Married by Midnight

The rain came hard and cold and soaked Emma Blake right through to the bone as she attempted to move through the empty Manhattan streets. She was wearing heels, her dress clung to her body, and the wind was harsh on her face as punishment. It was eleven o’clock. She had one hour left. She was scheduled to meet with her father, CEO of Blake Dynamics, one hour before Damon Black, the billionaire she had only seen on magazine covers and in headlines, would take over it. Still her father's voice resounded in her head: "Emma you're the only one he'll listen to." Please…save us.” She kept the waterproof folder to her chest, the final contract which her father told her to deliver. His last chance. Their last hope. Ahead was the skyscraper, all glass and steel slashing the storm in half. Black Tower. Sixty seven floors of ruthless ambition, artificially illuminated by a man who never slept. Emma stood beneath the large awning. The automatic doors drew back with a hiss as if the building knew that she was desperate. She wiped her trembling hands on the wet dress and walked into the marble lobby. Inside, the air was warm and sterile and silent, a silence that consumed things like sound and courage. The night security guard began to look up from his desk, startled. “Miss, the offices are closed–” “I need to see Mr. Damon Black.” Her voice cracked but she did not break her spine. “It’s urgent. He’s expecting me.” The guard blinked at her state of being wet. "Nobody says at this hour they should be anywhere." Her father's hand extended and showed her the golden envelope that he had sealed. “He’ll want to see this. Say to him it has been sent by George Blake. At that name the guard's brows shot up. He pressed a button, said a few words softly into an earpiece and after a tense pause nodded toward the elevators. “Top floor. He said... he'll give you five minutes. Five minutes. Emma's heart pounded as she entered the elevator. The mirrored walls reflected back to her - the wet hair sticking to her face, the smeared mascara, the dress she used to scream confidence now hanging on her like a plea. The elevator began to rise. Floor after floor was blurring past in metallic silence. She attempted to control her breathing but the numbers went up quicker than her resolve. They opened the doors on the 67th floor and felt her pulse in the throat. The office stretched out in front of her like an entire new world - dark glass walls, the lights of the city flickering down below, at the center, a man behind a sleek black desk. Damon Black. He didn’t look up right away. His hands moved over a tablet screen, slow, cold. When he finally raised his head, the harsh lines of his face were caught in the low light - perfect, hard, and uncommonly calm. “Miss Blake.” His voice was smooth, deep, cut-marble or melt-marble. “You’re late.” She stopped, breath freezing as her throat blocked. “It’s not midnight yet.” “No.” He put the tablet down and sat back in his chair to study her. But you are someone who already seems out of time. Her jaw clenched. “My father–” I was in the midst of an explanation about how they lost their job and were drowning in debt when he interrupted, getting up from his chair. He slowly walked towards her controlled, predatory steps. “And you think I’m the lifeline.” "Lifeline," she barked, startling herself for the sharpness of her tone. "and he had a company he had built for twenty years." Then he would have been a better guardian of it. Lightning flashed over the glass wall behind him, and framed him like a dark god of wealth and wrath. Emma inhaled and forced the folder in front of her. He said it was a renegotiation question. Damon didn’t take it. He only looked at her - long, cold, incomprehensible - until her arm started to tremble. Finally, he spoke. “I already considered it. The answer was no.” Her stomach twisted. Please Mr. Black, You don't know, "I know exactly what you mean," he interposed, and drew near. Her face surrounded by his cologne, cedar and rain. “Your father gambled. He lost. Now, the debt comes due.” "And how about the people?" she demanded, now in desperation. "The employees, their families, " “Collateral.” This word plunged between them like a knife. Her throat burned. “You can’t be this heartless.” “Heartless?” Damon tipped his head, a slight smile on his face. “That’s generous. Try strategic.” For a moment, there was an electric silence - choking and heavy. Emma felt anger build up from her fear. Then why have I come here at all? Why make me run through a storm for nothing?" Finally, he looked at her - properly looked at her. And something flittered in his eyes, a shadow she didn't know what. "Because," he answered low and soft, "I wanted to see what desperation looked like made beautiful." Her breath caught. He turned and walked back to his desk as the storm reflected in the glass. Tell your dad I'm gonna steal Blake Dynamics. But... maybe there's another type of payment that he can give. Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” Damon turned to look back at him and his eyes gleamed like steel. “You.” The word hit her like a blow. “Excuse me?” He faced her head on now, hands in pockets, casual in mien but commanding in demeanor. One hour before midnight and your father sends you here. Why do you think that is the case, Miss Blake? She shook her head, puzzled and angry. Because he knew there was a conscience in you. “I don’t,” he said simply. “But I do have terms.” Her pulse thudded in her ears. “Terms?” He motioned towards the golden envelope. “Open it.” Emma hesitated to do so then broke the seal. Inside was not a numerical contract and clauses - but a single page. Typed words. A blank signature line. Her eyes scanned the top. Her breath stopped. MARRIAGE AGREEMENT. She glanced up, and horror twisted on the face of disbelief. “This is some kind of joke.” Damon's expression did not alter. “I don’t joke about contracts.” "You want me to marry you?" she demanded. “For what? To humiliate me? To punish my father?” He bent over his desk and stared into her eyes. “To make a point. To help your father remember what it is like to lose something that he cherishes. She felt tears sting her eyes but she wiggled them away. “You’re insane.” “Perhaps.” He smiled faintly. “But I’m also your only option.” Lightning flashed again, thunder sounding again throughout the city like a ticking clock. Emma’s heart raced. “Why me?” "Because," Damon said, his voice low, "I don't trust anybody else to play my wife." His words sent some strange chill through her. Play my wife. She made herself look him in the eyes. “And what if I say no?” He looked at his watch - a cold, deliberate motion. Blake Dynamics will cease to exist in forty-seven minutes. Your father will be bankrupt. Your home–gone. Your reputation–ruined.” She felt her knees weaken. “You wouldn’t.” “Oh, I would.” It was in a soft voice, almost gentle, yet stern. "That's the difference between you, Miss Blake." You think life is fair. I know it isn’t.” Her lips trembled. “You’re a monster.” “Maybe.” He leaned close, until his breath was on her face. "But I'm the monster that's giving you a choice." His desk clock ticked on mercilessly. Flashes of her father's trembling hands, the loyal employees who still called her Miss Blake, the company that had her family's name - Emma's thoughts worked overtime. A lifetime based on one man's choices - and now hers. "I am not for sale," she had to whisper, voice trembling. “You already are.” His words strike more bitter than the gale. She turned her back on him and began to pace by the window. The city shone below, apathetic, ruthless. The image of the face looked back - small and soggy and trapped. "What sort of man is this," she asked, and her voice was cracked. One who is destroyed so many times he is no longer pretending he is human. That silenced her. Damon looked at her silently, with a tight jaw and unreadable eyes. For an instant, she saw something in the ice - pain perhaps, maybe regret - but it had disappeared too quickly to catch. She finally tightened her hold on the folder as a weapon, and said, "I'm not signing anything tonight." “I’ll find another way.” Then he started to run, and his voice was almost tender. There are forty-three minutes of your day remaining. She spun to leave– However, the elevator doors opened before she got there. And calmly, dryly standing there was a woman in a silver coat. Elegant. Smiling. And then the woman sneaked up on them, hands dangling over the edge of the table, eyes running over Emma and settling on Damon, "Am I interrupting?" she purred. “Celeste,” he said flatly. Celeste. The name rang a bell. Damon's ex fiance - the one who disappeared from tabloids after a scandal no one could ever explain. "I didn't know that you had company," Celeste said sweetly, looking at Emma's wet dress. Well, I see you've got an... interesting business hours, you have. Emma felt her cheeks burn. Damon’s jaw flexed. “You shouldn’t be here.” Celeste threw a velvet box at his desk. "I wanted to send something back." The lid turned backwards - a ring shone out from it. “You dropped this. Along with your soul.” She smiled on Emma like a viper. “Be careful, dear. He doesn’t just break hearts. He buys them.” Elevator doors slid shut behind her, the sound of her heels echoing as did the scent of the expensive perfume she was wearing. Emma felt as though she was frozen in her place, the pulse racing in her veins. Damon let out a sharply exhaled breath by dragging a hand through his hair. “Ignore her.” But Emma couldn’t. Not while the words of Celeste were still in the air like a curse. He buys them. Her eyes again glanced at the one-page contract. "What, precisely, are you, Damon Black," she whispered. He looked up, eyes shadowed. "The man that owns your next decision." It was 11:42p.m. on the wall clock.