The CEO's Accidental Bride

Chapter Four

Alexander's Pov

Marcus walked into my office at eight-forty-five, looking amused. Never a good sign.

"She wants to renegotiate," he said, dropping a file on my desk. "One addition to the contract. Non-negotiable, her words."

I didn't look up from the Blackwood merger documents. "Then she can walk away. I don't renegotiate terms."

"She knows that. She also knows you're running out of time. Your grandfather expects an answer at lunch today, and the Blackwood representatives specifically asked about your personal life yesterday." Marcus sat across from me. "She has leverage now, and she's smart enough to use it."

I finally looked up. "What does she want?"

"She wouldn't tell me. Said she'll only discuss it with you directly." He checked his watch. "She'll be here in ten minutes."

This was exactly why I avoided working with people outside my control. They developed ideas, confidence, and demands. Emma Chen was supposed to be desperate and compliant, not strategic and difficult.

"Fine. But the answer is no, regardless of what she asks."

"Even if it's reasonable?"

"Especially if it's reasonable. Give her an inch and she'll think this is a negotiation instead of a contract." I returned to the merger documents. "Show her in when she arrives, then leave us alone."

Marcus stood, but hesitated at the door. "Alex, maybe listen to what she has to say. You might be surprised."

"I don't like surprises."

"I know. That's the problem."

He left before I could respond. I tried to focus on the documents, but my attention kept drifting to the clock. Eight-fifty. Eight-fifty-three. Eight-fifty-seven.

At exactly nine, my secretary buzzed. "Miss Chen is here."

"Send her in."

She entered wearing different clothes than yesterday, dark jeans, a green sweater that actually fit properly, minimal makeup. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and she carried a leather notebook instead of that battered messenger bag. She looked younger somehow, less polished but more real.

"Mr. Steele," she said, taking the seat across from my desk without being invited. "Thank you for meeting with me."

"You have five minutes. Marcus said you want to add terms to the contract."

"One term. One paragraph." She opened her notebook, reading from handwritten notes. "I want quarterly donations of fifty thousand dollars to the Riverside Community Center art program, in my mother's name, for the duration of our arrangement. Two hundred thousand total."

I leaned back in my chair. "You want me to pay you seven hundred thousand instead of five hundred thousand."

"No. I want you to donate two hundred thousand to a program that helps underprivileged kids learn art. The money doesn't come to me. It goes directly to the center." She met my eyes steadily. "That's my price for doing this."

"Why?"

"Because my mother gave fifteen years to that program and died unable to afford her own medical care. Because Henry Steele told me last night that he funded it and admired her work. Because if I'm going to sell six months of my life, I want something good to come from it besides my own bank account."

I studied her carefully. This was unexpected. Most people in her position would ask for more money, better terms, luxury perks. She was asking for charity that didn't benefit her at all.

"Henry called you," I said. It wasn't a question.

"He did. He also told me he knows this engagement is fake and that he's using me to teach you some kind of lesson about being human." She closed her notebook. "So now we're all using each other. Might as well get something productive out of it."

"And if I say no?"

"Then I walk away, you scramble to find another solution before your grandfather's lunch deadline, and those kids lose funding they desperately need." She tilted her head. "But you won't say no. Because two hundred thousand is nothing to you, and saying yes makes you look philanthropic. Good publicity for the merger."

She was right, which irritated me more than it should have.

"You met with Sophia this morning," I said, changing tactics. "What did she want?"

Emma blinked at the shift. "How did you know about that?"

"Sophia texted you last night at eleven-forty-seven. She uses Café Luminosa for her interrogations because it's public enough that people stay civil but quiet enough for private conversations." I pulled up the background check Marcus had updated overnight. "She wanted to determine if you're a threat to me or the family business."

"She wanted to make sure I wasn't a gold-digger who'd take your money and humiliate you publicly." Emma's expression hardened. "I told her I don't want your money, I want to pay off my mother's medical debt and open a gallery. She asked if I found you attractive. I said I hadn't noticed because you threatened to sue me thirty seconds after we met."

Despite myself, I almost smiled. "What did she say to that?"

"That you've needed someone to call you on your bullshit for three years, and if this arrangement helps you remember you're human, she'll support it." Emma paused. "Your sister cares about you. More than you probably realize."

"Sophia is sentimental. It's her weakness."

"Or maybe it's your strength and you're too afraid to admit it." She stood up. "I'll take the deal with my addition. Two hundred thousand to Riverside over six months, quarterly donations, in Sarah Chen's name. Everything else stays the same. Do we have an agreement?"

I should have said no. Should have reminded her that I don't negotiate, that this was my contract and my terms. But something about the way she stood there, refusing to back down despite having no leverage except her willingness to walk away, made me reconsider.

She wasn't doing this for herself. That changed the equation.

"Fine. Marcus will update the contract with the donation clause." I pulled out my phone, texting my grandfather. "We're announcing the engagement tonight at his birthday party. Can you be convincing on short notice?"

"Can you?"

"I'm always convincing. It's called being a good liar."

"No, it's called being lonely and pretending you chose it." She picked up her notebook. "I'll be convincing because I actually care about people. You'll be convincing because you've practiced not feeling anything for so long it's become second nature."

The words hit harder than I expected. I stood, buttoning my jacket. "We leave at seven. Marcus will send you the address and a stylist to help you prepare. Wear something expensive. These people notice details."

"I'll wear something appropriate. There's a difference." She walked to the door, then turned back. "One more thing. When we're in public, you can call me Emma. When we're alone, it's Miss Chen. I'm selling you six months of public affection, not private familiarity."

"That's not in the contract."

"Consider it a verbal amendment. Unless you want me to start calling you Alexander in bed when you're having nightmares about your parents' plane crash."

My entire body went cold. "How do you know about that?"

"Sophia told me. She's worried about you. She said you haven't slept well since Victoria left and the nightmares are getting worse." Emma's expression softened slightly. "I'm not your enemy, Mr. Steele. I'm not even really your fiancée. I'm just someone helping you solve a problem. But that doesn't mean I'll let you treat me like I'm less than human."

She left before I could respond.

I sat down heavily, my hands shaking with anger or maybe something else. Nobody talked to me like that. Nobody challenged me in my own office, in my own building, in my own carefully controlled world.

Marcus appeared in the doorway. "She signed the updated contract downstairs. Donations start next week." He paused. "You okay?"

"She's going to be a problem."

"Good. You need problems. Real ones, not spreadsheet ones." He tossed me a small box. "Your mother's engagement ring. Your grandfather sent it over this morning. He said you'd know what to do with it."

I opened the box. The diamond caught the light, throwing rainbows across my desk. Mom had worn this ring for twenty years, until the day the plane went down. It was the only piece of her jewelry that survived the crash intact.

"I can't give her this," I said. "It's real. This whole thing is fake."

"Then get a fake ring. But your grandfather expects to see his daughter-in-law's ring on Emma's finger tonight, and you know how he gets about family tradition." Marcus headed for the door. "Seven hours until the party. Better figure out how to act like you're in love."

"I don't know how to do that anymore."

"Then learn. Or this whole thing falls apart before it starts."

He closed the door, leaving me alone with my mother's ring and the uncomfortable realization that Emma Chen had seen through me in less than twenty-four hours.

Everyone else saw the successful CEO, the brilliant businessman, the untouchable billionaire.

She saw a lonely man playing pretend.

I picked up my phone and called the jeweler. "I need a replica made. Exact specifications. I need it in six hours."

"Mr. Steele, that's impossible….."

"Nothing's impossible with enough money. Get it done."

I hung up and stared at the real ring, my mother's ring, the symbol of a love that had ended in fire and twisted metal.

Emma was wrong about one thing.

I hadn't forgotten how to feel.

I'd just learned that feeling anything was too dangerous to risk.

Tonight, I'd put a fake ring on her finger and introduce her to my family as the woman I loved.