“These are only from the past two weeks. In fourteen days, you’ve had your hands, mouth, and other body parts in inappropriate places on just as many women and then some. You’ve done this all in a very public way, obviously, because I didn’t even have to try hard to find these pictures. They were just there for the taking on any given day and night. Some of them were sent to me by my sister. Others by the woman who was my nanny when we were growing up. My own mother is actually the one who screenshotted the naughty ones from last night that were removed from Insta for violations of their nudity clause.”

I continued to scroll through the pictures, there were over 50 and those were just the ones I’d saved. “So, when you ask who in the hell am I to judge you, I’m the woman who is supposed to pretend to be in love with you enough to marry you and save your business from falling to whomever your shareholders deem more responsible than you.

“Let’s face it, if my family and former nanny are looking at these images and sending them to me, then your shareholders probably have a similar dossier to use against you when they suggest your replacement in the company. I don’t have to judge you. You put it all out there for everyone to see, and for them to come to me with their concerns.” I then took the too-many paged prenuptial agreement and tossed it to the center of the table.

“Then there’s that hot mess. If you can’t say what needs to be said in a prenup in less than 10 pages, really less than five would be lovely, then I won’t even think of looking at it. Keep it simple, and all that. But in reality, it’s a moot point considering,” I pointed at the iPad where last night’s naughtier photo still sat open for everyone to see. The photo showed Samuel lounging back on a couch, legs spread, pants unfastened, and cock out as a brunette woman, who was fully nude, was on her knees before him, hand on his cock, along with her mouth. You could just see the base of his cock where it jutted from his body, her hand, and then the point where her lips met her hand. Another woman, also nude and applying what looked like a line of coke to her breast, had just walked into the picture. I could only assume that the young lawyer – who was here in the boardroom with us – had taken the photo, though apparently it had been one of the women who posted to their social media thinking it was a good idea. Then I turned to my father. “It’s one thing to ask me to do something like enter into a marriage of convenience, but it’s another to ask me to stoop this low,” I told him. “You should want far better for me, even from a fake relationship.”