Episode 3: Signing Away Friday
1402 Words
The office in Long Island City smelled of burnt filter coffee and an aging radiator that clanked every twelve minutes. Chloe pushed through the glass door at nine, finding Priya at her desk behind a dual-monitor setup dominated by a red-lined budget sheet.
"Don't," Priya said without looking up from her screen. "I can hear you overthinking from the hallway."
"I haven't said a word."
"You have your court-date face on." Priya spun her chair around, tapping a wooden pencil against the bank statement on her desk. "How bad was Vance?"
Chloe sat in the worn swivel chair across from her. "He wants the audit. Four point two million in recoverable fees over ninety days."
Priya stopped tapping. "Chloe... that’s an enterprise anchor account. That pays off our line of credit." She paused, reading Chloe’s expression, and slowly set the pencil down. "Why do you look like you just got subpoenaed?"
"Because the audit comes with a rider he won't let me negotiate."
Chloe pulled the bank statement toward her. The line-of-credit balance had a negative sign that had been keeping her awake since June. Payroll was due on the fifteenth, and their secondary client was three weeks behind on a twelve-thousand-dollar invoice.
"Thirty days," Priya said quietly. "Maybe twenty if the landlord doesn't extend the grace period."
"I know."
Chloe laid out the terms: the Mercedes, the cab, the corner office, and the corporate board demanding a pristine executive profile before approving his merger. Four months. A ring. An airtight non-disclosure agreement.
Priya stared at her. "He wants a temporary fiancée."
"A contractual placeholder that dissolves the moment the merger goes through."
"Chloe." Priya leaned across the desk, her voice dropping. "He knows our balance sheet is paper-thin. He knows you can't walk away from four million in contract value. That isn't a proposal—it’s leverage."
"I know exactly what it is," Chloe said. "I'm signing anyway."
---
She called his office at eight-thirty Friday morning.
Julian picked up on the second ring. "Ms. Reed."
"I accept," she said cleanly. "Both contracts."
A brief pause over the line. "Good."
"It's a business decision. Nothing more."
"Naturally." Paper rustled on his end. "Tonight, eight o'clock. Baldur on 53rd. Private room in the back. Bring your identification; my legal team has drafted both agreements."
---
Baldur had no street sign—only an unmarked mahogany door and a host who escorted Chloe down a narrow hallway to a secluded dining nook framed in dark velvet.
Julian was already there, his coat off, two thin leather folders aligned parallel on the white tablecloth. He stood as she approached—a fluid, reflexive habit—and gestured to the chair opposite him.
"You arrived dry," he noted.
"The weather cooperated."
"A rare courtesy." He motioned faintly to the waiter, who poured two glasses of sparkling water and backed away without a word.
The freight agreement took ten minutes to review. The terms were identical to her pitch, fully backed by Vance Global’s corporate credit line. She signed each page in blue ink.
The second folder contained a six-page document titled *Personal Services & Confidentiality Framework*. She skimmed through the clauses covering media appearances, housing arrangements, and public events until her eyes caught a line near the bottom.
"'Demonstrations of public affection to remain consistent with standard engagement norms, as mutually agreed.'" She looked up. "Define 'mutually agreed.'"
"It means we establish boundaries before stepping into a room," Julian said, "not while being photographed."
Chloe held the pen for a moment, feeling the cold weight of the metal between her fingers, then signed her name on the final line.
Julian reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small velvet box, and slid it across the cloth. Inside sat an oval-cut diamond set in platinum—flawless, oversized, and completely clinical.
"It needs to withstand scrutiny," Julian said before she could ask. "Put it on."
The platinum was cold against her knuckle. She turned her hand once under the dim lighting, watching the stone catch the glare of the wall sconce.
"Four months," she said.
"Four months." Julian stood, gathering the signed folders into his leather folio. "Let's step outside."
---
They exited through the rear service door into the narrow alley off 53rd Street. Before the heavy metal door clicked shut behind them, three distinct camera flashes strobed against the damp brick walls.
"Mr. Vance! Over here!"
"Julian, who is she?"
Julian’s hand moved to the small of her back—steady, firm, guiding her toward an idling black town car. Chloe blinked against the sudden white spots in her vision, lifting her hand to shield her eyes as the diamond caught the glare of the lenses.
"You said we'd coordinate the press narrative first," she muttered through her teeth.
Julian opened the rear car door, his profile unreadable in the flashbulbs. "The press moves faster than administrative meetings, Ms. Reed. Get in."
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