Can't Buy Me Love. Heather Macallister

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      “How do you feel now?” Vincent had asked.

      “I want more,” she remembered saying. But when he’d held up the bottle, she’d shaken her head. “Not champagne. More.”

      A smile had curved his lips.

      Now that she thought about it, Alexis recalled that it was the same smile he gave opponents before obliterating them. It was an I’ve-won-but-I’m-going-to-play-with-you-awhile smile.

      She hadn’t been an opponent, had she?

      “You’re entitled to more.” He’d named a figure.

      To her astonishment, Alexis had realized she’d negotiated a raise without even trying. “Has all this been worth it to you?” she’d asked him.

      He’d looked her right in the eyes, his blue ones so bright and so sharp they cut through her champagne haze. “Absolutely.”

      Alexis had felt herself relax until he added, “But then my biological clock runs longer than yours.”

      Biological clock. Hadn’t that become a cliché yet? And yet once he’d mentioned it, she’d realized all her unease was probably related to that same biological clock. Cliché or not, she was thirty-one and had no boyfriend and no time to find one, along with tattered friendships and blood relatives who were strangers. She’d poured out all this to an uncharacteristically sympathetic Vincent. Oh, it had been a calculated sympathy, Alexis knew that, but she’d pretended she didn’t.

      And then he’d said, “I have a proposal for you.” And that’s exactly what it had been.

      She’d been shocked and then the idea had grown on her. Though he was older, Vincent was by no means unattractive and quite frankly, he could provide a better life for her than she could provide for herself.

      And she didn’t want to hear any of this letting-down-the-sisterhood stuff, either. She’d just like to see how many of the sisterhood would turn down an offer like the one Vincent had made. Not many, and not Alexis.

      So here she was, a week later, marrying a man she admired, but didn’t love. Who admired, but didn’t love, her. Still, they both wanted the same thing—a family and children. Well, Alexis also wanted a personal trainer and a standing appointment with a masseuse, but basically, she and Vincent were on the same page.

      It made so much sense—Alexis would settle in to the marriage for a couple of months, then work on having children right away, and by the time they were well into elementary school, Vincent would be ready to take over parenting duties and Alexis would pick up her legal career where she left off. Thanks to Vincent, there would be no mommy track for Alexis. As one of the founding partners, he had that kind of power, and he was putting it in writing, right in this pre-nup that she should be paying attention to instead of mentally justifying her actions to a pair of caramel-colored eyes that still had the power to affect her.

      “Alexis?” Margaret, her lawyer, gave her a look that meant Alexis had missed something.

      In her late forties, Margaret had never married. She was hard as nails, humorless, and her roots needed retouching.

      She was Alexis’s future.

      No, not anymore. Not now that she was marrying Vincent. “Margaret?”

      “Do you agree to the terms of the preceding clause?”

      “I…”

      “There is a significant—” Margaret paused to emphasize just how significant “—monetary penalty should you return to work. In addition, there is a non-compete clause that troubles me.”

      “It didn’t trouble Alexis,” Vincent inserted smoothly.

      “We have had barely forty-eight hours to review the contract.” Margaret peered at Vincent over the top of some unflattering reading glasses. They were in no way stylish, nor had they ever been. Shopping for frames would take time, time a high-powered attorney like Margaret didn’t have.

      “I would suggest that if Alexis works for another firm, you mitigate the financial penalty,” she said.

      “I wouldn’t work for another firm.” That would be defeating the whole purpose of the marriage.

      Margaret and her awful glasses turned to Alexis. “All the more reason to take a second look at those financial terms.”

      Alexis didn’t want to take a second look. Truly, she was going to start on a family right away and planned to spend the next few years decorating nurseries and changing diapers in between rejuvenating facials. No sense in wasting time. No sense in destroying the lovely weightless bubbly feeling she’d had ever since she’d agreed to marry Vincent and let him worry about acquiring money for a while.

      And then Dylan spoke. “Vincent, I usually advise my clients to provide for the unexpected. In this instance, a clause dealing with your possible incapacitation would not be amiss. Should your income stop, under these terms, Alexis would be penalized for supporting you.”

      Dylan sure was a real lead weight.

      Vincent gave him a patronizing smile. “If I had wanted such a clause, then I would have inserted it myself.”

      “If you’d thought of it.”

      “I did.”

      “Judges like to see those clauses.” Dylan wasn’t intimidated in the slightest, Alexis would give him that, though not much more. “They’re a sign of good faith and make the pre-nup harder to break.”

      “I expect an unbreakable contract from you, Dylan. Is my faith misplaced?”

      “Not if your faith takes my advice.”

      Sheesh. Why didn’t they just unzip their pants and get out rulers?

      “Alexis has faith, don’t you, Alexis?” Vincent asked.

      Dylan’s gaze flicked to Alexis at the same time Margaret’s foot nudged hers. Yeah, yeah. The clause should be there. She couldn’t help feeling that it was some kind of test, though.

      “Vincent…” she began.

      “If I’m incapacitated, then more than ever, I would want my lovely wife by my side.” He reached across the table and squeezed Alexis’s hand. “We’d hardly be destitute. I have a lifetime income from the firm.”

      “Oh.” Wow. Maybe she’d never go back to work. Work was overrated. Spa paraffin and sea-salt scrub pedicures were not. Alexis slipped back into her fantasy as one of the rich and idle.

      She heard a buzz and saw Vincent remove his cell phone. “Excuse me. I need to take this.” He raised his eyebrows at Alexis. “Briarwood.”

      The next big case. One that she would have been working on with him if she hadn’t been planning a wedding in a week. “Of course,” she mouthed. But Vincent had already turned away and was leaving the room.

      “Alexis, you and I need to talk.”

      “Margaret—”

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