Chapter Three: The Pact
758 Words
I was so shocked that the book slipped from my grip, nearly tumbling to the marble floor.
"E-Excuse me?" I finally stammered, heat rising to my cheeks. "Did you just say... marry you?"
"For one year and one day," he corrected smoothly, his eyes still not leaving mine. His voice was unnervingly calm, as if he hadn't just dropped a bombshell. That, more than anything, made my pulse spike.
I had never met anyone who spoke of marriage so casually as this man before me.
I'd thought Joanna had to be the craziest person I'd encountered. But this man here? He's clearly Loco!
A brittle laughter escapes me, cracking in my throat. "Is this a joke? Some kind of test?"
"I don't joke," he replied, straight faced.
I blinked, struggling to breathe. "I came here for a meeting. Joanna never said anything about -"
"Joanna knows exactly what this is." He cut me off with a faint smirk. "And you tell me - when you set an appointment with the Elite Matchmaking Agency, what exactly were you expecting?" His tone almost mocking. "A real job interview?"
"I... I thought..." My throat felt dry. "Anything but this. Maybe a job as your secretary, or something. I can do a lot of things."
'Probably, a job off the record. Off rader! Definitely not this kind, you asshole.' I thought, wishing I could say that aloud. But I couldn't. Not with this nutjob.
He gave a quiet, distainful scoff. "If I needed a secretary, Ms. Noah, I'd know exactly where to find one. And a matchmaking agency is not one of those places."
The room suddenly felt smaller, the weight of the penthouse pressing in on me, despite it cavernous size. The Atlantic shimmered endlessly outside, but all I could see were his eyes pinning me in place. I doubt if he had taken his gaze off me since I arrived. It was suffocating.
"You want me to marry you?" I repeated slowly, willing myself to stay calm. "Why? Give me a good reason why I should?"
"Because I'll make it worth your time," he said evenly. "I'll pay you more than you'd ever make sitting at your 9-to-5 job."
He was condescending. For a fleeting second, my anger flared.
'This asshole thinks he can just wake up one day, and decided to buy a wife?!'
I scoffed loudly, hissing in a breath. "Money? You think that's enough reason to accept your offer?"
"Yes." He sat on a couch, legs crossed, one arm drapes lazily over the backrest.
"I can't believe how casually you're talking about this, Mr. Vester. People don't just wake up one day one on the wrong side of the bed and decide to buy a wife for themselves. It's absurd!"
"It is." His eyes glinted again. "But you need money. Don't you? Otherwise, why would you be here?"
My stomach clenched.
"You don't know me," I shot back firmly.
"I know enough." He rose and closed the distance between us, his steps and presence both deliberate and overpowering. "Know enough of people like you, to know I'd hit a nerve with your reaction."
I could literally smell him before he stopped. And God....
He smelled so good. So good, that for a moment, everything he'd said slipped my brain by. My heart pounded. My chest flushed.
Musky. Woody. Masculine.
'Focus, Jenna, focus! Poison usually has the most pleasant appearance. You of all people, know that.'
"I'm done having this conversation with you," he said softly, yet it felt more like an order. "It's either you're in, or out. Your choice."
My throat was dry. I hate the fact that he was right - I did need the money.
"What do you even get out of this?" I demanded, clinging to my pride.
He leaned closer again, his breath warm, brushing my cheek, smelled slightly of vodka, his eyes cold.
"A wife," he said simply. "One who can play that role. A placeholder. I was told you can do that perfectly."
His gaze dropped deliberately to the book in my hands.
"And I'll pay you more than you've ever dreamed of, Aurora. All you have to do is obey for three hundred and sixty-six days."
A tremor ran through me. My chest rose and fell fast. I was thinking. My brain was already analyzing possible figures.
I know I should have run. I should have told him he was insane. Instead, I found myself wording out the very question I'd been itching to ask all along:
"How much?"
- Writer
