Page 120 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

‘Not at all.’

Lee bends down and opens up the slim briefcase next to her chair. When did she put that there? She pulls out a leather portfolio that matches Charles’s and his eyes light with approval. Oh god, there are two of them now.

Lee uncaps her own pen and starts annotating the sheet of paper Charles gave her. Her focus is absolute, the only sound is the clock ticking above the stove. Finally, she slides it back to him. ‘I’ve marked out the various agencies and provided you with contact details in case you need to confirm anything,’ she says. ‘Obviously I can’t go into detail, a lot of my work is sensitive…’ she trails off delicately, and Charles nods in understanding. I’m glad one of us has a clue what’s going on.

‘For my purposes, I suppose the key question is whether or not you enter into any field work.’ Charles tilts his head. ‘This would obviously have repercussions in terms of the safety and security of Mr Hart and his daughter.’

Field work? What the fuck?

Lee doesn’t look thrown at all, just shakes her head. ‘The work I do is purely as an analyst and on a freelance basis. I am under no specific obligation to any of the security services, and certainly pose no threat to anyone’s safety.’

‘Excellent. Charles makes a note while I gawp at Lee.

She lifts her brows at me and I snap my mouth shut. Fine, so I unknowingly married the James Bond of accountants; now isn’t the time to freak out about that.

‘And I can see that your financial records are extremely thorough,’ Charles says and again there’s a definite note of approval. I had no idea that Lee had even had to provide her financial information; god, that’s so intrusive. I shift in my seat, but Lee places a reassuring hand on my leg.

‘I am an accountant,’ she says dryly, and Charles gives a short laugh.

‘There was no prenuptial agreement before your wedding took place, is that correct?’ Charles looks back down at his papers.

‘Why would we need a prenup?’ I manage to sound more polite than I’m feeling.

‘You’re poised to inherit a substantial sum of money, Mr Hart,’ Charles chides gently. ‘We would certainly have advised—’

‘As you can see,’ Lee jumps in, ‘I am financially independent. I make a very comfortable living. Should Nico and I ever divorce…’

My stomach twists. Divorce. Of course we’re going to have to get divorced. Why does the thought make me want to Hulk out and rip the room apart?

‘I would not expect there to be any kind of settlement,’ Lee finishes calmly.

‘And would you be willing to sign something to that effect?’ Charles asks. ‘A postnuptial agreement? My office would be happy to draw one up.’

‘Certainly,’ Lee says at the same time as I growl, ‘Over my dead body.’

Lee turns to me, her eyes wide, as she clearly tries to communicate what are you doing?

I know that one way or another we’re going to have to dissolve this marriage and that Lee isn’t going to ask me for a penny anyway, but everything inside me is rioting at the thought of her signing something like that. I don’t care how illogical it is, it’s not happening.

‘No prenup or postnup or whatever you’re calling it. No,’ I say, the words unyielding.

Charles only lifts his brows and continues. ‘Very well.’ He clears his throat. ‘In that case, we should turn to you, Mr Hart. I understand that you have been working in construction, but that your current project is shortly to be completed?’

‘That’s correct,’ I say, my throat suddenly dry.

‘And may I ask you what your plans are? Will you be continuing in this line of work?’

‘I’ve considered it,’ I manage. ‘Maine doesn’t require a state-level contracting licence, so I could take local jobs and still be available to…’ I almost say Phoebe, but shift at the last moment, ‘my family. But, it would take time to build a client base, particularly in such a small area. And although I’ve made some good contacts in the last eleven months, it would be difficult to sustain a small business of my own right now. One option is to join a local crew. I have several potential leads on that in the short term.’

Charles nods. ‘I understand that prior to your move to Roseport you were working as a photojournalist?’

‘That’s right,’ I say tightly.

‘Is that an area of work you may return to?’

‘That work is not compatible with the needs of my family,’ I say mechanically.

‘I see.’ Charles hums and makes another note. The scratch of his pen against the paper feels judgemental. I can only imagine what he must think of me. No plan, no way of providing for my family, apparently depending on my financially independent wife and the big payout I have coming from my dead dad. What a winner.