A Deal With The Devil In Armani

offer

LUNA

"Are you done cleaning up?" I hear Dave, the manager, yell from his office and I roll my eyes.

"Yes!" I yell back. With a sigh, I raise my hand to brush my hair from my face. The smell of grease and coffee clings stubbornly, almost nauseous. I brush the napkin across the counter one more time, even though it’s already spotless. My shoulders are tight with tension and tiredness and my legs are barely holding me up. I glance at the clock hanging on the wall. 10:30pm. Yet, I still needed to arrange the plates properly, count the register, lock the backdoor and then, wait for Dave to double check everything, like I haven’t worked here for more than two years.

I reach out and turn the tap on, washing the soap suds from my hands. Behind me, I hear the tinkling of the door which signifies that someone is walking in. Who is just coming in by this time? I wonder indignantly. Didn't they see the closed sign on the door? I whirl around.

A man in a very expensive suit that probably costs more than my dinner stands in the middle of the diner, his hands tucked in his pocket as he glances around. I can only see the side of his face, and from that alone, I can tell that he is an incredible handsome man. He has a certain aura, dark but inviting; cold, yet charming. He turns around fully me my breath ceases. His front view is even so much better than his side view. He looks so out of place, standing here in his expensive suit in the middle of worn out tables and chairs.

I pick up a napkin to dry my hands as I walk out of the kitchen to the diner. "Excuse me sir," I say in a mild, polite tone.

He turns in my direction, his icy blue eyes stopping on me. "A glass of wine please, and an alone time, if you don't mind," he says, pulling a chair out and taking his seat.

I frown. I glance at the closed sign on the door. Did he not see that, or was he just... "Sir, you can't sit..."

He raises his head, his brows pulled together in pet irritation, part annoyance. "I will like the glass of wine now, please." There was something about the tone of his voice that rubbed me off the wrong way.

"We are closed," I say curtly. "Can you leave?"

He stares at me, an unreadable expression on his face, like he didn't hear what I just said. "A glass of wine," he repeats. "And some alone time, if you don't mind."

I blink. "Alone time?"

He gestures around the empty room. "It's empty and quiet. I don't think I'm asking for too much."

"Right, except we're closed," I snap at him. "There's literally a sign on the door. In red!" I point in the direction of the door. I'm starting to lose my cool. I have so much worries on my mind, I don't have the time to play servant to some spoilt entitled brat.

He stares at me, unfazed by my glare. "Then take it down. Or better yet, pretend it's not there."

"Wow," I mutter, my irritation rising. "Are you always this entitled and delusional?"

His expression does not shift. "Do you always talk to potential customers this way?" He asks.

"Only the ones who ignore signs and act like they're better than everyone else."

He leans back in the chair, tapping his fingers on the table, a certain arrogance in his stance. "It's not an act."

I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. "Oh my God," I say, when I realize there's none. "You are actually serious."

He shrugs.

I cross my arms. "You want wine? Fine. It's a diner, so your choices are red, white, or boxed.

He lifts an eyebrow. "Do I look like someone who drinks boxed wine?"

"You look like someone who needs it," I mutter, heading behind the counter. I grab a bottle of wine and a glass, pouring the wine. I slide the glass across the counter. "Here. The finest six-dollar wine in town."

I raise the glass, studying her. "Six dollars?" He said. For the first time since, his expression shifts, a skeptical look on his far.

I give him a wide toothed grin. "Drink it, I dare you."

He pauses, his lips lifting into a smile. "You are... something," he says. "Let's start over. Hi, I'm Nico. And you are clearly the most interesting thing that has happened to me this week."

I grin. "I aim to please," I say, then add, "I'm Luna."

He drops the glass on the counter. "So, are you always like this to customers?"

"Like what?"

"Rude."

"Only to arrogant entitled men in suit."

He shrugs.

"You are not even going to deny it," I say, staring at him with interest.

"Why will I do that?" He answers. "You are entitled to whatever opinion you have of me, just as I'm entitled to whatever opinion I have of you."

I tilt my head, intrigued. "And what opinion is that?" I ask.

He pauses. "Well, for one, I can tell you are in desperate need of money," he says, looking at me in the eyes.

"Not good enough. Even the blind can tell I'm in desperate need of money," I answer.

This time, a small smile appears on his face. "Honest, too."

I shrug. "I can't deny my reality. Rent's late. Utilities are due. My fridge is empty except for mustard and expired yogurt."

"You make poverty sound charming,” he observes.

"I make everything sound charming," I answer, flicking my hair to the back. Then, add, "It's a trauma response."

He lets out a chuckle.

There's a pause.

"What about you?" I ask. "What's your story? Why did you walk into a closed and empty diner looking for wine and an alone time?"

He hesitates, probably wondering if he can trust me.

I arch my brow at him to prompt him. "Well?" I say.

"I might lose everything," he finally answers. "The company. My future. My family's legacy."

Well... I was not expecting that. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"Why though?"

He sighs. "It's a long story," he answers. "My brother got engaged to his girlfriend tonight, so right now, I'm at the bottom of the list."

I blink. "I have no idea how to interpret what you just said."

Another beat of silence. My fingers dance around with a napkin, folding it into a neat pile. He makes me nervous, although, that’s not something I will ever admit out loud. I can sense he is the kind of person to try and take advantage.

"You know what would fix both our problems?" He suddenly asks.

I blink. “Yeah. Therapy. Although, I don’t think I can afford that either,” I respond too brightly.

He leans in slightly. "I am proposing a temporary partnership."

I squeeze my face at him. “Are you trying to get me to do something illegal?” I ask. “I mean I’m not saying I won’t but…”

“Marriage,” he cuts in smoothly.

I blink. My head rears back and I launch into a loud raucous laughter. I bend slightly towards the table, my sides aching from how hard I’m laughing. Tears are even starting to roll down my cheek.

He stares at me, unfazed.

I pause, half-expecting him to have joined in the laughter. Except… “You are joking, right? Please, tell me you are joking.”

“You need money. I need a wife,” he says, his voice calm.

I chuckle. "I knew there was a punchline somewhere. What a joke."

The expression on his face is serious. "I'm not joking."

I gape at him. "Let me see if I understand you. You walk in here even after I make it clear that we've closed, force me to serve you, call me poor, and now you're proposing?"

"I’m offering a solution.”

“To what? My overdue electricity bill?”

“To both our situations.”

“So, you are just willing to marry a stranger? Someone you don’t even know?”

“I know enough.”

I fold my arms. “Oh, really? Please, by all means, go ahead. I’m listening.”

“You are direct and sharp. You don’t scare easily and you need money.”

I ground my teeth in annoyance, unsure of how to respond. He keeps his gaze on my face, calm and relaxed. How can he be so calm while talking about something like this? It makes me even more annoyed. I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s the catch?”

"Nothing serious. We date for a month, we get married. You sign a prenup. Play the part. Make appearances. Between six months and a year. In return, I pay off your debts. And then some."

I stare at me like he has grown a second head.

"...You're out of your mind," i finally say.

"I've been told."

“This is insane,” I tell him, yet I was starting to imagine what life would be like with all my debts paid off, mum’s medical bills covered and Serena’s tuition settled.

“It’s efficient, and mutually beneficial,” he counters.

“You don’t even know if I have a criminal record. You know nothing about me!”

“Do you have a criminal record?” he questions.

“No.”

“See? We are making progress,”

I refuse to smile, choosing instead to narrow my eyes at him. "What makes you think I will even consider your proposal?"

With a small smile, he reaches out to grab my palm. The moment he touches me, I feel a thrill run down my spine, my palm tingling. His fingers are warm and steady. He brings out a pen from his jacket, and scribbles on my palm. "Here is my phone number," he says. Then, he rises to his feet. "If you change your mind," he tells me, "and I know you will, just call me."

He turns around and walks out of the diner, leaving me gaping at him.