“Wait—but not yours?”

Neil’s smile is thin. “The estate was set up in a complicated way. I got control of my share when I turned twenty-five. Paisley will, too. But my mother’s money is under Harmon’s control for life. He gives her an allowance, and she has to petition him for any unusual expenditures. She wants to sell her apartment and buy another one, and he’s making her write a proposal. It’s humiliating.”

“Yikes.” On one hand, I’m starting to get the picture—Neil’s family is all twisted up about money, and it doesn’t have a thing to do with me.

On the other hand… don’t these people know they don’t have any real problems? Jesus.

“I’m sorry you are tangled up in it, too,” Neil says quietly. “You can’t sign this document. I can find another attorney to handle this.” He flings the pages at the coffee table, where they land at the feet of the bronze horse.

One page goes skimming off the table, and I lean over to pluck it off the floor. I hadn’t noticed this page before. It’s separate from the post-nup. “Hey, what’s this?” The letterhead is different, too. The Drake Family Foundation.

Neil takes the page from my hand and reads it, a deep furrow forming in his forehead. “Huh. I’d forgotten about this provision.”

“What?” I let out a huge yawn. This has been the longest day. Literally, since I woke up in another time zone.

“When a Drake gets married, his spouse automatically claims a seat on the board—not of the company itself, but of the family foundation…” Neil trails off, but he’s still staring at the page. “So they’re asking you to give up your seat voluntarily.”

“I don’t need any new hobbies, so that’s an easy decision.” I reach up and pat his cheek. The stubble scratches my palm in a satisfying way.

Okay, stop touching Neil. Bad things happen when you touch Neil.

He hasn’t noticed. He’s still staring at the paper. “You’d change the vote,” he says slowly. “We’d control the foundation.”

“So what?” I lean back, trying to get more comfortable on this awful sofa. My limbs are weary. I need this to be over, so I can go home to bed.

Then I remember Robert might be there.

Shit.

“The family foundation is partly a charity and partly a political vessel. My uncle supports certain causes to get the breaks he needs on Capitol Hill.”

I yawn again so widely that my jaw cracks. That’s how intrigued I am by Drake family politics.

Neil picks up the post-nup and tears it in half, loudly. Then he produces his phone and hits a button. I hear a dial tone.

“Evening, Neil,” the lawyer’s voice says through the speaker a moment later.

“Witherspoon,” Neil barks. “We read this document. And I honestly can’t understand why you bothered. Is this some kind of sick opening gambit?”

“No,” he grunts. “This was your uncle’s language. He’s very adamant about most of these clauses.”