Protege(18)

“But I’m not a member yet.”

“You’re an honorary one in this instance. Would you like me to set up an appointment for you with our attorney? He’d be more than happy to advise you.”

She frowned and whispered, “It’s rather private information. I mean, the legal stuff was confusing, but I understood some of the other pages. I couldn’t possibly show that to someone else.”

A smug sort of laughter left his throat. “Who do you think drew up the conditions? It will be fine. Can you be here in an hour?”

“I . . . guess, but—”

“Good. He’ll be expecting you.”

An hour later she was sitting outside the office of Mr. Ezra O’Hanlon, Esquire.

Her eyes widened as he stepped out of the office and greeted her. “You must be the little Georgia peach I heard so much about. I’m Ezra. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Most men wore suits in a business setting, but this man was dressed in dark jeans and a soft T-shirt that fit him like a second skin. And what was this “Georgia peach” nonsense?

She stood and shook his hand, trying to pretend this wasn’t a meeting about a sex contract. “I’m Collette Banks. Thank you for meeting with me.”

As he shook her hand, his other hand held it captive. He grinned as if taking much more than a handshake from their connection. Moving a slow pace back, she withdrew her fingers, and he chuckled. “Let’s head into my office.”

His office was as nice as Jude’s but decorated differently. There were more windows and his furniture was white leather, where Jude’s was mostly dark shades of onyx.

“Can I interest you in a drink? Champagne? Water?”

“Water’s fine.” Their liquor bill must be phenomenal.

They settled in at a long table and he filled her glass from a pitcher; flashbacks of her first meeting with Jude filled her mind. “Jude tells me the legal jargon’s tripping you up.”

Again, taken aback by his casual manner, she struggled to find steady ground. “Yes, it’s a bit overwhelming.”

He nodded and flipped open a file. She should have expected him to have his own copy. “Well, page one basically explains that this is your decision and you’re consenting to this arrangement for thirty days with the right to dissolve the contract at any time should you change your mind. However, when the contract’s fulfilled, you may not hold Mr. Duval responsible for any emotional damage.”

“What does that mean, emotional damage?”

“It means that this is a business agreement, not a love affair, and he has no responsibility to you after the thirty days. Should you develop feelings for him on a personal level, you cannot, at any time, hold him or Fernweh liable. It absolves Mr. Duval and his company from future legal issue resulting from the time specified in the contract.”

Her brow creased. What if he fell in love with her? She wasn’t expecting that, but it seemed a bit arrogant of them to leave the possibility out. Regardless, she didn’t see it as much of an issue. “I’m not the type to sue. Clearly, I don’t even have my own attorney, which is why I required your services.”

“Good. And for the record, over the next thirty days you may consider yourself armed with an attorney.” He grinned. “I’ll assist you as much as possible during your stay, and our meetings are confidential.” He didn’t seem too concerned with the arrangement, but perhaps that was because he wasn’t the one signing his life away to a complete stranger.

“Now, section two details the domestic roles he expects you to fulfill. Did you have any questions about that?”

“I was a little lost when it started talking about the scope of our roles.”

He nodded. “Okay, well, let’s say you’re making breakfast for him and he tells you to remove your clothes. The scope of the role he’s selected for you places that request within his rights.”

“But what if I’m cooking bacon?”

He paused and suddenly laughed. “Oh, I think you’re going to be a joy for Jude.” He picked up a pen and made a quick note. “Not while working over a spattering, hot stove,” he commented, as he wrote. “How’s that?”

She shrugged. “I suppose that’s fine, but I’m not sure Mr. Duval will ask such a thing of me.”

He smirked and turned the page. “In section three we address expectations. Now, these are gathered from Mr. Duval personally and based on your application. I’ve noted your desire to assign the male as HOH—”

“HOH?”

“Head of the household. The HOH role is universally dominant but dictates a slightly old-fashioned approach to the practiced leadership . . . liberties. The way I interpreted your application, you have a strong need to be taken in hand should your behavior merit correction. Have I misunderstood, Ms. Banks?”

There was no censure in his expression, but her gaze lowered anyway. She did feel a pull toward such a dynamic, yet admitting so filled her with shame and fear that there was something wrong with her for wanting such a thing. However, as shameful as admitting that unnatural desire for domestic discipline might be, it was nothing compared to the feeling of rightness it brought. Teetering on the brink of a lie, she let out a harsh exhalation and whispered, “You’re correct. I want that sort of relationship.”