A sting pierces me, revisiting how I found the woman I planned on marrying making out at dinner with a business colleague. I reply, "No. She's nothing like her. But put it in there."

He continues, "Fine. Besides the nondisclosure clause, what else?"

I pace some more, then answer, "She has to engage with my family at all times. She can't talk bad about me. Oh, and she has to show me PDA everywhere we go," I assert, unable not to smile.

Yep, I'll have her naked in no time once she knows what it's like to have my lips on hers.

Huck mutters, "So your new wife's not too fond of you, I take it?"

I don't answer him.

He adds, "Don't most women love to be fawned over by Sebastian Cartwright?"

I blurt out, "Georgia isn't like most women." My pulse quickens just thinking about her sucking the frosting off her fingers.

"So her name's Georgia. What's her last name?"

"Peach," I state.

"Sorry, did you say Peach?" he questions.

"Yes. Her name's Georgia Peach."

"You've got to be kidding me," he notes.

"No, I'm not. And she's just as annoyingly chipper as the name," I relay.

The sound of Huck lighting up his cigar hits my ears. He takes a deep puff and slowly lets it out. He asks, "Anything else besides the standard clauses?"

"Remind me of the standard clauses?"

"Waiving her right to sue you for any damages that might occur, that type of stuff," he answers.

I reply, "Not that I can think of."

"Okay. I'll get right on it. I'll have it over to you within a few hours."

"Thanks, Huck," I say, relieved this will get done quickly.

He adds, "Yeah, but it'll cost you for the rush job."

I groan. "Of course it will. Send me the bill. Just cover my ass and add in the loopholes."

"No problem." He hangs up.

A few hours pass. I try to do my work and keep looking at Georgia's empty desk. An uncomfortable feeling fills me. I've gotten used to seeing her behind the desk, crossing those long legs of hers.

I text her.

Me: Are you packing?

Georgia: Yes, but how do I know I'm taking the right type of clothes?

Me: It's the country.

Georgia: So? Should I not bring anything nicer?

Me: Pack whatever you want. I'll give you my credit card to go shopping with my sisters and mom when you get there.

Georgia: I don't need your credit card to buy clothes.

Me: You're going to be my wife. It'll look a little sketchy if you pull yours out.

Georgia: Why don't you tell me what type of clothes I'll need and I won't need to go shopping?

Surprised, I stare at her text. What woman doesn't want to take my credit card and shop?