CLAUSE 2: CONFIDENTIALITY & NON-DISPARAGEMENT
2.1 The existence and terms of this Agreement are strictly confidential. The Parties shall not disclose, disseminate, or discuss the Agreement with any third party, except as required by law.
2.2 Both Parties agree to a mutual non-disparagement clause. For the duration of the Term and indefinitely thereafter, neither Party shall make, publish, or utter any false, defamatory, or critical remarks about the other Party, their business, or their family.
2.3 Any breach of this confidentiality or non-disparagement clause will be considered a material breach of the Agreement, subject to penalties outlined in Clause 7 (Liquidated Damages).
—Clause 2, the Matrimonial Cohabitation and Non-Disclosure Agreement.
***
There is a special kind of magic in watching your cheating ex-fiancé look like he's about to be sick into my mother's good bowls. It's a feeling I could get addicted to. It honestly makes up for all the tears they almost put me in earlier.
Nope. It more than makes up for it.
I take a sip of my wine, hiding my giddy smile behind it. The tableau is priceless. Liam looks pale as a sheet. Chloe's eyes are so wide she's giving Butterscotch a run for his money. My parents are trying and failing not to stare. And Malachai? He's been as polite as a Victorian child since he arrived. It's great!
He greeted my father with a firm handshake and a remark about the 'monstrous size' of the king salmon in the photograph by the stairs. He bowed slightly to my mother and Chloe. And, when it came to Liam, he simply slid an arm around my waist and said, with no particular emotion, "Ah, Liam. I've heard a lot about you."
Liam blanched. "All good things, I hope."
"Not particularly," Malachai replied, and left it at that.
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from cackling.
He even joined them in saying grace!
Now, I sip the exquisite contents of the bottle of Asconi Malachai brought, knowing fully well that, by the end of the night, my parents will have no choice but to love him and that Liam will be forever intimated by him.
My own genius staggers me sometimes.
"Catching a monster of that size wasn't easy, y'know?" My father is saying, puffing his chest out. "It took many hours of very meticulous angling. Of course, it's not as big as a Gulf Coast tarpon or an Alaskan king salmon, but it's not too bad for the Puget Sound, right?"
Malachai gives a considering nod. "A respectable catch. But it sounds to me like what you need is a trip to the Florida Keys. The sport fishing there is unparalleled."
My father spreads his hands as if Malachai has just revealed the meaning of life. "See! I've been saying that for years! But, you know women," he shakes his head, a familiar, grating chuckle escaping him. "If you're gone for too long they call in the National Guard."
I lean towards Malachai. "Sorry about my dad," I whisper. "Fishing talk makes him sexist."
I catch the barest hint of a smile touch his lips as he raises his glass. He picks up a forkful of my mother's infamous bland chicken casserole, places it in his mouth, and with the stoic grace of a man facing a firing squad, carefully and slowly sets the fork down. I have to disguise my burst of laughter as a sudden cough.
My mother, oblivious to the fact that no one is touching her food, chimes in. "I never stopped you from going on your fishing trips, Samson."
My dad places his hand over hers. "You've caught me, my dear. It is I who will miss you too much."
Their performative affection makes me want to throw up. It's worse than mine!
Chloe groans dramatically. "Mom, Dad, no offense but no one wants to hear about all that. So…" She turns the full force of her starry-eyed gaze on Malachai. "Malachai, how did you meet my sister?"
I stir my fork around my plate.
Shit.
We haven't had the time to compare notes on suitable lies. Mostly, I trusted my family not to prod too deeply. Mom and Dad like acting like they hate to pry but Chloe? Chloe is a bloodhound for gossip.
"I know you know we met at work, Chloe," I say, my voice tighter than I intended.
"Well, the internet lies, Juni! I wanted to be sure," she retorts, turning up her nose.
We both know she's sure. She probably spent the entire day researching Malachai down to the place his mother was born. She probably knows more about him than I do!
Malachai's hand covers my clenched fist on the table. His grip is firm, warm, and it successfully checks the 'physical affection' box of our farce as well as calms the anger simmering in my veins.
"The media got that part right," Malachai says smoothly. "Juniper is my secretary. The most indispensable asset at Shaw Holdings."
Geez. If he keeps laying it on so thick, I might start blushing.
I hide my face behind my glass, hyperaware of his hand on mine.
My dad chuckles, waving his fork. "Secretary, eh? If you ask me, I don't see the need for them. I can take my own notes."
Malachai chuckles, a dark, velvety sound. His thumb strokes the back of my hand. "Mr. Monroe, Juniper takes a lot more than notes from me."
The obviously dirty implication makes my cheeks blaze. I press the sharp point of my heel down on his foot under the table. Behave. He simply gives me an innocent, wide-eyed look that is utterly unconvincing.
Liam suddenly remembers that he's not a statue and speaks up. His voice is laced with a cocky sneer I know all too well. "But your secretary?" He scoffs. "Isn't that... problematic."
Malachai raises a single, unimpressed eyebrow. "Is it? We're both consenting adults."
"It's the power dynamics of it all," Liam insists.
I snort, glaring at him and Chloe. "Since when did you become an expert on power dynamics, Liam?"
His mouth snaps shut. Thought so. He needs to get off his soapbox, considering he was Chloe's supervisor when he started cheating on me with her.
He'd come home in a different shirt and give me flimsy excuses on why he had to change at work. The realisation that it was all because he and my sister were fucking in his office still disgusts me.
I pour myself more wine, the glass trembling slightly in my hand.
"I can assure you," Malachai says icily, "our relationship is very consensual."
Couldn't get more consensual than an NDA.
My dad laughs boisterously, making me flinch. "Of course it's consensual! Gotta have consent to sleep your way to the top, eh?"
The table plunges into a ringing silence. My mother is the first to recover.
"Samson!" She shrieks.
My dad raises his hands in mock surrender. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding! Jeez, can't anyone take a joke?"
The heat of humiliation pools in my stomach. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. What was the point? This is just who he is. It's always a joke at my expense. Always something to say about my life and my work. It's always 'A secretary? Just like you to get such a pencil pusher job' and 'What do you mean you're busy? You just sit around a desk all day' with him.
It's funny how I can 'sleep my way to the top' when he doesn't even think my job is worth anything.
I swallow more wine, allowing the rich flavor to wash away the bitterness on my tongue.
Malachai's grip on my hand tightens, but this time, it's not for comfort. It's a coiling of tension.
"Mr. Monroe," Malachai says, and I know that tone. It's the ice-cold, lethally polite voice he uses right before he eviscerates a foolish distributor over the phone.
I put a hand on his arm. "Malachai… darling," I try out the pet name and almost immediately cringe. "Please, don't."
He ignores me, his focus entirely on my father. "Your daughter was hired because she was the most qualified candidate from a pool of hundreds. She has remained in my employ because she is, without exaggeration, the most competent and ruthlessly efficient person I have ever worked with. And I fell for her because, when she isn't managing my multi-billion dollar company, she is witty, kind, and so bright she puts the sun to shame." He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "Do not insult her by implying she hasn't earned her position. Do not insult me by suggesting I'm so easily manipulated. And do not insult us by speaking so crassly about a relationship you know nothing about."
I am shocked into absolute silence. So is my father. His face is beet red. "Listen here, that's no way to talk to me in my house—"
Malachai doesn't raise his voice. His next words suck the air from the room. "If it's not an apology," he says, each word a shard of ice, "I don't want to hear it."
My father glares, sputtering, "What?"
"Mr. Monroe—" Liam tries, at the same time Chloe whines, "Dad!"
I squeeze Malachai's shoulder, silently pleading with him to shut his damn mouth. This isn't part of the plan. It's a breach of contract. It's something!
"Malachai, please, just drop it," I whisper, desperate.
He does not drop it. "I came here because I wanted to meet the parents of the woman I… adore…," he says, and I hear the word he doesn't use. The one that starts with 'L'.
"She's been so adamant about keeping our relationship secret because she's had one public heartbreak before and, given my status, is terrified of another. I agreed to it because I wanted to keep her safe. But I don't regret kissing her at that gala, and I don't regret our relationship. The only thing I do regret is coming to this dinner despite the hectic day I've had," He scoffs, a short, harsh sound, and takes a sip of his wine. "No, I'm glad I came. Now I have a perfectly clear picture of what she has to suffer."
My dad roars, looking at my mother in disbelief. "Can you believe this, Susie? He's making it sound like we abuse her or something!"
"Samson, he's a guest..." my mother pleads weakly.
He turns back to Malachai, jabbing a finger in the air. "You must be—"
"That," Malachai cuts him off, his voice colder than the wine, "is still not an apology."
My father is beginning to look nervous, his bluster deflating under Malachai's unblinking stare. Chloe hisses, "Dad, just apologize!"
He looks to Liam for help. Liam squares his shoulders. "Stop this, Shaw. He's sorry, okay?"
Malachai holds up a finger, not even looking at Liam. "Not you." He points the same finger at my father. "I want to hear the words from him."
My dad swallows hard, a bead of sweat tracing a path down his temple. He can't meet Malachai's gaze. "I'm... sorry."
Malachai speaks slowly, deliberately. "I'm not the one who really needs to hear it."
All eyes turn to me. My breath burns in my lungs. My father's gaze is a mixture of anger and profound humiliation, and it's locked on me. He'll never forgive me for this. I was too quick to celebrate. Malachai has just made my life infinitely more difficult.
"I'm sorry," my father grates out, as if the words cause him physical pain.
I force a placating smile, hoping to soften the blow, to somehow put the genie back in the bottle. "It's okay, Dad. It really is. It was just a joke."
Malachai's demeanor shifts in a heartbeat. The storm clears, replaced by a sunny, charming smile that is somehow more frightening than his anger. "See! That wasn't so hard." He claps his hands together lightly. "Now, is it time for dessert yet? I'm stuffed!"