Contract Desires

Silk Sheets And Stone Hearts

Jordan's fingers lingered around Riley's for a heartbeat too long before releasing her hand, the ghost of his touch branding her skin. The penthouse office suddenly felt too small, the floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting their tense silence back at them like a distorted mirror.

'We'll need to move quickly,' Jordan said, turning toward his mahogany desk where a sleek laptop sat open. 'The press will have questions about our... sudden engagement.' His voice carried the same crisp efficiency he'd used when discussing merger contracts earlier that week.

Riley crossed her arms, the silk of her borrowed gown whispering against her skin. 'How quickly is quickly?'

'Three days.' Jordan didn't look up from typing.

'My team has already secured the venue and the license.'

'Three—' Riley's breath caught. She'd known this was coming, had shaken hands on the deal, but hearing the timeline made her knees weak.

'That's insane. People plan weddings for years.'

Not when money removes obstacles.' Jordan finally met her gaze, his blue eyes glacial. 'You'll have a dress fitting tomorrow at nine. My driver will pick you up.'

Riley's nails dug into her palms. 'And what about my bookstore? The whole point of this—

'Will be honored.' Jordan snapped the laptop shut.

'The transfer to Carter's Corner's account will clear by midnight. Consider it a wedding gift!'

The casual mention of millions made Riley's stomach twist. She'd sold herself-for shelves of ink and paper, for the scent of old stories and the creak of floorboards underfoot. The weight of it pressed against her ribs.

A chime sounded from Jordan's phone. He glanced at the screen, his mouth tightening.

'Silvia has drafted a press release. I need you to review it before—

No.' Riley surprised herself with the steel in her voice. 'If I'm going to be your wife, even temporarily, I won't be managed like one of your employees.'

Jordan's eyebrow arched. "Then how would you prefer to be managed, Mrs. Whitmore?'

The name-her soon-to-be name-sent an unwelcome shiver down Riley's spine. 'I'll give interviews on my terms. My bookstore stays open during the... transition. And I want my own space in your penthouse.'

'Done.' Jordan stepped closer, his cologne wrapping around her-bergamot and something darker, dangerous. 'But understand this, Riley.

The world will be watching. Any cracks in our story, and your precious bookstore won't be the only casualty!'

His threat hung between them as Riley lifted her chin. 'I know how to act, Jordan.

The question is—do you?'

***

The next seventy-two hours passed in a blur of seamstresses, stylists, and flashing cameras.

Riley's modest apartment became a warzone of garment bags and jewelry boxes, her protestations drowned out by Silvia Dawson's clipped instructions.

"Stand still," Silvia ordered during the final dress fitting, her French-tipped nails pinching Riley's waist as she adjusted the couture gown. The ivory silk clung to Riley's curves, the plunging back and delicate lace sleeves a far cry from her usual sundresses and cardigans.

Riley caught her reflection in the trifold mirror and barely recognized herself. 'This isn't me.'

Silvia's laugh was razor-thin. 'It's who you need to be.' She fastened a diamond choker around Riley's throat, the stones cold against Riley's pulse. 'Jordan's last fiancée wore something similar.'

The barb hit its mark. Riley's hands trembled as she touched the glittering necklace another reminder she was stepping into another woman's life.

***

The wedding itself was a spectacle worthy of royalty.

Riley walked down the aisle of the cathedral under the weight of a thousand camera flashes, her bouquet of peonies shaking in her grip.

Jordan waited at the altar, devastating in his tailored tuxedo, his expression unreadable.

When their hands joined for the vows, Riley expected some flicker of warmth, some acknowledgment of the life-altering promise they were making. But Jordan's grip was firm and impersonal, his kiss at the ceremony's end so brief she barely felt his lips.

'Smile,' he murmured against her cheek as they turned to face the cheering crowd. 'They're all watching.'

Riley forced her lips upward, her face aching with the effort. This was the deal. This was what she'd signed up for.

***

Jordan's penthouse smelled of lemon polish and money when they arrived that evening, the elevator opening directly into a living room larger than Riley's entire apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased Seattle's skyline, the Space Needle glittering in the distance.

'Your suite is through there.' Jordan gestured to a hallway without meeting her eyes. 'I had your things moved from the bookstore apartment.'

Riley's stomach dropped. 'You went through my personal belongings?'

'My staff handled it.' Jordan loosened his tie, the first hint of fatigue showing in the tightness around his mouth. 'You'll find everything organized to your... eclectic tastes.'

Riley stormed down the hall, her wedding train dragging behind her. The guest suite— if it could be called that-was larger than her childhood home, with a canopied bed and an entire wall of bookshelves. Her familiar paperbacks looked absurdly out of place beside first editions worth more than her college tuition.

A knock sounded at the door. Riley expected Jordan, but found Silvia instead, holding a tablet and a tumbler of amber liquid.

'Jordan's gone to his study,' Silvia said, thrusting the drink at Riley. 'He thought you might need this.'

Riley took the glass, the whiskey burning her throat. 'How thoughtful of him.'

Silvia's smile didn't reach her eyes. 'Tomorrow's schedule is on the tablet. Seven AM wake-up call. Your first official appearance as Mrs.Whitmore is at nine.' She turned to leave, then paused. 'Oh, and Jordan prefers his coffee black.

No sugar. He'll expect you to remember that.'

The door clicked shut, leaving Riley alone with her reflection in the floor-length mirror—a stranger in a wedding dress, a counterfeit bride in a gilded cage.

She reached back to unclasp the diamond choker, but her fingers fumbled. The necklace held fast, its cold gems pressing into her skin like teeth.