Page 35 of The Right Sign
Not that he’ll stop.
Not that he’ll let the guilt, the internal battle, consume him.
His mouth opens.
The interpreter signs, “I have evidence of your dear friend destroying my car.”
Richard Sullivan nods to his assistant. A moment later, an envelope slides across the table. I open it and horror floods me when I see a picture of Henry, mid-swing.
It’s suddenly hard to breathe.
His interpreter signs, “Like I said, this is a business deal. I’m in need of the appearance of a girlfriend.”
“For what?”
He arches a brow. I glance at his interpreter who signs, “You have to agree before I can give you the details.”
“A girlfriend. That’s all?” I eye him suspiciously. “This isn’t… a sexual relationship?”
Amusement again.
I can’t look at him anymore and I’m glad to look at the interpreter’s hands.
“I don’t want sex,” Jenny interprets this time. Her cheeks are bright. “Not unless you want it.”
“That’ll never happen.”
His lips hitch up. Jenny’s hands move deftly. Her expression still has that slight look of discomfort as she signs, “Draw whatever lines you want. I won’t cross them. I promise I’ll respect you.”
“You already aren’t respecting me.”
A line forms in his forehead. I’m stunned that he looks genuinely troubled.
Damn him.
I have no other options.
He has me backed into a corner. There’s nowhere to run. Not if I want to protect Henry.
Inhaling, I make a choice I know I’ll regret. “Fine.”
His eyebrows lift.
“But I want a contract.” I tap two fingers into the middle of my hand. “I will stipulate everything. Define my boundaries. If you so much as breathe too hard on me, I want this agreement annulled.”
He watches Jenny for a moment and chuckles.
“I want in writing that you will not pursue Henry if things go south.” I narrow my gaze. A not-so-subtle hint that I won’t be trifled with. “No loopholes. No fine print. You let Henry go scotch-free.”
He nods.
A stillness fills the air as we size each other up again. I break the staredown first and pick up my pen, scribbling my name on the dotted line.
Why does it feel like I just made a deal with the devil?
I stuff my unease deep inside and push the contract forward. “There. You got yourself a contract girlfriend. What’s my first assignment? A gala? An interview?”
I imagine he’ll want me hanging from his arm for the public. Perhaps a PR stunt? To increase his diversity quota by dating a black, deaf woman? Or perhaps to hide a lover that his family wouldn’t accept?