Chapter 8 - Her Price

By seven that evening, Callum had discovered that pretending to be engaged required more rules than most acquisitions.

Ailsa sat across from him at the conference table in his Edinburgh office, reading the latest draft from Sinclair counsel with a pen in one hand and an expression that suggested she had found something offensive on every page.

Ailsa tapped the mutual-termination clause. "This goes. Either of us can end the engagement without the other's permission."

Callum read it once. "And ending it does not touch Exit."

"Even if I end it badly."

"Even then."

Her pen stilled.

A boundary was not evidence that she expected betrayal. It was what made agreement possible.

For Callum, that distinction was becoming impossible to miss now.

They had already settled the practical shape of the arrangement: it had to end the replacement-marriage pressure, look credible in public, and never turn Ailsa's consent into an obligation.

Appearances required consent whenever possible. Private devices and Exit clients stayed outside the arrangement.

"And Sinclair support?" she asked.

"Corporate, not personal. No governance rights. No client access. No operational veto. Termination of this arrangement does not terminate the commitment."

"Even if I end it."

"Yes," Callum said.

"Even if you hate the way I end it."

Callum leaned back. "Do you plan to make a hobby of testing the clause?"

"I plan to know whether it's real."

He studied her for a beat.

Ailsa did not treat a boundary as evidence that she expected betrayal. She treated it as the condition that made agreement possible.

"Yes," he said. "Even then."

Her pen stilled.

"All right."

It should not have felt like winning anything.

Callum turned to the list of public-behavior notes his communications team had sent over. "We also need consistency."

"Meaning?"

"How we met. How long we've supposedly been together. What you call me in public," Callum said.

"Callum seems reckless enough."

He ignored that. "People will ask about the proposal."

"There wasn't one."

"They cannot know that," Callum said.

"Then we keep it vague."

"That invites more questions," Callum said.

"Details create more lies to remember."

He considered it.

She was right.

Again.

"We say it was private."

"And recent," Callum said.

"And no wedding date."

"Obviously."

Callum glanced up.

Ailsa's expression did not change.

"No wedding date," he repeated.

"There is no wedding."

"I remember," Callum said.

"Good."

He moved on before the conversation became an argument neither of them needed.

Physical contact took longer.

Ailsa agreed that hand-holding, an arm offered in public, and brief contact at her back were plausible. Anything beyond that required a signal or an explicit question. Callum insisted they needed enough flexibility to react naturally if cameras appeared without warning.

"Naturally for whom?" she asked.

"For two people supposedly engaged."

"You have a lot of opinions about how engaged people behave."

"I've attended weddings," Callum said.

"So have I. Look how useful that turned out to be."

Callum nearly smiled.

Then the assistant outside knocked once and entered with a black jewelry case.

Ailsa stared at it.

"No."

"It's a ring," Callum said.

"I can see that."

"You need one," Callum said.

"I need a prop."

"Fine. A very expensive prop."

He opened the case.

Three rings rested against dark velvet. His family jeweler had sent options without asking questions, which was one of the reasons the Sinclairs had used the firm for decades.

Ailsa did not reach for any of them.

Callum pointed to the largest stone. "That one photographs best."

"Then absolutely not."

"Why?" Callum asked.

"Because I have to wear it."

She picked up the simplest ring instead, a clean oval diamond on a narrow band.

"This."

Callum checked the other two, then hers.

"It's the smallest."

"It's still absurd."

"It needs to be believable," Callum said.

"I'm pretending to be engaged to a billionaire, not signaling aircraft."

He exhaled through his nose.

"That one, then."

Ailsa set it in her palm.

The negotiation lost its abstraction when she picked up the ring.

Contract language could remain on paper. Public objectives could sit in bullet points. The object in her hand was meant to make the lie visible on her body.

Callum noticed the way her thumb touched the band, not the stone.

Measuring, as if even this needed an exit she could locate with her fingertips.

"Try it," he said.

She held it out to him.

Callum took the ring and stopped before touching her hand.

"May I?"

Her eyebrows rose. He had surprised her.

Then she gave him her left hand.

"Yes."

Callum took it lightly.

Her fingers were cool. He slid the ring into place without tightening his hold, then released her as soon as it settled.

Ailsa studied the diamond under the office light.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

"Physically."

"Promising," Callum said.

"Don't get ambitious."

His phone vibrated against the table.

He checked the screen.

His chief of staff.

Callum answered. "Yes?"

"The Campbells have been approached for comment on a possible replacement match between you and Iona."

His attention sharpened. "By whom?"

"We don't know yet. One outlet is preparing to run it tonight."

Callum looked at Ailsa's hand.

"How long?"

"Maybe ninety minutes. Communications wants to know whether to deny it."

If they denied it without another explanation, Alistair would have room to reopen the argument tomorrow. If they waited for the story to run, the fake engagement would look reactive.

Callum ended the call.

"We have a problem," Callum said.

"Already?"

"The replacement-match rumor is about to become public."

Ailsa glanced at the ring as if it had personally offended her.

"When were we supposed to announce this?"

"Tomorrow," Callum said.

"And now?"

Callum checked the time.

"Tonight."

Ailsa checked the clock on the wall, then straightened in her chair.

"Fine. Tell me what happens first."

Callum looked at the woman who had spent the evening building an exit into every promise she made.

The arrangement worked.

Now they had less than ninety minutes to make the world believe it.