Chapter 8 Rules Of Engagement

• Yvette's pov
• The silence in this car was so thick. It even felt like a living thing. I hate this kind of silence, I prefer the noise that Manhattan brings and now it feels like I'm about to choke.
• But inside this silent, leather tomb, it was just the engine hum and him. He was just sitting there, being all maddeningly calm.
• He hasn't looked at me once since he told the driver to stop. He was completely focused on his tablet, his fingers swiping through whatever. He was the picture of perfect, unbothered control. This wasn't just him waiting me out. This is a demonstration. He's showing me, not telling me, that he has all the time in the world. Probably centuries of it. And me, I had just about two hundred bucks to my name and a supply of stubbornness.
• My brain was spinning, trying to find a way out. What are my options?
• Maybe I would scream at the top of my voice and bang the glass but anyone seeing a woman screaming in a Maybach might think I was begging my husband not to take a second wife.
• Reasoning with Joachim Knight feels like trying to argue with an earthquake. It's pointless. Or I could just wait. But I know, I just know, he'd sit here until the sun burned out if he had to.
• He was going to win. I know it. He knows I know it. This was a negotiation and I don't do negotiations, I'm too stubborn for that. I adjusted my glasses and took a deep breath.
• The only choice I have left is how I lose. I can go down in a blaze of glory, all fury and noise or I can make a tactical retreat. Surrender this one little battle so I can get inside his fortress, learn the layout, and figure out how to win the war. And maybe smack his head and run out like I did the other day at the restaurant m
• I take a deep, shaky breath. God, I hate the taste of surrender. But it's the only move I have.
• "Fine," I snapped. The word cracked through the silence like a whip. "You win. Tell your statue to drive."
• And he made me wait. Of course I knew that's what he would do. Stubborn little punk.
• We waited for a good ten seconds, just to let me sit there and stew in it. Then, so slowly, he lifts his eyes from the tablet. And there was no "ha, I won" in them. No smugness. Just the calm, final look of a predator that knows the chase is over.
• "A wise decision," he murmured.
• I rolled my eyes and snorted.
• I swear I saw a tiny smirk as he gave the driver a little nod and the car glided into the traffic like nothing ever happened.
• We didn't talk for the rest of the ride. I just stared out of the window. The car headed down into a private underground garage and we took an elevator.
• It didn't open into the lobby. It opened right into his home.
• And whoa. The penthouse is breathtaking and absolutely terrifying. I have never seen this part of the penthouse before.
• It was so magnificent that it didn't fall into the category of a home, it was a monument of power and emptiness. The main room was two stories high with windows for walls, and the whole of Manhattan is just there laid out below looking so tiny as if it was in a display case. And the kind of furniture here would pay my entire generation's monthly allowance even down to the fifth generation. They were also ridiculously expensive arts like they had been stolen from a museum. Everything here looks so perfect like a robot decorated it.
• Apart from the art and furniture, there was nothing human or belonging to a human here.
• A photograph? A stack of mail? A forgotten coffee mug? Nothing. Not a single thing out of place. This is the home of a man who doesn't live, he just exists. I think it should be called a beautiful cage.
• Yup, perfect name.
• He cleared his throat and I jumped, he had been watching me the entire time. “Your suite is on the second floor.”
• “I—I have a suite now?” I gasped in excitement.
• He furrowed his brows. “Where do you expect to sleep? On my PS4?”
• Sarcastic proud lawyer. I looked away.
• “East wing," he said, his voice kind of echoing in the huge space. "My chambers are in the west wing. You will not enter them. Ever."
• “Yes, Your Royal Highness.” I said with a mock bow.
• Ignoring me, he led me into this massive, dark office that overlooked the city. There was this giant desk in front of the window, like an altar to some corporate god. He pointed to a chair. I felt less like his fake girlfriend and more like I'm here for a very scary job interview.
• He put a thick, leather binder on the desk between us. It landed with a heavy thud.
• "Our agreement," he said. "Read it. I require your complete understanding."
• I opened it up and I have never read anything this much before, not even in literature class, this might be a hundred pages or more. He was staring at me quietly as I began to read and each page I turned, I could feel myself getting angrier and angrier. It was the most insane, controlling and ridiculous document ever.
• *Clause 17: He has to be the one to touch me in public, to 'maintain the narrative.'*
• *Clause 22: His PR team has to approve any of my social media posts about 'us' 48 hours ahead of time.*
• *Clause 31: There's a list of 'approved' things we can talk about in public.*
• It was all nuts. Is this how his brain works? In clauses and sub-sections and controlled variables. But I keep reading and then, about halfway through... there it is.
• My heart does this little flutter. It was small, buried in a section about personal conduct. Just one, poorly worded sentence.
• I exhaled after reading and closed the binder softly, keeping my face a total blank mask.
• I peered at him through my glasses and he was so still that he freaked me out. He has been watching me, his blue eyes not missing a thing.
• “I presume you understand the terms?”
• "I do," I said, my voice steady. "It's very thorough. You've thought of almost everything."
• "Almost?" One perfect eyebrow goes up. The corner of his mouth twitches. Oh, he's enjoying this.
• “Okay. Here we go.” I took a breath. "Page fifty-seven. Clause 4B, sub-section three," I said, and my voice was getting stronger. "It's about 'unscheduled personal time.' The language is ambiguous. It says I get a 'reasonable allotment' of time to myself. But 'reasonable' isn't defined anywhere in the contract. It's subjective."
• I leaned forward, the fear totally gone, replaced by that old thrill of finding a weakness, a crack in the armor. "I could argue that twelve hours a day is 'reasonable.' And you'd have no contractual grounds to stop me, as long as I show up for our appointments on time." I let that hang in the air for a second. "You of all people should know a contract is only as strong as its weakest clause. And that one? It's really, really weak."
• The silence that followed was different. It was not heavy anymore. It was sharp. He just stared at me. I had challenged him in his own arena. I took his own weapon and found a chink in it. I half expected him to be furious.
• But he was not.
• Instead, this slow, dangerous smirk spread across his face. It was quite big but it didn't reach his eyes at all, but it changed everything. The cold lawyer is gone. And in his place is something older. More predatory. I could see that he wasn't just impressed but also intrigued.
• He stood up gracefully and before I could blink, he had already circled the massive desk and was standing right before me. Did he fly or what? Or maybe he was just fast in walking. I forced myself to look up at him.
• “Okay, that's true.” He said, his voice so seductive.
• "It is a flaw. A rather embarrassing one." He leaned down, putting his hands on the arms of my chair, boxing me in. He leaned forward and his handsome face was just inches from mine. I could even touch his lips if I want to. “You amaze me, such an intelligent young lady.”
• “Thank—”
• “It was a compliment, please.”
• I snorted.
• “You see, a loophole is only useful if you have
• a very good lawyer to exploit it.” He whispered and paused. "And it's a very good thing for me that I happened to be the best lawyer in this city isn't it?"