Chapter 3: Terms and Conditions
2384 Words
Eliza did not sleep.
She lay on her back staring at the ceiling, replaying the evening in high-definition detail — Nathaniel’s smile, the warmth of his laugh, the way his eyes had softened when she said she didn’t want to be controlled.
Temporary alliance.
The words echoed in her mind like a contract written in invisible ink.
She rolled onto her side and groaned into her pillow. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “He’s a billionaire. You met him once. Calm down.”
Her brain refused.
Because somehow, despite everything — the manipulation, the pressure, the absurdity — she felt something she hadn’t expected.
Seen.
Not as an asset.
Not as leverage.
Not as someone’s obedient daughter.
But as a person.
Which was terrifying.
And worse — promising.
Morning arrived far too quickly.
Eliza shuffled into the kitchen, hair in a messy bun, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame. Cassandra stood at the counter, scrolling through her phone with predatory satisfaction.
“Good morning, fiancée,” Cassandra chirped.
Eliza nearly choked on her coffee.
“Don’t call me that.”
Cassandra smirked. “Oh, please. I saw how cozy you were last night. You looked… pleased.”
Eliza poured herself cereal with unnecessary force. “I looked polite.”
“He’s charming, isn’t he?” Cassandra said. “Much better than we expected.”
We, Eliza thought darkly. You.
“Yes,” Eliza said evenly. “He’s… decent.”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Decent doesn’t build empires.”
“No,” Eliza replied. “But it does build trust.”
Daniel looked up from his paper. “Did you enjoy dinner, sweetheart?”
Eliza softened instantly. “Yes, Dad. I did.”
Which was true — just not in the way anyone here thought.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Unknown Number.
Her heart jumped.
She waited until Cassandra turned back to her phone, then slipped upstairs and answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” came Nathaniel’s voice. “It’s Nathaniel.”
Her stomach flipped.
“Oh. Hi.”
Pause.
“Was that… enthusiastic enough?” he asked lightly.
She smiled despite herself. “It was appropriately cautious.”
“Fair.”
He cleared his throat. “I wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”
She hesitated. “Honestly?”
“Preferably.”
“I feel like I just signed a contract without reading the fine print.”
He laughed softly. “Same.”
“Is this how hostage negotiations usually start?”
“Only the polite ones.”
She laughed — and felt the tension in her chest ease slightly.
“Listen,” he said. “I meant what I said last night. I want this to be… mutual. Fair. No pressure.”
“I appreciate that,” she said. “Truly.”
“Good.” Pause. “Can I ask you something?”
“Okay.”
“Do you want to meet — not as a fiancé situation — but just… coffee? Public place. Neutral territory. No Cassandra.”
Her heart stuttered.
“That sounds… dangerously normal.”
“I know. I like to live on the edge.”
She bit her lip, smiling. “Okay. Coffee.”
“Great.” He sounded genuinely pleased. “Today?”
“Sure.”
“Four o’clock?”
“Works.”
“I’ll text you the address.”
When the call ended, Eliza stared at her phone.
She was going on a coffee date.
With her almost-fiancé.
This was officially the weirdest timeline.
Nathaniel did not sleep either.
He lay in his penthouse apartment overlooking the Hudson River, staring at the ceiling and wondering when his life had turned into a badly written romance novel.
Arranged marriage.
Beautiful woman.
Unexpected chemistry.
Temporary alliance.
This is absurd, he thought.
And yet, he hadn’t felt this awake in months.
He replayed Eliza’s laugh in his head — unguarded, genuine — and felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.
Hope?
No.
Interest.
No.
Something more dangerous.
Possibility.
He rolled onto his side and groaned. “Get it together, Carmichael.”
Still, he reached for his phone and typed out the coffee invitation before he could overthink it.
The café Nathaniel chose was tucked into a quiet corner of SoHo — brick walls, soft lighting, mismatched wooden furniture, and the comforting scent of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon pastries. It felt nothing like the sterile, glass-and-steel spaces he usually inhabited.
Eliza arrived five minutes early and chose a small table near the window, her nerves buzzing beneath her calm exterior. She wore dark jeans, ankle boots, and a soft cream sweater — casual but put together, comfortable but confident.
She was halfway through mentally rehearsing her boundaries when the door opened.
And Nathaniel walked in.
No suit.
No tie.
Just dark jeans, a fitted navy sweater, and that same devastating face.
He scanned the room — then spotted her — and smiled.
Not the polite smile.
The real one.
Her stomach did something alarming.
He crossed the room easily and stopped in front of her. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she said.
They stared at each other for half a second too long.
Then both spoke at once.
“So—”
“You look—”
They stopped.
He laughed. “Go ahead.”
She smiled. “I was going to say — you look different.”
“Good different?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. I was going for ‘less intimidating billionaire.’”
She snorted. “Nailed it.”
They ordered coffee — black for him, vanilla latte for her — and sat across from each other, sunlight streaming through the window between them.
“So,” he said. “No family. No expectations. No engagement subtext.”
“Except the giant unspoken engagement subtext,” she replied.
“Right. Except that.”
They both smiled.
Silence fell — not awkward, just… uncertain.
“So,” Eliza said finally. “Why finance?”
He blinked. “That’s your question?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “Family business. I studied architecture originally. Wanted to design buildings.”
“Really?”
“Really. But when my father died, I had to step in. Kind of… rerouted.”
She tilted her head. “Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Do you like design?”
“I love it,” she said instantly. “It’s the only time my brain feels quiet.”
Something softened in his eyes. “That’s a good way to describe it.”
She hesitated, then asked, “Are you… happy?”
The question surprised him — and he didn’t bother hiding it.
“…Not particularly,” he said honestly. “I’m successful. Comfortable. Respected. But happy?” He shook his head slightly. “No.”
She studied him. “That’s… brave to admit.”
He smiled faintly. “It’s easier with someone who doesn’t want anything from me.”
Her chest tightened.
“I don’t want nothing,” she said softly. “I want respect.”
His eyes held hers. “You have it.”
The moment stretched.
Something shifted.
Then the barista called her name and broke the tension.
They both exhaled.
“So,” Nathaniel said after a sip of coffee. “Tell me about you.”
She hesitated. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything that isn’t on a résumé.”
She considered. “I grew up wanting to travel. I still want to. I collect mugs from different cities even though I haven’t been to half of them yet. I talk to myself when I design. And I make terrible lasagna.”
“Those are excellent facts,” he said solemnly. “Especially the lasagna.”
“What about you?”
“I talk to myself in elevators. I hate formal events. I drink too much espresso. And I haven’t taken a vacation in four years.”
She frowned. “That’s unhealthy.”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t trust anyone else to run things.”
“Control issues,” she said lightly.
“Pot. Kettle.”
She smiled.
Something about this felt… easy.
Which made it more dangerous.
“Can I ask you something blunt?” he said.
“Apparently that’s our thing.”
“Why haven’t you fought this harder?”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“You’re strong. Independent. Smart. Why not refuse outright?”
She stared into her latte. “Because my father is drowning in debt and my stepmother controls everything. And because sometimes survival looks like compromise.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” she agreed. “But it’s reality.”
He leaned forward slightly. “You shouldn’t have to trade your freedom for someone else’s mistakes.”
She looked up at him. “Then help me not do that.”
The words came out before she could stop them.
They hung between them.
His eyes darkened — not dangerously, but seriously.
“I intend to,” he said quietly.
Her heart stumbled.
They talked for over an hour.
About books.
About childhood memories.
About how they both hated mushrooms.
About how Eliza once dyed her hair purple in college and regretted it immediately.
About how Nathaniel once accidentally slept through a board meeting and blamed it on “international time zones,” even though he hadn’t traveled.
They laughed.
A lot.
Too much.
This was not how business arrangements were supposed to go.
“So,” Eliza said eventually, glancing at the time. “We should probably… address the elephant.”
He nodded. “The engagement elephant.”
“Yes.”
He leaned back. “Okay. Terms and conditions.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious.”
“Very.”
“Alright. Hit me.”
He took a breath. “Rule one: No pressure. No physical expectations. No emotional manipulation.”
“Good start.”
“Rule two: We present a united front publicly. Private honesty.”
“I like that.”
“Rule three: Either of us can walk away.”
She hesitated. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“What about your grandfather?”
“I’ll handle him.”
“What about Cassandra?”
His lips curved. “You handle her.”
She smiled slowly. “Deal.”
He paused. “Rule four: We actually get to know each other.”
Her heart skipped. “That’s… vague.”
“Intentionally.”
She studied him. “What’s the goal?”
He met her eyes. “Best-case scenario? We discover we actually want this.”
“And worst-case?”
“We buy you time. We stabilize your father’s situation. We exit clean.”
Her chest tightened. “You’d do that?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you deserve choices.”
The sincerity in his voice stole her breath.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Temporary alliance.”
“Temporary alliance,” he echoed.
They shook hands again.
Static.
Again.
They froze.
“…Okay,” she said. “That’s weird.”
“I swear I’m not doing that on purpose.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He laughed.
They dropped their hands reluctantly.
Outside the café, late afternoon sunlight bathed the street in gold.
“I had fun,” Eliza said.
“So did I,” Nathaniel replied. “Which is concerning.”
“Why?”
“Because this was supposed to feel… contractual.”
“Instead it felt… normal.”
“Yes.”
She hesitated. “Is that bad?”
“No,” he said honestly. “But it is… risky.”
Her pulse raced. “I like risk.”
His eyes darkened slightly. “Noted.”
They stood awkwardly again.
“So,” she said. “I’ll see you… when?”
“Soon,” he said. “Very soon.”
Her phone buzzed — Cassandra.
She grimaced. “I have to go.”
“Good luck.”
“Pray for me.”
He smiled. “Always.”
As she walked away, she felt his gaze on her back.
And something warm in her chest that had no business being there.
That evening, Cassandra cornered her in the living room.
“So,” she said, sipping wine. “How was your little meeting?”
“Fine,” Eliza said calmly.
“Did he impress you?”
“He was… human.”
Cassandra frowned. “That’s not what I asked.”
“He impressed me with his manners.”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “And?”
“And what?”
“And your future,” Cassandra snapped. “Did you discuss your future?”
“Yes,” Eliza said evenly. “Our future.”
Cassandra’s lips curved into a smile. “Good.”
Eliza tilted her head. “Good for who?”
“For all of us,” Cassandra replied smoothly. “You’ll be very comfortable, Eliza. Very taken care of.”
Eliza met her gaze. “I don’t need to be taken care of.”
Cassandra laughed lightly. “Everyone does.”
“Not everyone,” Eliza said quietly.
Cassandra’s smile faded.
Later that night, Eliza lay in bed staring at the ceiling again.
But this time, instead of panic, her chest buzzed with something else.
Anticipation.
She replayed Nathaniel’s voice, his smile, the way he’d said, You deserve choices.
No one had said that to her in years.
Her phone buzzed.
Nathaniel:
I forgot to say — your laugh is dangerous.
She smiled.
Eliza:
In a good way or a lawsuit way?
Nathaniel:
Undecided. But I’m willing to risk it.
Her heart flipped.
Eliza:
Temporary alliance, remember.
Nathaniel:
Of course. Strictly professional banter.
Eliza:
Very professional.
She set her phone down, cheeks warm.
This was not how she’d imagined her life going.
But somehow…
It felt like the beginning of something.
Meanwhile, in a different part of the city, Cassandra Harper stood in her home office, phone pressed to her ear.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “They met privately. He seems… invested.”
Pause.
“No, I don’t think she suspects anything yet.”
Her lips curved into a slow smile.
“Good. Proceed.”
She hung up, eyes glittering.
“Soon,” she murmured. “Very soon.”
- Writer
