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women with the highest caliber of beauty and poise—"
     
    "—my standards are pretty high—"
     
    "—and narcissism and brainlessness?" I finished with a grin when his smug expression tightened into a frown. "I guess I could call on my acting chops and pretend to be blown away by the prolific undertaking of determining one's outfit to the next charity ball. I mean, how are we to save the world if not in platform heels?"
     
    A smile ghosted on his lips but he quickly chased it away with another frown although his warm hazel eyes held a sparkle of humor. "A Mrs. Maxfield has to be a woman of impeccable taste, pleasant and charming humor, perfect manners and easy flexibility with her husband."
     
    My brows rose. "Flexibility? Do you mean like gymnast-level positions in bed? I danced a little in high school but I don't think I can get my foot over my neck. And you're not supposed to be sleeping with me."
     
    Heat flared in his gaze and his jaw clenched. "No. I meant flexibility in cooperating with her husband in decisions deemed best for her."
     
    I sat back and enjoyed his discomfort before piercing him with a glare. "Be direct, Mr. Maxfield. If you meant subservience, just say it. You expect a Mrs. Maxfield to be entirely in your power, like a puppet whose strings you can pull anytime. A Mrs. Maxfield should never voice contradicting opinions, complain about your extra-marital affairs or point out your excessive ego and greed. She must also turn off a few functioning brain cells to be able to cope with the insipid concerns of the people in your circle if she wants to be able to relate. She needs to be a spineless and superficial arm candy, battery-operated with a million dollars. Did I miss anything?"
     
    "Yes," he muttered with an exasperated sigh. "A Mrs. Maxfield also needs to be less sarcastic."
     
    "I don't know about that," I said as I picked up the contract and handed it to him with a smile. "It's only sarcastic if you actually don't agree with what I said which I thought you did considering all your stipulations here. I just condensed it into a simple characterization—dumbed it down, you know? Understanding the big words might make me too smart and you know we can't have that."
     
    I was spared from a scathing response when Becca arrived with our food. Working at Marlow's, you'd think I'd gag at the smell of its food but I was so hungry that I nearly had tears in my eyes the moment I put a slice of bacon in my mouth. Sure, I've eaten leftovers here but there was a big difference in getting scraps from the kitchen and eating my own meal.
     
    "This isn't signed," he finally said a few minutes after Becca left and he'd scanned the contract.
     
    "Not yet," I replied through a mouthful of pancakes soaked in maple syrup. "I want it amended first with the revisions I made. First two-hundred-fifty thousand upfront on the day of our wedding, second after six months, third on the eighth and the last of it at the end of the year. The separate clothing and spending allowance is fine but I want a separate bedroom, a charity budget and a grant for a full program in any pastry school of my choice. In case I die during the agreed year, all payable amount should be donated to a charity I'll name on my will. If you die before the contract expires, all payable amount you promised me on this contract will be paid out in full by your estate to which I'd have no right to as to be stated by our pre-nup."
     
    "Sounds reasonable," Brandon said as he sat back and studied me with those intense eyes. "Why the charity budget? What for? I'm already on the board of several ones."
     
    I crossed my arms over my chest. "I might as well try to spread what wealth I can get out of you. I have a few projects I want to get involved in. Don't worry, I won't be pocketing any of that money. It'll all go to a good cause."
     
    "For someone who seemed really incensed at the idea of taking my money a few days ago, you sure seem eager now to