Married by Contract

by Noelle Adams

  Married by Contract

  Noelle Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Excerpt from A Princess Next Door

  About Noelle Adams

  One

  At five-twenty in the morning, Jenn Castle was running hard on her treadmill and talking on the phone through her earpiece.

  Yelling on the phone.

  It was supposed to be a quick, professional conversation, getting confirmation on a few things from Jim, who was responsible for finances in her company. Part of the difficulty might have been that she’d woken him by calling so early in the morning, but part of it was certainly his fault, for not being on top of things as much as he should.

  When she realized she was raising her voice, she intentionally toned it down, huffing and sweating from her forty minute workout. She didn’t like to talk that way to the people who worked for her, but patience had never been her strong suit.

  “Okay, fine,” she gasped at last, after listening to a two-minute, somewhat garbled apology. “We’ll talk about it first thing. When will you be in?”

  She frowned at his answer but managed not to complain about his estimated arrival time. By eight, she would have already been working in her office for two hours.

  “Okay. Okay.” She gasped for air a few times. “Sorry about waking you up.”

  It wasn’t until she disconnected the call that she noticed Nick was standing in the doorway of the room in their apartment they’d designated the “workout room.” He had a mug of coffee in his hands, and he’d obviously just gotten out of bed. His longish brown hair was a mess, his eyelids were heavy, and he wore nothing but a pair of ratty flannel pajama pants that should have been thrown out years ago.

  He was watching her, his eyebrows arching in a very particular way.

  She scowled at him as she slowed down to an easy jog. She needed to cool down so she could jump into the shower soon. “I was just talking on the phone.”

  Nick didn’t answer. Simply took a slow sip of coffee, his green-gray eyes never leaving her face.

  “I wasn’t working,” she continued, since she knew how to interpret that look. “A quick phone call doesn’t count.”

  “If you say so.”

  She’d been having tension headaches almost every day for more than a year, and she’d finally gone to the doctor about them. She’d hoped there would be a quick fix, but he’d insisted that the only way to really get rid of them was for her to slow down at work and try to relax more.

  Jenn wasn’t good at relaxing. She’d been raised by a grandmother who’d had very little money, and she’d worked hard all her life. Her grandmother had been a brilliant seamstress and had a habit of making beautiful dresses for all the new babies in their small town. For her senior project in college, Jenn had written a business plan for a company that would market and sell those beautiful hand-made baby clothes. While she’d gotten her MBA, she’d started working on building the company, and in a few years it was off the ground. Using her grandmother’s dresses as inspiration, she’d hired designers and seamstresses to make the clothes, and soon she’d had a lot of success in the Midwest. In the last few years, she’d managed to even grow nationally, and she wasn’t going to blow it all by taking it easy—not simply to get rid of some headaches. But she’d agreed to try to keep her workday confined to between six in the morning and six in the evening, except for a few necessary business dinners.

  Nick was aware of her new schedule, which was why he was being so obnoxious at the moment.

  She usually cooled down for a little longer, but she didn’t want Nick to keep staring at her that way, so she slowed to a walk and then switched the machine off. “I’ve got to take a shower.”

  Nick didn’t answer. He also didn’t move.

  When Jenn reached the doorway, she widened her eyes, since he was blocking her way out of the room.

  He took another swallow of coffee. Dark bristles were visible on his finely cut jaw, and his eyelids were lower than ever. His bare chest and broad shoulders were right in front of her eyes, since he was about eight inches taller than her. He was what Jenn had always mentally called one of those “hairy guys,” since there was nothing waxed or unnatural about him. He had obvious hair on his chest and his arms and his legs. He perpetually needed to shave and get a haircut. Even his eyelashes were longer than they should have been.

  She normally liked men who were better groomed, but for some reason, gazing at him now, Jenn couldn’t help but recognize how sexy and masculine he was, standing there half-dressed in the doorway.

  She quickly pushed that thought out of her mind, since that had never been Nick’s place in her life.

  “You’re the one who has to smell me,” she said blandly, “as I stand here needing to shower.”

  He gave a husky chuckle and finally moved out of the way, and ridiculously Jenn was in a better mood as she headed to her bathroom to get ready for the day.

  ***

  Twenty-five minutes later, she rushed out of her room, buttoning the jacket to her suit, straightening her skirt, and mentally rehearsing her morning at the same time.

  Their apartment was an expensive loft in downtown Minneapolis, with a view of the city skyline and the river, and the kitchen was along one wall, open to the great room. Nick was there, leaning against the granite counter, looking at something on his phone and still drinking coffee. He hadn’t yet showered or dressed.

  Jenn set down the jewelry she’d brought with her but hadn’t had time to put on yet and then moved him out of the way so she could pull the blender out of a cabinet.

  “Why are you up so early today?” she asked.

  He finally looked up from his phone. “I’ve got a job that starts early.”

  Nick had started his own business as a private investigator about five years ago, after he’d gotten out of the Army. She assumed his business was doing all right, since he always seemed to have jobs, but his line of work wasn’t really a money-making operation. He never would have been able to afford this apartment if he hadn’t been living with her.

  “Need to take pictures of some cheating wife out for a quickie first thing in the morning?” she teased, grabbing fruit, yogurt, milk, and protein powder to dump into the blender.

  When he didn’t answer, she glanced back at him. “Hey, sorry. I was just joking. You know that.”

  He gave her a lazy smile. “Sure. I wasn’t offended. I do take pictures of cheating spouses sometimes.”

  She checked his face as she whirled the blender. “That’s fine then.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. When she’d stopped blending, he asked, “Really? Because it sounded like you might rather not have a husband who does such sleazy work.”

  “What?” Her spine stiffened in genuine surprise. “I don’t care what the hell you do.”

  He must have read her sincerity because a tension in his expression relaxed. “Okay. Just checking.”

  “Why would you even think that?” she asked, momentarily forgetting her smoothie and the fact that she was running late for work.

  She and Nick had both grown up in the same sma
ll town in Minnesota. He was a few years older than her, so they’d never been close growing up, but she’d always known him to be a good guy. With his brains and skills, he could have been hired by any number of lucrative security firms, but he wanted to do his own thing instead. As a soldier, he’d been posted in some of the most difficult places in the world, and he’d seen a lot of combat. She knew it had taken an emotional toll on him. If the way he could best deal with it was by easing through life now, never working too hard or taking anything too seriously, then she could totally understand and would never pressure him to do anything else.

  “I don’t,” he said, looking more awake now than he had earlier. “Not really.”

  “It sounded like you did. I’m not some sort of snob.” She didn’t know why she was so worried about this, but she was. “You can do anything you want, as long as it makes you happy.”

  He turned his back on her to refill his coffee. “Good.”

  Staring at the smooth planes and rippling muscles of his back, Jenn swallowed hard. “Nick?”

  He turned around to meet her eyes. “What?”

  “You are happy, aren’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean, with everything. This marriage. Everything.”

  He blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know, I just…something seemed strange just now. If you want out, you need to tell me.”

  “I don’t want out.”

  “I know it hasn’t been five years yet, but I wouldn’t expect you to repay any of the money. You don’t have to stick it out for two more years if you don’t want.”

  They’d negotiated a very complex contract for their five-year marriage. One of the terms was that she would pay off the business loan Nick had taken out to set up his private investigation practice, but he’d have to pay back a percentage to her if the marriage didn’t last the full five years. She hadn’t known him very well back then, and she’d wanted to protect herself from having him walk out on her with his loans paid off.

  She knew now that he’d never do something like that—to her or anyone else.

  “We could get divorced, and you could find a nice girl and have a bunch of babies with her, if you want.”

  “Damn it, Jenn.” His jaw tightened and his shoulders stiffened. “I just told you. I don’t want out. Stop imagining things.”

  “Okay.” She was a little hurt by his tone but mostly relieved that he didn’t want to end their unconventional arrangement.

  Three and a half years ago, they’d run into each other in their hometown, both of them back paying visits. They’d been bored, so they’d decided to go for a drink. Jenn had complained about how she’d hit some kind of glass ceiling with the conservative, traditional buyers she worked with—not because she was a woman but because she was single and didn’t have a domestic image that matched her company’s baby clothes. Nick had complained that he’d be in debt until he was eighty.

  By the end of the evening, they’d come up with this crazy idea. She couldn’t even remember who had first suggested it, but it was definitely her who had carved out the basic details of the arrangement. It was working wonderfully for her—they got along well most of the time and generally left each other alone otherwise—and she actually liked having Nick around.

  She’d miss him if he was gone.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Okay,” she repeated.

  His mouth twitched up just slightly. “Your smoothie is melting.”

  She gasped and whirled around to pour her not-quite-as-thick smoothie out of the blender and into an insulated cup. “Look at the time!”

  “Just because you’re not at work at six in the morning doesn’t mean you’re late.”

  “I’ve got a lot to do today.” She scowled down at the lid she was trying to screw onto her cup.

  Nick picked up the necklace she’d left on the counter and took a step forward to place it on her neck and then clasp the back of it for her. “You always have a lot to do.”

  “That’s kind of my point.”

  “Well, don’t complain to me about your headache if you work past six this evening and get all stressed out.”

  “I’m not going to have a headache.” She managed to get her earrings in and then looked down at herself to make sure she had everything on. Dark gray stylish suit with a pencil skirt. Designer heels. Jewelry. Everything seemed to match and be properly fastened, so she grabbed her smoothie. “See you tonight.”

  Before Nick could even answer, she was running out the door.

  ***

  At after eight that evening, Jenn was just getting back from work. She had a terrible headache.

  She vaguely hoped Nick wouldn’t be home. He often was working or hanging out with friends in the evenings. If he wasn’t here, he couldn’t say, “I told you so.”

  As soon as she stepped in, however, she knew he was home. She could hear the television on, and she could smell something delicious.

  Nick liked to cook, and he usually made a good dinner at least a few times a week. Jenn followed the scent toward the kitchen, where he was standing over the stove, stirring something in a pot.

  “Hey,” she said, trying to sound cheerful, although it felt like her entire head was being squeezed in a vice. “That smells good.”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder and just shook his head soberly.

  How the hell did he always know when she had a headache? She’d thought her expression had been perfectly normal.

  She slumped down on a stool at the kitchen bar and rubbed her aching head.

  He’d made some sort of pasta dish with chicken, sausage, and vegetables. He plated up some and handed it to her. Then he poured her a glass of the Chardonnay he’d opened.

  She mumbled her thanks and took a bite. “It’s really good.”

  “Good.” He took his own plate and wine and sat on the stool beside her.

  She tried to focus on the football game on TV and ignore the pain in her head. “Who’s winning?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  They ate in silence, both of them watching the large television above the fireplace that was visible from the kitchen. Jenn tried to relax, breathe deeply, and clear her mind from all stressful things, but she wasn’t feeling any better when she finished her meal and glass of wine.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, making a disgusted face when the opposing team made another touchdown. “They’re terrible this year. I can’t even watch.”

  “Me either.” Nick flipped the television off with the remote that had been left on the bar.

  Jenn picked up both of their plates and carried them to the sink. Then she refilled her glass and offered some to Nick.

  “No. I’m fine. And more wine isn’t going to help your headache, you know.”

  She scowled, feeling worse than ever and now annoyed with him for recognizing it. “It’s not too bad this evening.”

  “Liar.”

  Giving up the pretense, she groaned and rubbed at her scalp with her fingertips. “I don’t understand why I can’t get rid of these damned things.”

  “You know why. You’ve got to learn to relax a little and not try to hold the universe together with your own hands.”

  “I don’t try to hold the universe together. I just have a stressful job.” When he didn’t reply, she continued, “And I’ve always had a stressful job. Why have these gotten so bad just in the last year?”

  “That’s easy.”

  She’d been closing her eyes as she rubbed her head, but now she turned to look at him. “What?”

  He was watching her soberly. “Your business has really taken off in the last year, so now you’re trying frantically to keep it all from slipping away.”

  “I am not.” She frowned, thinking through what he said. “Why would I think it will slip away? We’re doing better every quarter.”

  “I know that, but that’s what has you so stressed out.
Anything good, and you think it’s just going to walk away from you.”

  For some reason, his relaxed words—almost offhand, nonchalant—hit her hard. She froze, trying to process them. “I don’t think I do that. Do I?”

  “Of course you do. And you know why.”

  “My dad? Because my dad walked out on me?” She posed it as a question, but as soon as she said the words, she knew they were right, true.

  Her mother had died when she was born, and her dad had been in and out of her life until she was nine. Then he’d walked away and never come back. She could still cry, thinking about it. It had been the most devastating thing to ever happen to her.

  Nick just raised his eyebrows.

  “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “With relationships. I mean, I’ve never had any luck with relationships. But not work. I don’t think my work is going to just walk away.”

  “You think the success is going to walk away. That’s why you’ve been holding on so tightly this year.”

  She thought through the words for a long time, until she finally shrugged them off. “Maybe. Maybe that’s right. But it doesn’t help me. If I’m not aware of doing it, then I’m not sure how I can stop myself from stressing about it.”

  “You can work less. You can relax more.”

  “I can’t relax. When have you ever known someone who can relax just because someone else tells them to?”

  He chuckled and stood up, taking his empty wine glass to the sink. “There are things you could do. I’ve told you before that massages would help.”

  “And I’ve told you that I don’t like strangers touching me.”

  He was still laughing softly as he walked back over to the bar. Instead of sitting down again, however, he stood behind her.

  She gasped when she felt his hands on her head.

  “Calm down,” Nick muttered. “Jesus, you’re so uptight.”

  “What are you doing?” She asked that mostly for something to say. She knew what he was doing. He’d taken the clip out of her hair and was running his fingers through it, gently rubbing her head.

  “I’m not a stranger. You can’t complain about me touching you.”