The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

The figure stared at Amara so accusingly. $247.63 She had checked her banking application thrice in quick succession and hoped that she would see the figures shift to a better place. They didn't. They never did. Sixty-three cents and two forty-seven cents. That is all that prevented her from complete bankruptcy. And that, along with the eviction notice, which now made her cold coffee on the counter a coaster. Amara Benson squeezed her palms before her eyes, not trying to cry. Sobbing was a luxury that she could not afford, particularly given that in five hours Zara was going to wake up and demand a breakfast smile without having the slightest idea that all was going wrong. It was a weak glow on her face in the dark little Brooklyn apartment on her laptop screen. 2:47 AM. She had already spent six hours job seeking and had sent her resume to online applications, but none of them had responded. Thank you, we have chosen to go ahead with other applicants. That was the polite reply. The reality was even harsher: nobody wanted to employ her due to the fact that she was publicly accused of violating the ethics by Marcus Chen, a very vindictive real estate boss in Manhattan. Although the charges were fabricated, there was an avenue of revenge since she refused to conceal an account concerning his discrimination. She was already condemned and convicted in the popular opinion. Amara checked her Columbia diploma on the wall over her coarse desk,--comprised of cinder blocks. It was a Master's in Public Relations and Corporate Communications. She has five years to go, is top of her class and the future is wide open. She was in demand in every leading company in Manhattan. She would be able to select six-figure entry positions. This time she was unable to secure an interview in a small agency in Queens. Her phone buzzed and her heart sank and then she came to herself. It was merely an indication that her power bill was payable within three days. Another $127 she didn't have. She counted it quickly-she would then be left with only 120.63 to buy food, transport, and school supplies at Zara the rest of the month. It was not enough. It never was. The eviction card was shaken when a breeze through the open window blew it. Thirty days. That was the simple meaning. She and Zara would be living nowhere because she had another thirty days to pay three months of back rent -4,500. Amara rushed to her feet and had to do something, not to see her life unravel. She entered the bedroom of Zara's, and just opened the door to the extent that she saw her daughter wrapped under a tattered blanket adorned with fading Disney princesses. Five years old. Innocent. Perfect. Completely reliant on a mother who was losing. Zara was snoring, with her dark curls on the pillow, her tiny hand grasping the stuffed elephant that Amara had purchased in a thrift store during her third birthday. Amara could see her face in the dim light of the hallway, curved jaw, arched eyebrows, and still closed grey eyes. His eyes. Amara experienced the typical combination of the sense of guilt, desire, and frustration when she thought of Ethan Reed. Five years and the pain was still new. Five years after he split her by text- a cold simple thing that broke her. Five years after she knew that she was pregnant and made several calls to him, he never answered and never responded to the messages. Five years of bringing up their daughter single-handedly, and he was not even aware that they had a daughter. She chose that on purpose. When Ethan can dispose of her so easily and name their relationship a business failure, she would not allow that to happen to their child. Zara had a right to a better father who viewed love as an expense, who preferred the business to all. However, at this point, seeing her daughter asleep in the apartment that they were soon to lose Amara questioned whether she had made the correct choice. She questioned whether she had lost the monetary security that a billionaire father could provide due to her pride. No. She shook her head. Money did not compensate for the emotional damage. She had witnessed how Ethan handled people, cold, calculating, everything a deal. She could not allow Zara to live in such a manner. Even if it meant struggling. Even had she to suck her pride and... And what else? No options left. She had already borrowed some money from Mama Bunmi her grandmother who had provided her with all she could get out of the restaurant. Brooklyn had the Nigerian community which was very generous and she could not continue to accept help. Even without anything else, she retained some dignity. Amara shut the door of Zara very mildly and returned to the kitchen. She had a black screen and her laptop was asleep. She beheld herself, or rather herself at thirty, only older and weaker-looking, her eyes bearing the lines of fatigue, her hair in a disheveled tangle, as she was unable to get a haircut. Did she become this kind of person when? The PR executive with a promising future that had Manhattan was hers was lost and in her place was a worn-out desperate woman on the verge of a homeless state. Once more she opened her laptop and with her disrupted habit checked email. She received seventeen new messages, and sank in reading them--automatic rejections the whole way. This week she had applied to forty-three positions- from director positions to entry-level positions. Her bad reputation was not worse than being overqualified. Then she saw it. A recently received email, on the one hand, is only a few minutes old, and is placed at the top of her inbox list with an unknown sender: Marcus Williams - Reed Global Hotels. Matters to be discussed: Business Opportunity. The hand of Amara was paralyzed on the trackpad. Reed Global. Ethan's company. His VP of Operations was Marcus Williams who, as she recalled her past college discussions, was his best mate. Then there was a long time when she could not breathe. Couldn't think. The cursor was near the email and a thousand questions came to her mind. Did Ethan know? Was this a joke of any sort? Five years of silence, why now? She almost deleted it. Virtually closed her laptop and acted there she had never seen it. It was not enough to feed her daughter, though, at $247.63. She wasn't even allowed to have a roof over her head. Vanity was a luxury, and now she had long since been without luxury. Amara clicked the email open. Dear Ms. Benson, With this email, I wish you a good day. My name is Marcus Williams and I am the VP of operations at Reed Global Hotels. This is to inform you about a business opportunity that is unique and can be of interest to you. I know that you are in the midst of jobs and I think that there is something we can offer each other. Time and confidentiality are crucial in the matter, and I would rather discuss the issue face-to-face. Would you please be available tomorrow at 2 PM? I would be glad to visit you, or we may get together at the cafe of your convenience in Manhattan. Worthy yourself knowest, I beseech thee knowest. Best regards, Marcus Williams VP operations, Reed global hotels. Amara read the e-mail three times, trying to find some concealed meaning, to find the trap that she was aware of its existence. A business opportunity? From Ethan Reed's company? It was too convenient, too well-timed to be otherwise suspicious. And yet. She had her eyes wandering to the eviction notice. To the almost blank bank account. To Zara's closed bedroom door. What did she have to lose? She would walk away in case it was a sick game. But even when there would be an opportunity of doing legitimate work, of hauling herself out of this hole... She glanced at the time: 3:14 AM. It was too early to answer, without seeming to be desperate, yet too late to go to bed. She was already thinking of her sparse professional wardrobe, imagining things she was going to tell Mama Bunmi about watching Zara, things she might say to Marcus Williams. What she could say of she had seen Ethan. No. That wouldn't happen. Ethan Reed was not involved in hiring. He was most likely in Singapore or Dubai or any other place where billionaires would go and make more billions. His possibilities of being met in reality were minute. Nevertheless, she was a bit shaky typing her answer: Mr. Williams, Thank you for reaching out. I find your suggestion interesting and I would like to see you tomorrow at 2 PM. I can see you in Cafe Grumpy in Chelsea-- She hesitated and erased the whereabouts. Let him suggest the place. She appeared moderately in control where she was not in any way. Would you mind telling me where we shall meet and I will be there. Best, Amara Benson Before she could second-think she had sent it, she had slammed the laptop shut as though it might bite her. The flat was quiet with only the sounds of the traffic on Atlantic Avenue at a distance. A baby was crying somewhere in the building. Water ran through old pipes. The voices of people who lived their lives, not knowing that her was on a knife-edge. Amara went back to the room in which Zara was and sat down on the edge of the little bed. Her daughter woke up and curled instinctively after her mother. "Mama?" Zara muttered, half waking up. "Shh, baby. I'm here. Go back to sleep." "'Kay. Love you." "I love you too, sweet girl. So much." Zara started to breathe evenly once more, but Amara remained in the same position as she looked at the chest of her daughter rise and fall. She would face anything that might occur tomorrow, whatever Marcus Williams desired. For Zara, she'd face anything. Even Ethan Reed. She had been startled when her telephone went off on the nightstand. An email notification. Marcus Williams was already responding at 3:47 in the morning: Excellent. We will have an appointment to see each other at Marea--there is no one around, and we may speak in private. I'll make a reservation for 2 PM. And looking forward to our meeting. Marea. Central Park South up-market Italian Restaurant. The type of venue where the appetizers were more than her grocery money weekly. A dreadful fear and hopeful desperation swam up Amara's stomach. This was really happening. She would step back into the world of Ethan Reed tomorrow, the world she promised never to come back to. One more time she looked down at Zara with the strength of the peaceful features of her daughter. Anything, baby, whatever, she whispered. "Whatever it takes." But just as she had crept back to her own bed, she had one idea that had been chasing her weary mind round: What did Marcus Williams think that she could get out of him worthwhile to meet in a restaurant in which a single meal cost more than she earned in a week? And worse still-- was Ethan aware?