues, “Lovely proportions. Very rare. But if you ever feel the urge to augment yourself—and every woman does—you come to me first. I know the best surgeons in Beverly Hills. Their work not only looks real, it feels real.” He puts his hands out and makes a kneading motion. “Hand feel is critical. I mean, what’s the point if they’re like plastic? Am I right? Am I right?” He looks around.

“Totally right,” Joey says.

“Damn right I’m right. And since you’re so pretty and I absolutely adore this wedding, I’ll pay for everything. Actually…you know what? I’ll pay for anything you want. You just call Papa Ted, all right?”

I can barely process all the things pouring from his mouth, but I say, “Yeah, I’ll do that,” anyway.

Sebastian looks like he’s in pain. “I will provide you with whatever you need.”

“You don’t know plastic surgeons the way I do!” Ted gestures at his assistant. “Joey, give her my most private number.”

“Yes, sir.” Joey hands me a card. “His direct number. Only three people in the world have it.”

“You’re such a liar,” Sebastian says.

I take the card with murmured thanks and do my best to pretend I’m not affected by Sebastian’s crappy mood. If he’s going to be this upset around his father, why did he invite him?

“If Sebastian had told me earlier, I would’ve redone my mansion and had you get married there. It’s an impressive place, and Joey here can turn anything into a perfect venue instantly.”

Joey beams.

“Welcome to the family, my beauty. You’re just…” Ted puts his hands over his chest again. “You inspire me to be a better man. I’m already getting ideas for my next movie. It’s going to be amazing.”

I smile a little. He’s chaotic and all over the place, but he seems well-meaning. Not much of a filter, either, but then, he’s a highly successful movie producer, so maybe that’s to be expected.

Most important, I like it that he doesn’t try to play power games or demand something from me. His offer to pay for plastic surgery—if I ever feel the need—is a bit off the wall, but endearing in an odd way. Roderick never offered anything to me. It was sweet of Ted to say he’d have opened up his mansion for our wedding if he’d had more notice. And I adore how he referred to himself as Papa Ted.

Jason reappears. “Really sorry about that.”

Ted turns to him. “Who’s this?”

“The judge who’s going to marry us,” I say. “Everything okay, Jason?”

“Yes. It was just some…” Jason gestures dismissively. “Anyway, it’s been taken care of.” He looks around. “Do we have everyone?”

“Looks like it.” Sebastian couldn’t sound more pained if he were being flayed alive.

Jason gives him an odd look, then smiles at me. “Okay then! Let’s get started.”