the contract marriage

CHAPTER 1

Emily.

Heart racing, I sprint down the subway steps, dodging commuters spilling out of the train like water from a broken dam. I slip briefly on a wet spot, adrenaline sharp, but I regain my footing, pushing through the crowd.

As I leap into the train just before the doors slide shut, I sink into my seat and bite my thumbnail, panic crashing over me like a wave—how did I not wake up for my alarm?

It’s been a week since I took on a second job. I’ve never been late to Starlight Talent. Guess today is the day Aidan Davis, my boss, finds out I’m human. I didn’t think I had to mention my other job as long as I fulfill my responsibilities.

Despite the decent pay, I’m drowning in bills. The unexpected yearly payment for my sister Maggie's university is thirty thousand. I can only scrape together twenty-five, and she’s counting on me to fund her dream of becoming a doctor.

For the past couple of years, I’ve been her guardian ever since we escaped our parents. My father, Logan, is an alcoholic and abusive. My mother, Amanda, is indifferent to our plight. I took on the burden of shielding Maggie from his rage, redirecting his anger toward me instead.

The anxiety sometimes feels like a heavy weight on my chest, but I’ve learned to mask it well—especially when I have to defend myself.

The club job is exhausting, especially when customers ignore my “cut-off” signals. The tips are meager, but I’m making progress. In two weeks, I’ll finally have enough to pay off the balance. They’ve been kind, allowing me extra time since this is the first hiccup.

Stepping off the train, I wipe sweat from my forehead. Why can’t they install air conditioning? I cringe at the thought of smelling bad.

As I enter the building, I head straight for the elevator. Inside, I pull out a wipe from my bag, swiping at my forehead and armpits. Don’t judge. I can’t smell of sweat around Aidan. He’s too hot, and the embarrassment would be unbearable.

I spritz some body spray, the scent of strawberries and cream offering only slight relief. But I still feel like I’m not at my best.

The elevator pings. I take a deep breath and step out, anxiety creeping back. He hasn’t called me yet, which is odd. Why would he? He could fire me in person.

Slowly, I approach his office, shoulders back, head high. I knock twice, closing my eyes as I brace for his deep voice. “What?”

I open the door, trying to mask my worry. Aidan sits at his desk, hands clasped, brown eyes piercing as they meet mine. I suppress the urge to squirm under his gaze.

His expression is set in stone. “Care to explain why you’re three hours late, Miss Anderson?”

I bite my lower lip, guilt churning in my stomach. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Davis. My alarm didn’t go off. I had a rough night.”

He tilts his head, taking me in, and then says, “You need to clean yourself up and change your blouse.”

Confusion flares. “Why?” I glance down, puzzled, not seeing what he does.

He points to my blouse. “It’s inside out, Miss Anderson.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. I’d been in such a hurry—I place my hand to my forehead, mortified. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll get cleaned up. Are you going to fire me?”

His gaze hardens. “No. But if you’re late again, I will. Do you understand?”

I lower my head, staring at my shoes. “Yes, sir. It won’t happen again.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Three hours, Emily. You’ve never been late in three years. Tell me why.”

I shift uneasily. “My alarm just didn’t wake me. I’ll set multiple next time.”

Late nights at the club leave me exhausted, and I can’t risk this happening again—not after his threat.

He studies me for a moment before looking down at his desk. “Get to work. I need you to draw up a contract for me. I have a meeting in…” He checks his expensive Rolex. “Thirty minutes. Hurry.”

As I spin to leave, he calls, “Emily.” I pivot back. “If there’s something going on, and you need help, tell me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your worrying.”

Surprise flickers through me. Can he see through my facade? “No, sir. Everything is fine. Thank you.”

I don’t want my boss bailing me out. I’m close to gathering enough money, and I refuse to owe him anything.

He may seem nice now, but my first year with him was a nightmare. He demanded perfection every ten minutes. Once, he raised his voice at me, and I snapped back—granted, I wasn’t having the best day.

I’m not a woman who enjoys conflict, but I stand my ground. I won’t let any man yell at me.

Since that day, he hasn’t raised his voice again. He’s still grumpy, but I think he was just trying to get me to quit. Five assistants before me didn’t last long. I’m shocked he’s taking my lateness in stride.

At my desk, I dive into the contract before printing it off and rushing to the bathroom to pee and fix my blouse.

I freshen up and reapply my makeup—I always keep some in my bag. It’s a habit. I feel better now.

After thirty minutes, he leaves his office, gesturing for me to stand. “Sir.”

He nods towards the elevator. “You’re coming with me.”

Aidan, a well-known talent agent in New York, is a regular target for paparazzi, always seen with a different woman. Ridiculous.

He’s quite the ladies’ man. But if that’s his preference, more power to him. Who could blame the women who desire him? He’s handsome, with slicked-back black hair and suits that fit him like a glove. His crisp dress shirt hugs his abs, and those chocolate brown eyes are irresistible.

Clutching my tablet, I rush to keep up with his long strides. At six-foot-two, he towers over my five-foot-five frame, arriving at places faster than I do.

I may have a crush on my boss, but he doesn’t need to know. It’s my little secret, shared only with Maggie.

The elevator ride is silent until he breaks it. “The meeting is with Lucy Smith, a model. We need to discuss her preferences for photoshoots and catwalks. I can’t have her landing a gig that makes her wear hardly anything and then face backlash for it. Take notes, Miss Anderson.”

I nod, opening a new notes page and dividing it into two columns: “Will” and “Won’t.” I’ll elaborate later.

When we exit the elevator, Aidan leads the way. Paige, a coworker I’ve spoken with a handful of times, greets me. “Hi, Em.”

I smile. “Hi.” Aidan continues walking, ignoring us. Paige fans herself, pretending to swoon, which makes me laugh out loud.

Aidan raises an eyebrow at me, and I school my features, apologizing as I follow him.

As we reach the meeting room, Aidan holds the door open, waiting. I gaze up at him, puzzled, until he says, “Ladies first, Miss Anderson.”

Crimson floods my cheeks. How did I miss that? I mumble a thank you and take a seat beside him, while Lucy sits across from us. The room falls silent, the sunlight streaming through the large windows warming my back. I love that feeling.

“Is there anything I can get you, Miss Smith? Water, maybe?” I ask politely.

She smiles gratefully. “No, thank you.”

I nod, setting the tablet on the table as Aidan speaks. He reviews the contract I just drafted, explaining its contents and where she needs to sign before diving into her preferences.

“I wouldn’t do any naked shoots. I’m not confident enough for that, but I’m fine with swimwear and regular clothing. I won’t participate in anything for calendars. My friend Amber went to one, and she had to be naked. Her manager didn’t even inform her it was for a fashion mag,” she says, scrunching her face in disgust.

Disgust fills me, too. Who lies about what they’re doing?

Aidan leans forward, hands clasped. “Miss Smith, whatever you want is what we do. I won’t force you into a gig you haven’t approved. My clients’ happiness is my priority.”

She looks up at him, wide-eyed. “I can choose what I do?”

I frown, feeling a swell of anger. Does she believe she has no choice? What kind of agency did she work for before?

“Miss Smith, you will always have a choice here. Mr. Davis values that, as do I. He will never make you do something you don’t want to,” I assure her.

As the meeting goes on, we discuss her likes and dislikes, and I breathe a sigh of relief when it wraps up. Stretching my legs, I feel the weight of the day settle in.

But there’s still one hurdle left—I need to get ready for my shift at The Edge, which means eight more hours on my feet. My feet are already screaming from these heels.