“Well, I guess we should both be thankful I’m not a hag to disgrace you with,” I bit out.

Barrett’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I think you misunderstood me.”

“No, actually, I think I understood perfectly well that a man like you has a certain standard he abides by when it comes to women, and you don’t waste your time with anyone who doesn’t make the cut.”

“But you do make the cut.”

“Lucky me.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Barrett said, “You’re pissed at me, aren’t you?”

“Wow, you sure cracked that code, Sherlock. I see you’re putting that Ivy League education to good use, aren’t you?”

“You’re getting your panties in a twist just because I said I was glad you had a personality and you weren’t a hag?”

“And because of the fact that you don’t seem to think there’s anything wrong with saying that to me.”

“Uh, maybe because that’s how I feel,” Barrett countered.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so narrow-minded and judgmental.”

Barrett scowled. “You’re judging me.”

“I’m just stating facts.”

When Senator Callahan cleared his throat behind us, white-hot mortification pulsated through me. Oh shit. Shit. SHIT!

In my fury at Barrett’s comments, I had gotten tunnel vision and completely forgot that Senator Callahan and Bernie were in the room with us. God, what they must think of me for going off on him. With my mouth and temper, I was sure they were regretting asking me to be Barrett’s fake fiancée.

Meekly, I turned around. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Senator Callahan smiled. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m glad you put him in his place. He needed it.”

My mouth gaped open. Okay, that was so not what I was expecting him to say, and it was safe to say my admiration for Senator Callahan continued to grow. “I appreciate that, sir, but at the same time, I’m going to have to learn to temper my emotions around Barrett, or this will never work when we’re in public.”

“I’m glad you’re willing to work on it.” He gave Barrett a pointed look. “I’m sure you’re going to do the same.”

“Sure,” Barrett replied, although his tone didn’t seem very convincing.

“Now that the two of you have met, I think it’s best you sit down with my attorney so you can go over the contract,” Senator Callahan said.

“Contract?” Barrett and I questioned in unison.

“Yes. It’s something I had Marshall construct.” At what must’ve been our continued expression of confusion, Senator Callahan said, “You don’t enter into this type of serious deal without a contract.” He shook his head at Barrett. “Honestly, you of all people should understand the importance of contracts.”

With a scowl, Barrett replied, “In business, yes. Call me crazy for not anticipating my word wouldn’t be good enough.”

“This document not only protects the two of you legally, but it also outlines what is expected of you over the coming months.”

“Sounds peachy,” Barrett mused.

Senator Callahan ignored his son’s comment. “I have some calls to make, so I’ll leave you to it.”

Marshall appeared seemingly out of nowhere, but then I realized he must’ve been working in one of the bedrooms. With his curly hair, short stature, and wiry glasses, he immediately reminded me of a young Richard Dreyfus. After shaking my hand, he smiled at Barrett. “Always a pleasure seeing you.”

“I would agree, but I’m not so sure about it at this moment.”

Marshall laughed. “Yes, it’s usually you barking out the orders for me to draft. I see you’re already lamenting your loss of power and control in the situation?”

“Yes, very much so.”

God, he was a such a spoiled little rich boy, one who was always used to getting his way. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, you better get used to it, pretty boy, because I won’t be controlled, and I’m certainly not putting you in charge.”

Barrett grunted. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Marshall peered at us over the top of his glasses, and I could tell from his expression that he found our dynamic very intriguing. “Hopefully there won’t be anything too heinous in the contract.” He opened the folder in his hand and took out some paperwork. “Shall we?”

“If you insist,” Barrett said.

“Miss Monroe, why don’t you have a seat here”—he patted the chair to the right of the head of the table—“ and Barrett, you can have a seat there.” He motioned to the seat directly across from mine.

Barrett went around the top of the table. Before he sat down, he quirked his brows at me. “Ladies first.”

Since his tone was far more condescending than gracious, I narrowed my eyes at him. When it came to manners and personality, Barrett was the polar opposite of his father. “Thank you,” I muttered. Once I was seated, Barrett sat down as well.

After handing a contract to me and one to Barrett, Marshall cleared his throat to begin reading. “Paragraph one: For the duration of the campaign, whether long or short, both parties agree to cohabitate. This includes all hotel rooms while traveling, as well as apartments.”

It felt as though a needle screeched across a record in my mind at the word cohabitating. Oh. My. God. With the shiny million being dangled over my head, I hadn’t really stopped to think about the details—the fine print, as they say. This was so very, very bad. “I have to move in with him?”