Chapter Three
1563 Words
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and desperation. I had been here so many times in the past few months that the nurses knew me by name. But today was different.
Today, I had money.
I walked up to the billing department with my new bank account, the one Ethan’s assistant had set up yesterday with the first payment already deposited. The number still didn’t feel real.
“I’m here to pay off the balance for Eleanor Carter,” I said to the woman behind the desk.
She looked up, surprised. We have had this conversation before, about payment plans and what I could afford, which was basically nothing.
“All of it?” she asked.
“All of it. And I want to schedule her surgery. As soon as possible.”
Twenty minutes later, it was done. Granny’s debt cleared. Her surgery is scheduled for next week. The relief was so overwhelming I had to sit down in the hallway for a minute to breathe.
I had actually done it. She was going to be okay.
My phone buzzed with a text from Ethan asking how my morning was going. I told him it was good, really good. He asked me to dinner, and said he would send a car at seven.
I stared at the message, this was my life now. Billionaires sending cars and having enough money to save Granny. Everything had changed overnight.
-----
I found Granny in her room, reading a worn paperback. She looked up when I walked in, and her face lit up.
“There’s my girl,” she said, setting the book aside.
I sat on the edge of her bed, taking her hand. “I have good news.”
“You always say that.”
“This time I mean it.” I took a breath. “Your surgery is scheduled. Next Tuesday. And it’s all paid for. Everything.”
Granny’s eyes went wide. “Aria, how…”
“I got a new job. A really good one. The money’s… It’s enough. More than enough.”
She studied my face, and I could see the questions forming. But she just squeezed my hand.
“What kind of job?”
“Personal assistant. For a businessman. The pay is incredible.” The lie came easily. Too easily.
“And this man… Is he good to you?”
I thought about Ethan. About the way he had kissed me. The way he’d looked at me like I was something precious.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “He is.”
Granny didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded. “Just be careful, baby. Men with money usually want something in return.”
If only she knew.
-----
After leaving the hospital, I did something I hadn’t done in years. I went grocery shopping without checking prices.
The supermarket felt different when you weren’t calculating every item. I grabbed fresh vegetables. Real meat, not the clearance stuff. Bread that wasn’t day-old. Coffee that actually tasted good.
At the register, I watched the total climb—thirty dollars, fifty, seventy, and I didn’t even flinch. I just pulled out my new debit card and swiped it.
“Money makes everything easier,” I muttered as I gathered my bags.
Outside, I ordered an Uber instead of taking the bus. Slid into the back seat with my groceries and my new reality.
I could get used to this.
Back at my apartment, I was putting away groceries when my phone rang—unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Miss Carter? This is James Mitchell, Mr. Blackwood’s attorney.”
My stomach flipped. “Oh. Hi.”
“I’m calling about the contract. I’ve sent it to your email. Mr. Blackwood wanted me to remind you to read it carefully and call if you have any questions.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“One more thing, Mr. Blackwood has a business trip scheduled. Dubai. He would like you to accompany him. You’ll leave Friday morning.”
I nearly dropped the carton of eggs I was holding. “Dubai? As in…”
“Yes, all expenses covered, of course. His assistant will arrange shopping for appropriate clothing. Someone will contact you tomorrow.”
“I… okay. Friday. Got it.”
“Excellent. Have a good day, Miss Carter.”
He hung up, and I stood in my tiny kitchen, staring at my phone.
Dubai. I was going to Dubai.
I had never even left the state, and now I was flying to the other side of the world with a billionaire I’d known for two days.
My phone buzzed again. Ethan this time, asking if James had called me about Dubai. I told him yes, that this was crazy.
He wanted to know if it was good crazy or bad crazy.
I thought about it. About everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. About how my entire life had flipped upside down. I told him I didn’t know yet.
He said he would show me, told me to pack light because he would provide everything I needed.
When I mentioned I didn’t have a passport, he said I would have one by Thursday. He was handling it.
Of course he was. Billionaires could apparently make passports appear out of thin air.
His last message told me to see him tonight and to wear something nice.
I looked around my apartment. In my closet full of clearance rack clothes and at the navy dress I had already worn to meet him.
What the hell does “something nice” mean in Ethan Blackwood’s world?
-----
At six-thirty, I was pacing my apartment in the only other dress I owned—a simple black number Maya had convinced me to buy for a sorority event I never attended. It was plain but fit well enough.
My phone buzzed, it was Ethan.
Car’s downstairs.
I grabbed my purse and headed down. A sleek black town car waited at the curb, and Marcus—Ethan’s bodyguard stood beside it.
“Miss Carter,” he said with a nod, opening the door.
The drive took twenty minutes. We pulled up to a restaurant I had only seen in magazines. The kind of place where reservations were booked months in advance and entrees cost more than my weekly grocery budget used to.
Ethan was waiting outside, looking unfairly handsome in a dark suit. When he saw me, he smiled.
“You look beautiful,” he said, taking my hand.
“You’re just saying that.”
“I never just say anything.” He led me inside, his hand warm on my lower back.
The restaurant was all dim lighting and quiet elegance. We were shown to a private table in the back, away from other diners.
“So,” Ethan said once we had ordered. “Tell me about yourself. The real you. Not the dancer. Not the struggling student. Just Aria.”
I wasn’t sure I knew who that was anymore.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.” He leaned forward, his eyes intent. “What do you love? What do you dream about? What makes you happy?”
No one had asked me that in years. I had been so focused on survival, paying bills, keeping Granny alive, getting through school that I’d forgotten I was supposed to have dreams.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I used to want to open my own business. Something small. Maybe a bookstore or a coffee shop. Somewhere people felt welcome.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because dreams don’t pay medical bills.”
Something flickered across his face. Understanding, maybe. Or pity. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
“They could,” he said quietly. “With the right backing.”
“Is that what you are? My backing?”
“I’m whatever you need me to be.”
The way he said it made my heart stutter. Like he meant it. Like this was more than just a business arrangement.
We talked through dinner. About his business, about my classes, about nothing and everything. He made me laugh. Made me forget that this was a contract.
By the time we finished dessert, I had almost convinced myself this was a real date.
Then his phone buzzed, and he glanced at it, his expression shifting.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. Just work.” But something in his voice had changed. “I should get you home. Early morning tomorrow. My assistant will take you shopping.
Right. Dubai.
This wasn’t a date. I needed to remember that.
Marcus drove me home, and I rode the elevator up to my floor in a daze. Inside my apartment, I pulled up the contract on my email and started reading.
Six months. Exclusive arrangement. Compensation. Termination clauses.
It was all there in black and white. Professional and cold
Nothing like the way Ethan had looked at me over dinner.
My phone buzzed one last time.
Sweet dreams, Aria. Can’t wait to show you Dubai.**
I stared at the message, then at the contract, then back at the message.
What the hell was I doing?
But as I climbed into bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had smiled at me and the way he had said my name.
- Writer
