Page 276 of The First Taste

"Call my lawyers," I command. A second later, one of my lawyers picks up his phone.

"Mr. Morgan," he says. "I didn’t expect to hear from you before the deep sea drilling mineral rights were ready to be purchased. What can I help you with?"

"I need a prenuptial agreement," I say. I pull out of the driveway and head toward the town of Harwicke. "I’ll text you the nitty-gritty details, but I need an ironclad contract. I am paying two hundred and fifty thousand now and two hundred and fifty thousand when she has our first baby. I want to be certain that there is a nondisclosure agreement built in about the money, too. She can’t breathe a word about being paid or her child’s paternity to anyone.”

"Wow, okay. Most prenuptial agreements require both partners to wait a certain amount of time, say five years, before becoming fully vested. And then, of course, at ten or twenty years, there should be some wiggle room just in case you decide to divorce."

"No. We’re not going to divorce. I want to make sure that she will never leave me. I want her to feel like she will be crushed if she decides to divorce."

My lawyer clears his throat. "I see. Well, we can talk about ways to do that."

"Great. When you have a contract for me to look at, email it to me."

"Okay," he says. But before he can speak again, I cut the call off.

I pay him a fuckton of money. I don’t need to be nice on top of that.

I quickly dictate a text to my personal assistant, asking to meet him because I have a lot of news for him.

He replies with an address, and I gun the engine, heading into Harwicke.

I pull up outside Herbsaint, the bar that Tristen introduced me to. It’s in a trendy part of town where there are tons of mixed-use buildings and warehouse lofts. I check the address and head into a building that sits across the street, five stories tall and newly refurbished.

The doorman greets me, asking me if I am Mr. Morgan. I tell him that I’m here to meet Rob, and he sends me up a newly installed stainless-steel elevator to the top floor. I step out, expecting construction or maybe an art gallery or something.

But the elevator opens into a huge, airy space with a kitchen on the left and a stylish and sleek living room to my right. Behind those rooms, there are rice paper walls dividing the rest of the spaces from my view.

Rob peeks his head out from behind the rice paper divider in the living room, his eyes full of excitement. "Isn’t this place just everything?"

He gestures to the newly refinished walls, which are matte dark blue on the bottom and slick cream on the top. I look around, taking in the luxury finishes.

There are colorful chandeliers, each one a different shade of pale blue or light yellow. The metal finishes on every surface are chrome and bronze, and the marble floors gleam with gold accents. The living room has white couches that are lined with soft pillows. Overall, it looks like a lot of expense has gone into designing this apartment, if that’s what it is.

"It’s nice," I say. "What’s it for?"

“Well, it’s just been built out by a luxury design firm. You were saying that you wanted to rent or buy a place close to home that wasn’t the estate or the hotel you live in." He looks all around him, gesturing to the whole apartment. "What do you think? It’s very swanky."

I exhale, looking around. "What’s it on the market for?"

"My realtor friend says that it’s priced at five million. But since you can buy the property without any outside financing, I was thinking that you could offer four-point-four million for it."

Squinting at it I think for a second. "It could be nice to have a base of operations here instead of living out of the hotel. Plus, I have a new fiancée who would probably find the idea of having a home important."

Rob turns to me, running his thumb under his lapels. He has a look like he was just smacked in the face. "I’m sorry; I must have misheard you. Did you say you had a fiancée?"

"That’s right, I am engaged."

Saying the words out loud feels odd. I don’t think of myself as a romantic at heart, and yet there is some part of me that resists the title of fiancée. I know that I am not actually going to be swept up in a bunch of hokey, sappy feelings for Talia or anything. But a teeny, tiny sliver of my boyhood self struggles with my now-impending marriage.

Crushing that feeling to the ground and flinging it aside, I smile. “I’m getting married. That’s exactly what is going to happen. As soon as possible.”

He blinks at me. "But I thought that you were going to go through a matchmaker?"

I shake my head. "Nope. The woman I’ve chosen is perfect for me in every way," I bluff. "She is my ideal match."

I look around, my brow puckering. "I suppose that this place will do for us to live in as man and wife. We’ll only need it until Remy picks me as the heir to the fortune. We’ll eventually move to New York City. In fact, I plan to move the entire headquarters of Morgan Drilling to New York City." I smirk. "I’ve always hated this town, and now I can finally exact my revenge on it."

Rob begins to pace the floor, pulling out a phone and typing into it furiously. "When is the wedding?"