Roses For Little Swan

The Proposal

Odette did not go to Marty's that day. She called in sick for the first time in two years.

Her voice on the phone was hoarse. "Marty, I'm sorry. I can't come."

Marty grumbled but said okay. He liked Odette. She never called in sick.

She sat on her floor mattress all day with her loan folder open, her four notes from D on the left, her phone with his texts on the right.

FINAL NOTICE. 4 DAYS. CO-SIGNER CLAIRE STERLING WILL BE CONTACTED.

Her mother was fifty-two. She worked double shifts as a nurse. Her house was small, mortgage almost paid. If Odette defaulted, the bank would go after her mother. Her mother trusted her when she co-signed at eighteen.

Odette could not let that happen.

At 3:00 pm, her phone buzzed.

Unknown: 8 pm. Don't be late, Little Swan. Wear something pretty. Not sweater.

She stared at it. How did he know she wore sweater? She had worn sweater yesterday.

She typed: I don't have anything pretty.

Unknown: You are pretty in anything. But wear a dress. The red one you wore for tips last Tuesday.

She felt cold. He remembered the red dress from a week ago. He watched that closely.

She did not own many dresses. She had one red dress from a thrift store, tight, makes her look curvy, thin waist. She wore it at the bar because tips were better when she wore it. She hated that it worked.

She looked at it hanging on the nail on the wall.

At 7:30 pm, she put it on. It hugged her hips, her waist, showed fine skin on neck and shoulders. She left her hair down, long lashes with a little mascara she borrowed from Aria. She looked pretty. She looked tired.

She walked to Rhodes Custom. She could have a taken bus. She walked because she needed air.

The bar was loud. Thursday night, bikes outside, music inside.

She pushed the door open at 7:58 pm.

Every head turned. Because she was not in work tee. She was in red dress.

Wolf Blackwood at door saw her and whistled low. "Damn, Little Swan."

She blushed. "Don't call me that."

"Prez does," Wolf said. "He is in back booth."

She walked through bar, men looking, some saying "hey, pretty." She kept eyes down.

Damien Rhodes was in his booth, alone. Black tee, cut open, dark eyes, scar on lip. He saw her in red dress and his whole body went still.

He stood up.

He walked to her, slow, like she was something that might fly away.

"You wore it," he said, voice low.

"You told me to," she said,

"I told you only I should see it," he said. "Now the whole bar sees."

"Then you shouldn't have told me to wear it," she said.

He almost smiled.

"Sit," he said.

She sat across from him. Her knees together. Hands in lap. She was nervous.

Ford Brooks came over with a folder, laptop, like a lawyer. Treasurer, glasses, tattooed knuckles.

"Contract," Ford said, sliding folder to Odette.

Odette opened. Papers. Typed.

FAKE DATING CONTRACT - 3 MONTHS

Party A: Damien Rhodes

Party B: Odette Sterling

Terms:

Party B agrees to act as girlfriend of Party A in public, family events, board events.

Party A pays Party B $200,000 total - $100,000 upfront, $100,000 after 3 months.

Party B's student loans cleared immediately via Party A.

Separate bedrooms. No real s*x. No touching without permission. No cameras. No claiming in public beyond hand holding. No killing people because of Party B. (Her handwriting added in margin)

Duration 3 months, renewable.

Party B lives in Rhodes mansion under Party A's roof.

If either breaks, penalty $500,000.

Odette read twice. Her hands shook.

"Separate bedrooms you wrote," Damien said, looking at her margin notes. "No touching without permission. No cameras. No claiming beyond hand. No killing."

"I added those," she said, chin up. "You agreed in text."

"I agreed to first four," he said. "Last one we negotiate."

"No killing is not negotiable," she said, bright eyes hard. "You put Leo in ICU. He grabbed my wrist. That's it. You almost killed him."

"He touched what's mine," Damien said, simple.

"I'm not yours!" she said, louder, people looked.

"You signed? You will be," he said.

She stared at him.

"Take out no killing or I don't sign," she said.

Damien looked at Ford. Ford looked away.

Damien leaned forward, elbows on table, close to her.

"If anyone hurts you, they will answer to me," he said, low. "That's not negotiable, Little Swan. If a man puts his hand on you, if he says hello wrong, if he tries to kiss you, he answers to me. I don't kill first time. First time is always a lesson. Second time is dead in 24 hours. That's my rule. I can give you separate bedrooms. I can give you no touching if you say no. I can give you no cameras. But I cannot give you that. Because if I do, you die. In my world, the club deals in drugs and trafficking, partners get killed if they are seen as weak. My job is to keep you breathing."

Odette felt cold and hot at same time. "What do you mean partners get killed?"

"You will learn," he said.

She looked at contract again. $200,000. Her mom's house saved. Her loans gone.

She thought about Leo in ICU. About thorned roses. About texts. About teddy bear camera she still hadn't found.

"Half upfront now?" she asked, small voice.

"Now," Damien said. He nodded at Ford.

Ford opened laptop, typed. "What is your loan account number?"

She told him. Hands shaking.

Ford typed. In thirty seconds, her phone buzzed. Email from loan company: PAYMENT RECEIVED: $47,820. BALANCE $0.

She stared. Mouth open.

"Zero?" she whispered.

"Zero," Ford said.

She covered mouth with hand, tears coming, bright eyes wet. $47,820 gone in thirty seconds.

"And $100,000 in your bank tomorrow morning," Ford said. "Second $100,000 after 3 months."

Odette cried. Not pretty crying. Real crying, shoulders shaking, curvy body in red dress shaking.

Damien watched her cry. He didn't touch. He let her cry.

"Why are you crying? You got what you wanted," he said, grumpy but softer.

"Because I hated you and now I have to fake date you," she said through tears, honest.

He almost laughed. "Hate is good. Hate keeps you interesting, Little Swan."

She wiped eyes with hand, mascara smudged.

"Separate bedrooms?" she asked again.

"Separate bedrooms," he said. "On paper."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I will try," he said.

It was not good answer, but it was honest.

She picked the pen, hand shaking, and signed: Odette Sterling.

Damien signed next: Damien Rhodes. Sharp signature, scar-like.

Ford took folder, stamped.

"Done," Ford said. "You live in mansion starting tonight. Car outside."

"What? Tonight?" Odette said, panicked.

"You are under my roof now, Little Swan," Damien said. "As long as you signed the contract, you are mine. My roof, my rules. But your rules too. Separate bedrooms. For now."

He stood, put his coat on, offered hand to her.

She looked at hand, tattooed, scarred knuckles, knuckles that put Leo in ICU.

She didn't take it. She stood on her own.

"Let's go," she said, stubborn.

He smiled

They walked out of the bar, fake couple that didn't look fake because he kept looking at her like she was already his.

Outside, Estelle Rhodes was getting out of black car with Poppy Carter.

Poppy Carter was perfect. Blonde, polished, fake, dress that cost more than Odette's old apartment yearly rent. She was heiress Estelle wanted Damien to marry.

Estelle saw Damien with Odette in red dress, hand almost touching.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Damien," Estelle said, voice cold. "Who is this?"

Poppy smiled sweet but eyes mean. "Hi, Damien."

Damien put his hand on Odette's thin waist, possessive, claiming in public even though the contract said no claiming beyond hand holding. He broke rule in the first five minutes.

"This is Odette Sterling," Damien said. "My girlfriend."

Odette froze. Girlfriend. Fake girlfriend. She was supposed to act.

Poppy looked at Odette up and down, at red dress, at fine hair, at curvy body, at cheap shoes.

"Girlfriend?" Poppy said, laugh fake. "From where? Marty's?"

Odette's face went red, humiliated.

Damien's hand on her waist tightened.

"From where I found her," Damien said, dark eyes on Poppy, cold. "My bar. Where she fought two armed men for her friend. What have you fought for, Poppy?"

Poppy's smile cracked.

Estelle stepped forward. "Damien, we need to talk. Now. Inside."

"No," Damien said. "We will talk tomorrow. My girlfriend and I have to get home."

He led Odette to his bike. Not car. Bike.

"I can't ride in a dress," Odette said.

"You can," he said. He put his coat around her shoulders, big, warm, smelling like him. "Hold tight, Little Swan."

He kicked the bike, loud, and rode away from the mansion, away from Estelle and Poppy, with Odette holding him tight because she was scared to fall, and he liked that.

Behind them, Poppy watched, hands in fists, eyes with hate.

Poppy whispered to Estelle: "She won't last a week."

Estelle said: "Make sure she doesn't."

Odette didn't know she just made herself a target for Poppy and for rival club.

She just held tight and tried not to cry again.