Page 25 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

“Call it a ‘Personal Comfort Clause’ or whatever euphemism makes it legal,” I continue. “But I want it in the agreement.”

“Dom,” Camilla interjects, “that’s extremely problematic from both legal and PR perspectives. We can’t legally compel sexual activity.”

“I know that,” I say, waving a dismissive hand. “It would never hold up in court. But she doesn’t need to know that.”

Arthur looks deeply uncomfortable. “I strongly advise against this approach. Ms. Cole could interpret it as coercive.”

He’s right, of course. It’s a shitty move. But something about Tatiana Cole makes me want to push boundaries, to see how she’ll react. Besides, if she refuses to sign because of the clause, I’ll drop it. No harm done.

“Just include it in the draft,” I insist. “If she objects, we’ll remove it.”

I glance toward the closed bedroom door where Tatiana is still on the phone with Christopher. Through the door, I can hear the muffled sound of her voice, but not her words. I can almost see her lips... and when I imagine what those lips could be doing to me, what theywillbe doing to me if she agrees, I feel myself getting hard.

“Look,” I say to distract myself. “I want this agreement to be mutually beneficial. She gets financial compensation, I get my business deal saved, and we both get...” I trail off with a meaningful look.

Arthur sighs but makes a note. “All right, I’ll add it in. But don’t say I didn’t warn you...”

His expression remains skeptical.

I can’t help but smile. If Tatiana accepts, and that’s a bigif, the thirty days we spend together will certainly become a lot more interesting.

I’m such a dirty prick. But hey... it’s my money to spend after all, andmyagreement.

What’s the worst that can happen?

She says no?

Actually, if I’m being completely honest with myself, I’m more afraid of what will happen if she says yes.

8

Tatiana

Istare at my phone, still processing the fact that Christopher isn’t firing me. It feels like the first semi-positive development since waking up this morning with his best friend’s wedding ring on my finger.

One catastrophe averted. Nine hundred to go. You’re killing it, Tatiana.

The sound of voices filters through the door. Dom and his crisis team are still out there waiting for me, probably drafting my life away in neat legal paragraphs. I should probably go face them before they decide to sneak something into the contract that doesn’t agree with me.

My head pounds as I stand, the hangover still clinging to my temples despite the aspirin. I catch my reflection in the mirror and grimace.

“You got this,” I whisper to myself, straightening the hotel bathrobe. “Just another business negotiation.”

Yeah, because you negotiate accidental marriages all the time. Total pro.

When I push open the bedroom door, three heads swivel in my direction. Dom’s expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that makes me feel like I’m being assessed.

“Everything okay with Christopher?” he asks, voice carefully neutral.

“Surprisingly, yes. I still have a job,” I reply, moving toward the sitting area. “Though I’ll be signing more confidentiality agreements than a reality show contestant.”

Arthur clears his throat. “That’s excellent news, Mrs. Rossi... Ms. Cole. While you were on the phone, I took the liberty of drafting our preliminary agreement.”

“Really?” I say. “That was quick.”

“It’s mostly boilerplate stuff,” he says.

The older man slides a tablet across the coffee table. It’s connected to his laptop by a long cord.

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