Chapter 4: No Gaps

Robert worked through the revisions. He wrote quickly, made notes, cross-referenced other sections. Every time he changed something, he asked if both parties agreed. The process was precise and almost hypnotic in its orderliness. This was what it looked like when two competent people designed a life together without any romance interfering.

They broke for lunch at twelve-thirty. Janet ordered salads from somewhere that cost more than Isla made per hour. Cole went to get coffee. Isla sat in the conference room and read through the revised contract. By page four, she was reading it the way Cole had probably read it: looking for gaps, ambiguities, things that could be exploited later.

There were no gaps. He had anticipated everything.

"He knows what he's doing," Janet said, sitting down across from her with a salad that looked like it had been photographed for a magazine. "Your Cole Mercer."

"He's not my Cole Mercer," Isla said.

"He's somebody's Cole Mercer," Janet said. "And he's treating this marriage like a hostile acquisition. Which is probably the best way to treat it."

Cole came back with the same black coffee he had started with. He had not refilled it once in the five hours they had been negotiating. He drank it at completely regular intervals, like he was using it as a metronome for his attention span.

They signed at 4:47 p.m. Robert printed the final version, Janet reviewed it one last time, and then they both signed. Cole signed first, in blue ink, his handwriting as precise as everything else about him. Isla signed second, which felt significant in a way she couldn't quite articulate — a promise, a commitment, a capitulation.

"We'll file the marriage license tomorrow," Robert said. "You'll be legally married by the end of the week."

"When?" Isla asked.

"Saturday," Cole said. "City Hall. Eleven a.m. We can do lunch after if you want."

"We're having a marriage ceremony at City Hall and then lunch," Isla said.

"Yes," Cole said. "It makes sense logistically. City Hall has availability. Lunch is efficient. We can discuss living arrangements."

"I'm moving to New York," Isla said, confirming it out loud. It felt more real when she said it. She had left her last company. She had left her engagement. San Francisco was next. She was very good at leaving things.

"Temporarily," Cole said. "I'll have the spare room prepared. My assistant will help with your transition."

"Your assistant," Isla repeated.

"Yes," Cole said. He was putting his contract into his leather portfolio with the same care he had put into everything else. "Her name is Elizabeth. She's excellent with logistics. She knows about this situation. She's required to know because discretion is part of her job."

Of course he had told his assistant. Of course the assistant was probably already planning Isla's welcome to Manhattan with the precision of someone who had planned many things. Of course this was exactly the kind of marriage that would work because neither of them was expecting anything except perfect execution.

"I'll see you Saturday," Isla said. She needed to leave. She needed to sit in her loft and look at the signed contract and understand what she had just done.

"Eleven a.m.," Cole said. He was holding her hand. She didn't remember when that happened. When did he grab her hand? He was shaking it, the same precise greeting he had given her when she arrived, except now they had a contract and his hand was warm and he was looking at her with the same gray focus he had pointed at the contract for the last five hours.

"Saturday," Isla said.

She left the conference room first. Cole stayed behind to speak with Robert about the filing timeline. Isla had her coat and her bag and she was almost at the elevator when she heard it — Cole's voice, low, carrying through the door she hadn't fully closed.

"I had her files for six weeks," he said. "I knew before she walked in."

She didn't know who he was speaking to. She didn't know which files. She stood in the corridor with her hand around the strap of her bag, waiting for the rest of the sentence.

There was no rest of the sentence.