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

Two weeks pass, and Lucienne Peery doesn’t try to get in touch with me to discuss the indentured servitude contract. I drum my fingers on the desk in my office, trying to figure the angles. Is she waiting for our lawyer to tell her she’s getting the shares rather than a husband?

However, I had a chance to get a copy of the contract and read it over. My lawyer—the one I ultimately ended up hiring—sent me succinct summary of the deal as well.

Upon marriage, Lucienne Peery’s husband will receive ten percent of Sebastian Jewelry shares from her, plus five percent voting share of Peery Diamonds, in addition to a seat on Peery Diamonds’s BOD. This is contingent on the husband signing the legal document prepared by Lucienne’s legal team in Nesovia, giving her the full control over her finances. Refer to Exhibit A.

I already read the exhibit. It’s beyond ridiculous. Like I want or care about her money.

The husband can file for a divorce after five years of marriage. Lucienne can divorce him at any time.

Completely unfair, but my family’s idiot lawyer never questioned it. And it’s too late to undo it.

There will be no commingling of assets after marriage. Any assets acquired post-marriage are to be divided fifty/fifty upon divorce. Joint custody should there be any children.

There’s no way I’m bringing a child into this unholy mix.

If the Comtoises breach the deal, they’ll hand over thirty percent of voting shares of Sebastian Jewelry to Lucienne Peery. If Lucienne Peery breaches the deal, she’ll hand over thirty percent of the voting shares of Peery Diamonds to the Comtoises.

Just what was my family smoking? And why the hell didn’t their lawyer stop them?

The Sebastian Peery collaboration in Korea requires capital investment, split fifty/fifty between Sebastian Jewelry and Peery Diamonds, but the profit is split fifty-five/forty-five in Sebastian Jewelry’s favor. Lucienne Peery will be spearheading it.

The family not putting Preston in charge of the collaboration is the only sensible thing they’ve done in this deal. I make a mental note to look into this collaboration arrangement more closely. Knowing what I know about Lucienne, she’ll be dropping balls left and right—assuming there are any left to drop—and I’ll have to clean up the mess.

More texts from my brothers arrive.

–Huxley: Why don’t you try John Highsmith from Highsmith, Dickson and Associates? He’s good.

–Me: Already did.

–Emmett: How about Ken Hayashi? He works for Barron and Justin Sterling, and you know they don’t hire idiots.

–Me: Tried him too. There’s no way out of this contract without handing over thirty percent of Sebastian Jewelry.

I’m bitter as I send the text to my brothers. I’ve consulted one high-priced lawyer after another. And I have nothing to show for it.

–Huxley: I’m sorry.

He feels bad because his mom represented Lucienne in this deal, which explains the lack of loopholes. But it isn’t his fault his mom’s so good at her job. It’s my family’s fault for agreeing to this infernal deal in the first place.

–Noah: You gonna hand over the shares?

–Griffin: You don’t need Sebastian Jewelry or the money from it. Fuck them.

–Nicholas: I still can’t believe your family screwed you over. What the hell happened to family loyalty? You certainly deserve it after what you’ve done for them.

–Grant: It’s gotta be criminal. You gotta show them they can’t fuck you over like this and get away with it.

My brothers are just as outraged as I am about the situation. We only have each other, and we always watch our backs. An attack against one of us is an attack against all of us.

It was the only way we could cope with and survive our childhood as Ted Lasker’s seven sons. He never wanted children or a family. He got stuck because his vasectomy failed and he managed to impregnate seven women before he discovered that fact. We were born within four months of each other, and since he’s never given a damn about us, he named us after our moms and shipped us off to European boarding schools when we were old enough to walk.

Actually, I can’t even claim I was named after my mom, Marie Comtois. Dad named me after our family business. He probably didn’t even get Mom’s name before…the deed. Ugh. I need to quit thinking about that. Otherwise, I’m going to puke in my office, and our janitors shouldn’t have to suffer because my dad is a shitty human being. These days, only thing Dad wants from us is to make him look good. It confuses him that we aren’t interested. In his world, everyone wants what he wants.

–Me: I’m pissed off too, but I’m not giving Lucienne that much control over the company. It’s outrageous. Peery is our rival.

For all I know, she approached my family with these seemingly too-good-to-be-true terms purely with the intent to get the shares. After all, she didn’t even want anybody specific. Agreeing to take Preston is setting the bar low, and that should’ve set off my family’s collective alarm hard.

–Nicholas: Which dumbass reviewed the contract for your family? So I can avoid using them.

–Me: You won’t be able to use them even if you want to because I already filed complaints. I’m going to have the motherfucker disbarred!

–Grant: Good plan. Let me know if I can help.

Grant is eager. His motto in life is “Nobody fucks me over and gets away with it.” He almost lost his wife Aspen because of that, but he still kept the rule. Apparently, she’s the only exception.

To be honest, most of us are kind of control freaks. And more than a little vindictive. We’ve worked hard to ensure we have our own money and success, so nobody can run our lives. Having Ted as our father did a number on us. It doesn’t help that some of our mothers are also self-absorbed, although nothing compared to Ted.

–Me: Thanks, I will.

I looked Lucienne Peery up after Mom left to get a more complete picture of who she is. Calling her history “colorful” is like calling Leonardo da Vinci “a decent artist.” She beats my dad hollow in the Scandal Olympics. She even kicked a dog a few years ago, according to one grainy video I found online. What kind of heartless psycho does that? Not even my dad’s ever done that—although it wouldn’t shock me if he did.

When he noticed I was morose about all the crap I’d unearthed about Lucienne, Noah mentioned that gossip sites never tell the full truth. I appreciated the gesture, but of course I already knew. Dad’s scandals are always much worse than what’s reported. Lucienne probably kicks kittens as well.

–Noah: Do you think it’s possible she just wants a husband to have a baby? Like, her biological clock’s ticking? Because if that’s the case, you could just donate some sperm and be done with it.

–Me: No. The contract has almost nothing on children, just details on the division of assets in case the marriage doesn’t work out after five years.

–Huxley: Why five?

–Me: I don’t know, but she wants us to be married for at least that long. Unless she wants to end it early.

–Nicholas: She could just want the semblance of a family for five years for some reason.

–Griffin: No “for some reason” about it. She probably wants to have a husband for the same reason Dad wants a grandkid.

–Huxley: So she can out-brag Josh Singer?

–Me: Don’t be idiots.

I close my eyes briefly. Dad’s nonsensical rivalry has been going on for years, although the only people who seem to be aware of it are him and his assistant Joey.

It’s possible Lucienne wants something similar—because there’s some rivalry only she knows about. But why would she want to marry somebody from the Sebastian Jewelry fortune? Why not a handsome guy who’d be ecstatic to marry a meal ticket? She’s only twenty-five. Doesn’t she want somebody closer to her age? Someone whose hobbies include clubbing and snorting coke? I’m a thirty-four-year-old CEO who’s set in his ways. The only exciting thing I do these days is play tennis, because polo matches take too long. And she probably doesn’t even know how to hold a racket.

Assuming she doesn’t have some nefarious intent to screw my family out of the shares, she’s making me suffer over some passing fancy.

Damn her.

I hate her for it. I want to punish her. Nobody corners me, tries to control me like some soulless puppet and gets away with it.

I’m going to find out what’s truly important to her and rip it from her in a way that doesn’t damage Sebastian Jewelry. That’s the only way to even the scales.

But there’s no time to stew over how to strike back. My phone pings, reminding me that I have a meeting with the Comtoises.

This won’t be pretty. But it’s necessary.

I’m a fair man, after all. Lucienne won’t be the only one to suffer.

Christoph’s voice comes over the intercom. “Your family’s here. I put them in the Topaz Room.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“Your mother really wanted some tea, though…” he adds hesitantly.

“And…?”

“I told her we were out.” Like you ordered me to. I can hear the silent addition. His low throat clearing betrays his discomfort with the lie.

“Good.” Mom should know this is no friendly conference.

I put on my jacket and head out of my office, carrying an accordion folder stuffed with documents my lawyer has drafted.

The Topaz Room is one of our most basic conference rooms. It has a view of the city, but nothing else. A long oak table and seven executive chairs, upholstered in black faux leather.

This is where I fired Preston.

There are no refreshments. Displeasure and tension stretch in the air like violin strings pulled too tight.

On one side of the table are my grandparents. Grandmother is in a jumpsuit that flows over her petite frame perfectly. The fabric’s satiny, and it’s in the exact shade of pastel blue from Sebastian Jewelry’s logo. If she thinks that’ll soften me into accepting my “duties” stoically, she’s mistaken.

She must not be feeling too confident. Although she’s smiling serenely, one corner of her mouth is higher than the other—a sign that she’s uncomfortable. A fifteen-millimeter South Sea pearl of exceptional luster glows on her finger, a gift from Grandfather on their thirtieth anniversary.

He’s holding that hand, running the pad of his thumb over the stone. He says it helps him feel more connected to her, but it’s really a supportive gesture because he can tell she’s unhappy. His silver hair is slicked back, revealing his high forehead. There’s nothing but open friendliness in his deep brown eyes.

But I know better than to be fooled. He’s one of the best poker players in the family.

On the opposite side sit Mom and her husband Travis. She’s decked out, more so than last time, in a bright scarlet suit and smoky eye makeup that say, “Nobody messes with me.” The same diamonds are around her throat again, and she has a matching bracelet on her wrist as well, which Dad gave her because she asked on a whim. I hope that isn’t a hint that I should do the same and give her whatever she wants, because Dad and I are polar opposites. He thrives on scandals and being obnoxious. I like my life orderly and calm.

Mom is probably under the delusion that she needs to come down on me stronger than last time because I haven’t given her an answer to the outlandish proposal. She’ll never understand I’m not interested in taking responsibility for Preston’s unfortunate failure to master the art of keeping his dick where it belongs.

Travis is your typical dark-haired, dark-eyed pretty boy with the square jaw Mom loves so much. Now that I think about it, he kind of looks like Dad. But unlike Dad, Travis is quiet and unassuming. Or at least he tries to give that impression. But you don’t get to marry—and keep—somebody like my mother by being meek and timid. He has a few sneaky moves up his sleeve.

“If there’s no hot tea, could we at least have some ice water?” Mom says. “Your assistant just left without asking. It’s so rude. I thought we taught you better.”

My grandparents and Travis nod. You’ve been a bad boy, Sebastian.

“There’s no water either, Mother,” I say as I take the seat at the head of the table.

Uncertainty slackens her jaw. Wariness settles over my family. They know I don’t call her “Mother” unless I’m out of patience, and they were probably hoping the intervening two weeks had replenished my tolerance.

“I find it hard to believe there’s nothing to drink in the break room,” Grandmother says smoothly.

“I don’t offer refreshment to my enemies,” I respond.

Travis lets out a soft laugh meant to break the tension. “Come on, now. We’re hardly your enemies.”

My eyes slide to him. Whatever he sees there makes him shut up instantly.

“This is irregular. If you have something to say, you should’ve come to McLean,” Mom tries again, referring to the family estate that overlooks the Potomac in Virginia. “It’s very inconvenient for all of us to travel out here.”

“And have this fight on your turf?” I say. “I don’t think so.”

“Sebastian, what’s gotten into you? We aren’t your enemies.” Grandfather puts a warm and conciliatory spin on the words.

“Really. So what do you call somebody who gives you a choice between marrying a nightmare of a woman or losing what’s rightfully yours?”

His smile freezes for a second. He wasn’t expecting me to be so blunt, since I’m generally circumspect around my elders. But the good humor returns to his face just as quickly as it dissolved. “It’s called making a sacrifice for the good of the family.”

The other three nod like puppets.

“I see. Then you won’t mind if I ask you to share in the sacrifice,” I say.

Mom blinks. “What do you mean? We can’t all marry Lucienne.”

I pull out some copies from the folder and pass them around. My family dutifully takes one each. “It’s a contract. Read it and sign it.”

They begin to take a look. Mom’s the first to react, but she’s a fast reader. “This is preposterous!”

Grandfather lifts his head. “Is this a joke?” The open friendliness is gone now.

Their complaints feel like pebbles tossed by a toddler in a snit. “What’s so unjust about it? I’m getting tied to a woman I don’t want to marry. This is the least you can do.”

“But giving you full control over our trust funds?” Mom’s gone shrill. “And we can’t even leave our trusts to whomever we want without your permission?”

“Correct. I wouldn’t want you bequeathing money to somebody I don’t like. Preston, for instance.” He doesn’t have his own trust fund anymore. It was something Mom had to agree to take away when I was forced to clean up after him for the third time.

“So you can keep all our money for yourself?” Travis looks stunned. He’s never seen me in even-the-scales mode.

I laugh. “Why would I want that petty cash?”

“Then why are you doing this?” Grandmother sounds like she’s about to have a heart attack.

“I’m taking away control over what’s important to you—money.” My family never shows how much money means to them, but they adore it. The luxurious trips. The ability to indulge every whim. The gorgeous clothes, jewelry, homes and cars.

They’re too scared to trust that I won’t strip them of their money.

“We aren’t signing this,” Grandfather announces.

“Well then.” I shrug. “I’m not marrying Lucienne Peery.”

“But the family can’t afford to give her thirty percent of the company!” Mom wails.

“I know.” I smile, happy that I won’t have to waste my breath explaining the situation to her. “You’ve backed yourselves into a corner quite nicely.”

“Sebastian!” Mom says, trying for some maternal authority.

I shrug. “You shouldn’t have signed the contract behind my back.”

“But it benefits you! You’re getting Sebastian Jewelry!” she says.

“I should have—and would have—gotten it anyway. You know it and I know it. I’d never have run it if it wasn’t mine.” I pin each of them with a hard stare. “Let’s be clear here. I don’t need the company’s money. I only run it because I love to, but I can always find a few new hobbies to occupy my time.” It’s a half-bluff.

Grandmother is clutching Grandfather’s wrist, her hand vibrating with tension. Unspoken words are stuck in her throat. She wants to complain—maybe even plead. My grandparents have too much pride to protest about giving up control over their money to me—but they are dying little by little as I remain resolute.

“But we’ll be destitute!” Travis says finally.

Well, well, well. Go, Travis. He just earned a lot of Brownie points with my family. “Don’t be so melodramatic. All I’m asking for is insurance.”

“For what?” Grandfather is bewildered.

“For what? Are you serious? For something to ensure you all don’t betray me again.”

There are knocks on the meeting room door, and the person I’ve been waiting for comes in. A deeply tanned man with sun-bleached hair in a cheap suit. If a teenage Californian surfer was forced to grow into a middle-aged office worker, this is what he’d look like.

“There you are. Just in time.” I gesture him in with a smile, then direct him to an empty seat next to Travis.

“Who is this?” Mom asks.

“A notary public. My lawyer said I should have one for this.”

“We need our lawyers to review this,” Grandmother says.

“Feel free, but I’m not changing a word of it. It’s a take-it-or-leave-it deal.”

Mom opens her well-lipsticked mouth. “But—”

“You won’t find any loopholes, Mother. John Highsmith drafted it himself.”

Shock settles over them. John Highsmith is a legal shark, as lethal and vicious as Jeremiah Huxley. Seeing my family’s reaction is worth every penny I paid for his services.

Mom is the first to give in. She picks up a pen and signs. “There. Happy now?”

“Do I look happy to you?” I respond with a sarcasm I can’t hide anymore.

“Sebastian, this is just so…unseemly.” Grandmother stretches her hand out in a plea.

“I’m not doing it to be seemly.” I hold a lingering eye contact with her. Then I shift to Mother. “I’m doing this for satisfaction.” Then Travis. “All of you need to sign, or the deal’s off.” Grandfather. “Your choice.”