CONTRACT
1508 Words
MAXWELL'S POV
I watched her fumble with the knot of that hideous apron. Her fingers were trembling, likely a mix of adrenaline and the shock of holding a check worth more than her annual income.
When the fabric finally fell away, it revealed a faded gray t-shirt that had seen better days and a black skirt that was clearly part of a uniform.
She looked small standing in the middle of my living room. She looked out of place, like a wild bird trapped in a glass cage.
And that was exactly why she was perfect.
My grandfather, the great Edward Harrington, wanted me to marry Isabella Vance.
Isabella was polished, sophisticated, and had been groomed since birth to be a CEO’s wife. She knew which fork to use for salad, she knew how to smile without showing her teeth, and she knew exactly how to stab you in the back without leaving a fingerprint.
If I married Isabella, my life would become a series of charity galas and boardroom power plays until I died of boredom or stress.
But Andrea Rostova?
Andrea was a mess. She had wild brown hair that was escaping her ponytail. She had paint stains on her cuticles. She had just spilled champagne on me and then had the audacity to ask if she could pay it off in installments.
Edward was going to hate her and it was going to be glorious.
"You can put that on the chair," I said, gesturing to the apron she was still clutching like a security blanket.
She hesitated, looking at the white Italian leather sofa. "I don't want to get it dirty. It... it smells like the kitchen."
"I can buy a new sofa, Andrea. Put it down and sit."
She placed the apron on the edge of a glass table instead and sat gingerly on the armrest of the chair, as if she were ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
I walked over to the wall-mounted intercom and pressed the button for my personal assistant.
"Leo, get up here. Bring the standard NDA and the marriage contract draft. The one we prepared for the 'Emergency Contingency'."
"Sir?" Leo’s voice crackled through the speaker, sounding confused. "The Emergency Contingency? But that draft is blank. We don't have a name…."
"I have a name now," I interrupted. "Just bring it. And a pen."
I released the button and turned back to Andrea. She was watching me with wide, wary eyes. The check was now folded into a tiny square, hidden in her hand.
"While we wait for the paperwork, we need to establish some ground rules," I said, leaning back against the wet bar. My shirt was still damp and sticky against my chest, irritating my skin, but I ignored it. I needed to maintain control of this situation.
"If you are going to play the part of my fiancée, you need to understand what you are signing up for. This isn't a fairy tale. It is a business transaction."
Andrea nodded slowly. "I understand. It's a job."
"It is a twenty-four-hour job," I corrected her. "Rule number one: Public Perception is everything. When we are outside this penthouse, you adore me. You hang on my every word. You look at me like I am the only man on earth. If a paparazzi snaps a photo of us and you look bored or distant, you are in breach of contract. Do you understand?"
"I can act," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "I'm an artist. I observe people. I know how people in love look."
"Good," I said. "Rule number two: No questions about my business. You are here to be a distraction, not a partner. What happens at Harrington Enterprises stays at Harrington Enterprises. You do not talk to the press. You do not talk to my competitors. You do not talk to anyone about me without my explicit permission."
"I have no interest in your business," she replied. "I just want to finish my degree."
"Rule number three," I continued, my voice dropping lower. This was the most important one. "There will be no emotional attachments. You do not fall in love with me. I certainly will not fall in love with you. We are using each other. I am using you to secure my company, and you are using me to pay your debts. It is clean and simple. Let's keep it that way."
For the first time, a flash of amusement crossed her face. "Don't worry, Mr. Harrington. You aren't exactly my type."
I raised an eyebrow because I wasn't used to women telling me I wasn't their type.
Usually, they were throwing themselves at me before I even learned their names. "Is that so? And what is your type? Broken poets? Starving artists?"
"Someone kind," she said simply.
The word hung in the air between us, heavy and awkward.
Kind, It was such a weak, useless word in my world. Kindness got you eaten alive in the boardroom. Kindness was why my father lost millions before he died. I didn't have time for kindness.
"Kindness doesn't pay for surgery," I reminded her coldly.
She flinched, and I instantly felt a twinge of annoyance with myself. I didn't need to be cruel. I just needed to be clear.
"I need to make a phone call," I said, turning away from her penetrating gaze.
"My grandfather needs to know I have found someone. If I don't tell him tonight, he will announce my engagement to Isabella in the morning press."
I pulled my cell phone from my pocket. It was already late, but I knew Edward would be awake. The old man never slept. He fueled himself on scotch and control.
I dialed the number and as usual, he picked up on the second ring.
"Maxwell," Edward’s voice was like gravel. "I assume you are calling to apologize for the scene at the gala. I heard a waitress assaulted you with a bottle. Incompetent staff reflects poorly on the brand."
I glanced at Andrea. She was staring out the window at the city lights, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked lonely.
"Actually, Grandfather, I am calling to give you some news," I said, keeping my voice smooth. "You can cancel the announcement with the Vance family. I won't be marrying Isabella."
"Excuse me?" Edward’s tone sharpened. "We had an agreement. You need a wife to secure the board's confidence."
"I have a wife," I lied. Well, a future wife. "Or rather, a fiancée. I met her again tonight"
"Tonight?" Edward scoffed. "Maxwell, stop playing games. Who is she? Which family is she from? The Astors? The Rockefellers?"
"She is a Rostova," I said. It sounded vaguely European, maybe aristocratic if you didn't look too closely. "And she is... unique."
"Bring her to breakfast," Edward commanded. "Tomorrow morning. Seven sharp. If she is not suitable, the engagement to Isabella stands."
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone and let out a long breath. The clock on the wall read 11:45 PM. I had less than eight hours to turn a waitress into a woman who could survive breakfast with a shark.
The elevator chimed, breaking the silence.
Leo stepped out, looking disheveled. His tie was crooked, and he was clutching a leather portfolio like a shield. Leo was the only person I trusted because he was more afraid of me than he was of anyone else. He stopped when he saw Andrea curled up in the chair.
"Sir?" Leo asked, adjusting his glasses. "Is this...?"
"This is the future Mrs. Harrington," I said dryly. "Give her the pen."
Leo blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. He looked from me to Andrea, who had stood up as he entered. She looked terrified again.
"But sir," Leo whispered, hurrying over to me. "She's... I mean... look at her. Edward is going to eat her alive."
"That is a risk I am willing to take," I said. "Give her the papers, Leo."
Leo sighed and walked over to the coffee table. He spread out the thick document. It was twenty pages of dense legal jargon that essentially signed her life away for the next three months.
"Miss," Leo said gently, clicking a heavy silver pen. "Please read the highlighted sections carefully. This is a binding legal agreement."
Andrea walked to the table. She didn't look at Leo. She looked at me. Her eyes were dark, intelligent, and filled with a desperation I recognized. It was the same look I saw in the mirror every morning, the look of someone willing to do anything to survive.
"One last thing, Andrea," I said, my hand resting on the back of the sofa. "Once you sign that, there is no going back. You belong to the Harrington brand until I release you. Are you sure you can handle that?"
She took the pen from Leo. Her hand wasn't shaking anymore.
"I can handle anything for fifty thousand dollars," she said.
- Writer
