Contract Desires

Diamonds And Deception

Riley's fingers trembled against the diamond choker as Silvia's parting words echoed in the cavernous bedroom. The necklace refused to yield, its clasp designed by someone who clearly never needed to remove their own jewelry. She caught her reflection in the mirror-the Vera Wang gown pooling around her like spilled cream, the wayward curl that had escaped her updo, the panic widening her hazel eyes.

'Damn it,' Riley muttered, twisting to get a better angle. The movement sent a sharp pain through her ribs where the corset dug in. She'd worn vintage dresses before at the bookstore's literary cosplay events, but nothing that required a team of stylists to breathe properly.

A knock at the door made her jump. 'Mrs.

Whitmore?' A male voice definitely not Jordan's. 'Mr. Whitmore requests your presence in the library.'

Riley's throat tightened. Mrs. Whitmore. The name still sounded foreign, fraudulent. She took a steadying breath. 'Tell him I'll be right there.'

The footsteps retreated. Riley gave the necklace one last futile tug before squaring her shoulders.

If Jordan wanted to play house, she'd play-but not without some ground rules. She swept out of the bedroom, the train of her dress whispering against the marble floors like a trailing thought.

The penthouse library smelled of leather and bergamot, the scent wrapping around Riley as she paused in the doorway.

Jordan stood at the far end, silhouetted against floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing Seattle's skyline. He turned, his navy suit blending into the twilight behind him.

'You're late,' he said, not unkindly.

Riley lifted her chin. 'Your necklace is trying to strangle me.'

Something flickered in Jordan's eyes— amusement? He crossed the room in six measured strides. 'Turn around.'

His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, sending an unexpected shiver down Riley's spine. The clasp released with a quiet click.

'There.' Jordan draped the diamonds over his own palm, the stones catching the firelight.

'These belonged to my grandmother. She'll want to see you wearing them tomorrow.'

Riley rubbed her throat. 'About tomorrow—'

'Margaret Whitmore is flying in for brunch,' Jordan interrupted, moving to pour two glasses of whiskey. He handed her one. 'She's the only family member whose opinion I value.'

Riley swirled the amber liquid, watching it cling to the crystal. 'And what does she think about this... arrangement?'

Jordan's mouth quirked. 'She thinks I've finally shown some sense.' He took a sip, his Adam's apple bobbing. 'You'll like her. She collects first editions.'

A spark of interest cut through Riley's apprehension. Before she could respond, Silvia materialized in the doorway, her stiletto heels striking the hardwood like gunshots.

'Jordan, the Tokyo call got moved up.' Silvia's gaze flicked to Riley with barely concealed disdain. 'They're waiting.'

Jordan set down his glass. 'Reschedule it.'

Silvia's manicured fingers tightened around her tablet. 'It's the Nakamuras. You've been trying to get this meeting for—

'I know what it is.' Jordan's voice dropped to a warning rumble. 'Tell them something came up!'

Riley watched the silent battle play out between them-Jordan's unyielding stare, Silvia's flaring nostrils. The assistant finally dipped her head in a stiff nod and stalked out, but not before shooting Riley a look that could curdle milk.

'You didn't have to do that,' Riley said when they were alone again.

Jordan retrieved his whiskey. 'Yes, I did.' He studied her over the rim of his glass. 'We need to talk about boundaries with Silvia.'

Riley barked a laugh. "You mean like how she acts like I stole her favorite toy?'

A muscle jumped in Jordan's jaw.

'She's been with me since the IPO. Protective is an understatement.'

'She hates me.'

'She doesn't know you.' Jordan moved closer, his cologne wrapping around Riley-sandalwood and something darker. 'But she will. Starting tomorrow.'

The intensity in his gaze made Riley's pulse stutter. This close, she could see the gold flecks in his blue eyes, the faint scar bisecting his left eyebrow. A dangerous thought whispered through her mind: What if this wasn't all pretend?

She stepped back abruptly, her drink sloshing.

'Right. The grand Whitmore introduction.' Riley forced a smile. 'Do I get a script, or are we winging it?'

Jordan's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and sighed. 'No winging. Just be yourself' He headed for the door, pausing to add, 'And wear the necklace.'

Riley stared after him, the whiskey turning bitter on her tongue. Be herself? She wasn't sure she remembered who that was anymore.

The next morning, Riley stood frozen in front of the penthouse elevator, her hand hovering over the button. The diamond choker weighed heavy around her neck, a constant reminder of the gilded trap she'd walked into.

Silvia's schedule had arrived at precisely 7 AM, each line item typed with military precision:

7:30 - Breakfast (protein only)

8:00 - Hair/Makeup (in-suite)

8:45 - Final dress approval (Jordan)

9:00 - Departure for Whitmore Estate

Riley had ignored the protein mandate and scarfed down pancakes from the kitchen, much to the chef's delight. Now, with fifteen minutes until her 'in-suite glam squad' arrived, she needed caffeine like a drowning man needed air.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal Jordan, his hair still damp from a shower, a travel mug in each hand. 'Looking for this?' He offered her one, steam curling from the top.

Riley accepted it warily. 'How did you—

'Two sugars, splash of cream.' Jordan adjusted his cufflinks, his expression unreadable. I pay attention.'

Their fingers brushed during the exchange, sending an unexpected jolt up Riley's arm. She took a hurried sip to cover her reaction, then nearly spat it out. 'This is tea.'

'Earl Grey.' Jordan stepped into the elevator, blocking her escape. 'Coffee stains your teeth.

We have photographers today!

Riley's grip tightened on the mug. T'd rather have stained teeth than drink leaf water.'

For a heartbeat, Jordan looked like he might argue. Then, astonishingly, the corner of his mouth twitched. 'Noted.' He plucked the tea from her hands and pressed the other mug into them. 'But try not to smile too much.'

The elevator doors closed on Riley's stunned expression, the rich aroma of properly sugared coffee filling the small space. She took a deep swallow, the warmth spreading through her chest. That's when she noticed the Post-it stuck to the side:

"Temporary reprieve. -J"

Riley peeled it off, running her thumb over the precise handwriting. Maybe, just maybe, the ice king had a crack in his armor after all.

The Whitmore family estate sprawled across twenty acres of meticulously landscaped gardens, the main house a modern interpretation of a French château. Riley pressed her forehead against the Bentley's cool window, her stomach performing Olympic-level gymnastics.

'Stop fidgeting.' Jordan adjusted his tie in the reflection of the darkened glass. 'You'll crease the dress.'

Riley smoothed the emerald-green silk over her thighs. 'Easy for you to say. You're not about to be fed to the lions.'

Jordan surprised her by covering her hand with his own, his palm warm and dry. 'Margaret will love you. The others don't matter.'

The car rolled to a stop beneath a porte-cochère.

Before Riley could respond, their door was opened by a uniformed attendant. Jordan exited first, then offered his hand. Riley took it, her fingers trembling slightly.

'Ready, Mrs. Whitmore?' Jordan murmured.

Riley met his gaze, the morning sunlight turning his eyes to liquid sapphire. She squeezed his hand. 'Let's get this over with.'

They were barely three steps into the grand foyer when a voice like aged whiskey called out,

'There she is!'

Margaret Whitmore descended the curved staircase with surprising agility for a woman in her eighties, her silver bob swinging. She bypassed Jordan entirely and clasped Riley's face in both hands. 'Even prettier in person.'

Riley found herself staring into shrewd hazel eyes nearly identical to her own. 'Thank you, Mrs. Whitmore.'

'Pish.' Margaret waved a dismissive hand. 'Call me Gran, everyone does.' She looped her arm through Riley's and began steering her toward the sunroom. 'Jordan tells me you're a bookseller.

I have a 1794 Blake I've been dying to show someone who'll appreciate it.'

Over her shoulder, Riley shot Jordan a bewildered look. He trailed behind them, his usual stoic expression softened by something suspiciously like affection.

The brunch passed in a blur of delicate china and polite interrogation from various Whitmore relatives. Riley counted twelve forks, three aunts who looked at her like a lab specimen, and one cousin who kept 'accidentally' spilling wine near her dress. Through it all, Margaret kept Riley anchored at her right hand, deflecting the more pointed questions with practiced ease.

'So, Riley,' drawled Aunt Celeste during dessert, her pearls clicking. 'How did you and Jordan meet? He's been so... secretive.'

The table fell silent. Riley felt Jordan tense beside her. She dabbed her lips with a linen napkin, buying time. 'At a book auction, actually.'

Margaret chuckled. 'Of course it was.'

'First edition Hemingway,' Riley continued, the lie flowing more easily than she expected. 'We both wanted it.'

Jordan picked up the thread, his fingers brushing Riley's wrist. 'I let her win.'

'Bullshit,' Riley shot back without thinking. The table gasped. She flushed

'I mean—

Margaret roared with laughter. 'I like her, Jordan.

She doesn't let you get away with anything.'

As coffee was served, Silvia appeared in the doorway, her posture rigid. 'Jordan, the Tokyo call.'

This time, Jordan didn't argue. He excused himself with a squeeze to Riley's shoulder that might have been reassurance or a warning.

The moment he left, the atmosphere shifted.

Aunt Celeste leaned forward, her perfume overwhelming. 'Tell me, dear, what do your parents do?"

Riley set down her cup. 'My mother teaches third grade. My father passed away when I was twelve.'

A collective murmur of pity circled the table.

Margaret's hand found Riley's under the tablecloth, giving a quick, supportive press.

'And how,' Celeste continued, 'does a schoolteacher's daughter afford a first edition Hemingway?'

Riley's cheeks burned. Before she could respond, Margaret stood abruptly. 'Riley, darling, come see that Blake I mentioned.'

The library was a sanctuary of dark wood and soft light. Margaret closed the double doors with a decisive click and turned to Riley.

'Pay no attention to those vipers. They're just jealous Jordan finally brought someone home.'

Riley sank into an armchair, her carefully constructed facade cracking. 'They're not wrong.

I don't belong here.'

Margaret selected a volume from the shelves and handed it to Riley. The cover was worn velvet, the pages gilt-edged. 'Do you know what this is?'

Riley traced the embossed title with reverent fingers. ''Songs of Innocence and Experience."

1794. This is... this is incredible.'

'First trade edition.' Margaret perched on the chair's arm. 'Worth about as much as Jordan's ridiculous car collection. And do you know how I got it?'

Riley shook her head.

'I won it in a poker game from a Vanderbilt in 1968' Margaret winked. 'Point is, darling, we Whitmores haven't always been swimming in money and pretension. Jordan forgets that sometimes.' She tapped the book's cover. 'You're good for him. He needs someone who remembers there's more to life than board meetings and stock prices.'

Riley swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat.'It's complicated.'

'Everything worth having is.' Margaret studied her for a long moment. 'That necklace looks better on you than it ever did on Lillian.'

Riley's head snapped up. 'You knew her?'

'Unfortunately.' Margaret's mouth tightened

'Beautiful girl, rotten core. Broke Jordan's heart and nearly the company with it.' She patted Riley's cheek. 'But you're nothing like her'

The library door opened, and Jordan entered, Silvia hovering behind him like a specter.

'Everything alright?'

'Perfect.' Margaret stood, smoothing her skirt. 'I was just showing Riley my Blake.'

Jordan's gaze flicked between them. 'We need to head back. Press conference at four.'

As they said their goodbyes, Margaret pulled Riley into a fierce hug. 'Come see me next week,' she whispered. 'Without the audience.'

The car ride back to the city was silent save for the hum of the engine. Riley stared out at the passing landscape, Margaret's words echoing in her mind.

'

Thank you,' she said suddenly.

Jordan glanced up from his phone. 'For?'

'Your grandmother.' Riley twisted the diamond necklace between her fingers. 'She's...'

'Terrible?' Jordan supplied.

'Wonderful,' Riley corrected softly.

Something unreadable passed over Jordan's face.

He reached out, tucking a loose curl behind Riley's ear, his fingertips lingering against her jawline. 'She's not wrong, you know.'

Riley's breath caught. 'About?'

Jordan withdrew his hand as the car pulled into the Whitmore Tower garage. 'You being good for me.'

Silvia cleared her throat from the front seat.

'We're here.'

The moment shattered. Jordan exited the car, all business once more. But as Riley followed him into the elevator, she couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere between the diamond choker and the Blake volume, something between them had shifted-irrevocably.