The Deal We Never Made

PLANNING TO SEDUCE HIM

Madison POV

By the time the office clock struck six, I couldn’t wait to get out of Blackwell Enterprises fast enough My feet were aching in heels and my mind was stuck on a loop, repeating the same damn thing:

You must think you're miss special.

The note was still in my pocket, crumpled like my pride. No name. No handwriting I recognized. Just ink and intimidation. What kind of sick game was I in? I wasn’t even doing anything — I was just trying to survive the first day. But apparently existing while being fake-engaged to Ethan Blackwell painted a bullseye on my back.

I walked out of the building and I didn’t want to go home. Not yet. I needed some cool air, food, and someone who wouldn’t look at me like I was an attention seeker in designer heels.

So instead, I grabbed a taxi and headed to Jessica’s workplace downtown. Her shift at the boutique ended soon anyway, and she’d always been my buffer when the world got a little too cruel.

She was still in the window, rearranging some frilly mannequin in floral. The bell above the door jingled as I pushed it open, and she turned with those wide, expressive eyes of hers. " Madison? Damn girl, what are you doing here?"

I slumped into one of the small pink chairs near the fitting room. "Had the worst day. I need food, a cocktail drink. A friend And maybe a shovel to bury a few coworkers."

She blinked, clocked the slump in my shoulders, and immediately closed the window. “Clocking out. Don’t say another word till we’re sitting down.”

Oh God, she’s the best.

Jessica closed the register, grabbed her coat, and we were off. Ten minutes later we were in a tiny diner tucked between a dry cleaner and a vape shop — one of those places that looked like it hadn’t been remodeled since the '90s, and I loved it for that. Red vinyl booths. Greasy air. Waitress named Cheryl who knew everyone by name. I breathed easier just walking in.

We slid into our booth, and Jessica didn’t even wait for menus. “Cheeseburger, extra crispy fries, and two cokes,” she told Cheryl.

"So," she started, as she turned to me eyeing me like I broke something. "Tell me everything."

I groaned, slumping into the seat. “You ever walk into a place and feel like someone stapled a target to your chest?”

Jessica raised an eyebrow. “Every time I wear pink to a corporate event, but I just can’t help it. I love pink.”

“I was hated before I even sat down. They looked at me like I brought lice into the office. One girl spilled coffee on my stuff — on purpose. Another swapped my seat card, like we’re in high school. And get this—” I pulled the note from my pocket, smoothing it flat against the table. “Found this in my desk drawer.”

Jessica read it silently. Her mouth pressed into a hard line. “"Damn," she muttered. "I knew that company had snakes. But girl, I didn’t think they’d strike on day one.”

I nodded. “I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore, Jess.”

She stared at me for a second, then reached across the table and stole one of my fries. “Well, then let’s figure it out. But first—eat. Then we plot.”

And just like that, for the first time that day, I almost smiled.

Cheryl dropped the food for us on the table with the sweetest smile ever.

And we began digging.

----

Jessica dipped her fry in ketchup like it was a ritual. “So, what now?”

I groaned, dragging a hand through my hair. “I still haven’t gotten anywhere near his office. His assistant—Martins or mark whatever—he hovers his office like a aimless fellow . The crazy man probably has motion sensors set up outside Ethan’s door. And don’t even get me started on the password-protected files. I thought taking this job was supposed to give me an edge, you know? A foot in. But it’s just… more locked doors. More staring. More fake smiles.”

Jessica gave me this long, slow look over the rim of her Coke. “Then maybe you need to use a different key.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Jess, I’m too tired for riddles. Just say it.”

“Mads,” she said, voice lowering like she was about to drop a classified secret. “Seduce him.”

I choked on my drink. “I—What?! Are you high on fry grease?”

She leaned forward, eyes suddenly gleaming with mischief. "Then play the game. Make him believe you’re on his side. Be charming. Be clever. Flirt a little—seduce the boss if you have to."

I choked on my soda. "Excuse me?"

“Oh, come on,” she said, shrugging with maddening casualness. “You’re literally engaged to him. Fake or not. And besides he kissed you, right? That’s not nothing. The man’s got chemistry with you—even if he acts like an emotional tax return. Conflicted, cold, whatever.”

I blinked. “All in essence you want me to seduce Ethan Blackwell.”

“I’m not saying wear lace to work and bat your lashes like a Disney villain. I’m saying... if he wants you around to keep his mommy from forcing him down the aisle with some country club debutante, then make yourself impossible to replace.”

“You’re wild.” I giggled at her.

“I’m strategic,” she countered, stabbing her burger. “Be charming. Be soft when he expects sharp. Laugh at his boring jokes. Pretend to care about his trauma or whatever cold iceberg he’s paddling around. And while he’s busy being emotionally confused—boom—you slip into that penthouse office and get the answers you need.”

“That sounds like emotional sabotage,” I muttered, but even I could hear the hesitation in my voice.

“It’s survival,” she said, sipping her milkshake like she hadn’t just suggested I become a Bond girl. “You want answers about your parents? Play the damn game. Be the fiancée he can’t ignore.”

I rubbed my forehead. “This is so messy.”

Jessica leaned in again, lips curling. “Then make a mess he can’t clean up.”

I stared at her for a long second. “Since when did you become the evil genius in this friendship? I always thought I was the cunning one.”

“Turns out I’m just subtle.” She smiled like a fox. “And since you got yourself entangled with a millionaire who may or may not be involved in your parents' mystery death. This friendship isn’t for fancy, Mads. And I always want the best for you regardless.”

That made me laugh. Could I really do it? Could I actually lean into this fake engagement and use Ethan’s own defenses against him?

The idea lingered like steam on a mirror—unclear but impossible to ignore.

“Fine,” I said finally. “I’ll try your ridiculous little plan.”

Jessica raised her milkshake. “To subtle sabotage.”

I clinked mine against hers. “To pretending I know what the hell I’m doing.”

---

After dinner, we stepped out into the soft hum of the city night. The air smelled like exhaust, melted cheese from the pizza spot down the block, and that strange wet concrete scent cities always had when the day cooled off. It wasn’t exactly poetic, but something about it felt… alive. Like I was stepping into a version of myself I hadn’t met yet.

The streetlamp above us flickered like it couldn’t decide whether to stay on or tap out. Jessica bumped her shoulder into mine, slow and casual. “So,” she said, her voice playful but steady underneath. “What’s the plan, Mads?”

I looked up at the blinking red hand across the crosswalk, then at her. “Simple,” I said, slipping my hands into my coat pockets. “I smile at Ethan. Nod when I’m supposed to. Say all the right things like I’m trying out for ‘Wife of the Year.’ Let him think I’m slowly developing feelings for him.”

Jessica’s voice softened. “You sure you wanna see what’s on the other side of that door?”

I paused. That was the thing, wasn’t it? I didn’t know what I’d find. It could be the answer I’ve been chasing for years… or something worse. But I nodded anyway.

“Yeah,” I said. “Even if it hurts.”

She nodded back like she understood that feeling. “Good. Get in, get proof, get out.”

I cracked a small smirk. “And maybe seduce him. Just a little. For the cause.”

Jessica snorted, then mock saluted. “For the cause.”

We laughed, hugged—tight and familiar. Then she waved down a cab for me, like she always did when I was a little too tired to do it myself.

As I slid into the backseat, I pulled out the note again—the one I’d kept tucked in my wallet all day like some dark little fortune cookie.

You’re in over your head.

I stared at it while the city lights smeared past the window. The ink had smudged slightly from where I’d touched it too much, but the words still hit like a slap. Someone in that office wanted me gone. Shaken. Scared.

But they didn’t know me. Not really.

I’d been in deeper waters before—choking on grief, buried under secrets, picking up pieces of a life that shattered before I understood it. And I survived that.

So no, I wasn’t afraid. Not of Ethan Blackwell. Not of his company. Not of whoever thought this note would break me.

He made the rules. But I was going to flip the whole damn board.

Let the games begin.