Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
There’s a different kind of sigh this time. Heavier. Like he knows he’s going to have to get his hands dirty kind of a sigh that comes from the bottom of his chest. I can imagine Smitty, all six feet and seven inches of him in a designer suit, heaving and shuddering. He’s not fit. I mean, he’s not unfit either. He’s just a mountain. A mountain crammed into a suit with a huge red beard and a bald head. He’s one of those teddy bear guys who looks like a juggernaut. Like legit, he might be one. I’m not sure how or why he ever became a lawyer. I know he’s a business lawyer, but this seems more personal than business.
I do know that my husband, whatever his real name is, married me because of some family dispute that involved greedy Gretchen cousins—Smitty’s words, not mine. They wanted to take what was his, and there was something about a will and an aunt with a sick sense of humor who put a marriage clause in her will that said something about my unknown-named husband needing to have a wife for a minimum of five years. Since Smitty is a business lawyer, I imagine it has something to do with some business dealings or some company. Or likely shares because that’s the only thing that makes sense to me, but of course, I’m actually not sure. I only gathered this from seeing Smitty on and off over the years. I know just enough info from the beginning when I had to be talked into signing that darned contract in the first place.
So now I’m living a romance trope in a fake, contracted marriage, and my nameless husband is living it too, but he’s probably a gazumba bumba billionaire. If he’s not, then I’m not sure how he can afford to pay me what he’s paying me to live this trope.
Yeah, I know. Things like this only happen in movies and books.
Or to me, because I posted a video that I hoped would go viral so I could save my brother.
I got my wish.
Be careful about making wishes and all that. It really is good advice.
“I think I should come over, Miss Bull.”
I’ve zoned out, and it’s no doubt worrying Smitty on the other end of the line. Ominous silences are not my deal. “No, Smitty. There’s nothing you can do. I want someone to share my bed at night. I want someone there. I want…I want a family. All my friends are in love, married, or have kids. I’m twenty-nine years old.”
“It’s only another year, Miss Bull.”
“And that’s no bull. Ha. Okay, stopping that. But seriously. My name, Smitty, is Weland. I’ve told you a hundred and one million times to just please call me that.”
“Okay, Miss Bull. Okay.”
My phone is on the older side of things and doesn’t need to be clenched this hard. “Grr.” No, that’s not me practicing being a bear. That’s me being totally frustrated by all of this. “I know I got two hundred grand. I know that. But if I break the contract now, you do realize if he sued me to pay it back, which yes, I know is one of the clauses I signed off on, I could just declare bankruptcy?”
“You wouldn’t do that, Miss Bull. You’re too good for that. Too kind.” Oh, well, it’s a good thing Smitty believes in me. “Your brother got what he needed because of my client, and I know you’ll hold up your end of the deal.”
My eyes start to sting. “What if I don’t? What if I’m so hopeless that I don’t want to? What if I go to the clinic and get in vitro tomorrow and get pregnant and cause a huge fuss and stir? There are no rules against that. I also have the money.” Kind of. I kind of have the money. Not that there was much left over after Bryan’s medical bills were paid.
“Would you do that?”
“I don’t know. Would I not do it?”
“I really hope not. You’re a good girl. I really like you, Miss Bull. I don’t want to have to sue you, but I’m my client’s lawyer before I’m your friend.”
“I think we have different definitions of friends.”
I know that’s doubly not fair. Smitty has always been so good to me. So nice. None of this is his fault. I suppose he could have said no to taking this job, but then someone else would have done it. Maybe he donates money that he feels is dirty money to charity. He seems like he’d be the type. He probably donates money anyway. Probably for homeless cats or sweaters for hairless dogs so they don’t have to shiver in winter. Believe me, Michigan can get really cold. Sweaters are a great thing. We need more sweaters in this world. And more dogs. And people with hearts like dogs have.