The Contract
399 Words
Ava spent the morning in a state of panic-induced productivity.
She called Maya, who screamed so loud Ava had to hold the phone away from her ear. She called her mother, who was surprisingly calm about the whole thing ("Well, sweetheart, at least he's rich. Your father was poor and useless."). She called her lawyer, who advised her not to sign anything without legal counsel present.
Then she called Noah Blackwood's office and accepted his offer.
She told herself it was for the money. For the business opportunity. For the security. She did not tell herself it was because some small, traitorous part of her was curious about the man beneath the ice. About the compass tattoo. About why someone so cold would have something so symbolic etched permanently into his skin.
Noah sent a car for her at eleven-thirty. A sleek black sedan with tinted windows and a driver who didn't make eye contact. It took her to a penthouse office in the Blackwood Tower, forty-seven stories above the Las Vegas Strip, where the world looked small and manageable and entirely under someone's control.
Noah was waiting for her in a conference room that probably cost more than her entire apartment building. He wore a charcoal suit that fit him like it had been sewn onto his body by angels with excellent taste. His hair was perfectly styled. His expression was perfectly blank.
"Sit," he said.
"Please," Ava added, sliding into a leather chair that probably cost more than her car. "The word you're looking for is 'please.'"
Noah's eye twitched. "Please. Sit."
"Better." She sat, crossing her legs and smoothing her dress—the only nice thing she had with her, a floral wrap dress that suddenly felt very inadequate for a billionaire's conference room. "So. Contract?"
He slid a document across the table. It was thick. Very thick. Ava flipped through it, her eyes glazing over at the legal jargon.
"Let me summarize," Noah said, reading her expression. "Six months of public marriage. You live in my penthouse—separate bedrooms, obviously. You attend business functions as my wife. You maintain a social media presence that supports the narrative of a happy marriage. In exchange, three million dollars and a guaranteed investment in your business, contingent on the successful completion of the contract."
"Obviously separate bedrooms," Ava muttered. "Wouldn't want to inconvenience you with my presence."
- Writer
