contract Bonds

chapter 11

ANGELA

The clock ticked closer to seven, and with each passing minute, my nerves danced just beneath my skin. I smoothed my hands over the silk of my dress, inhaling deeply to calm my racing heart. It wasn’t working.

Dinner. At Jaden Davenport's penthouse.

My phone buzzed just as I was checking my reflection for the third time. It was a simple text with even simpler instructions:

The car is waiting.

A flutter of excitement zipped through me, chased by anxiety. I grabbed my clutch, giving myself one last look. My hair fell in loose waves, and the deep emerald dress hugged my body in all the right places. Professional yet elegant. Nothing too suggestive, but enough to remind him I wasn't easily forgotten.

Outside, the sleek black town car idled at the curb, the driver tipping his hat as he opened the door for me. I slid inside, and we pulled away smoothly, the city lights blurring by in a haze of reds and golds.

I tried to steady my breathing, but it was impossible. Memories clawed their way back—his hands on my skin, his mouth tracing fire along my neck, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only person in the room. It had been a month, yet I remembered every touch, every whispered word.

Get it together, Angela.

We pulled up to a towering glass building, its architecture sleek and modern against the night sky. The driver opened the door, and I stepped out, heart hammering. Jaden's penthouse was at the very top. Of course it was.

I pressed the bell, the chime echoing softly from behind the doors. A heartbeat later, they swung open, and there he stood—tall, impeccably dressed, eyes darker than I remembered.

"Angela," he greeted, voice smooth and inviting. His gaze swept over me, lingering a second too long. "You look... stunning."

"Thank you," I managed, my voice steady even though my knees were anything but.

He stepped aside, motioning for me to enter. I walked past him, catching a faint whiff of his cologne—sandalwood and something inherently masculine. The space was breathtaking. High ceilings, glass walls that overlooked the shimmering city, and décor that spoke of elegance and power. But it was the little details that got me—the soft candlelight casting a warm glow over the room, the table set for two near the window, draped in white linen, with soft petals scattered across the surface.

He led me toward it, his hand just grazing the small of my back. A shiver followed his touch, sparking memories I had spent weeks trying to bury.

I took my seat, my eyes sweeping the room. I could still remember the way his hands had gripped my hips against that wall, the roughness of his breath mingling with mine. I swallowed, forcing myself back to the present.

Jaden began setting the dishes, moving with fluid precision. He poured red wine into a crystal glass and set it in front of me. I stared at it, my nose scrunching involuntarily. "Actually... could I have water instead?" I asked, looking up at him.

His brows raised a fraction. "Everything alright?"

I nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just... water would be great."

He didn’t press, just poured me a glass of chilled water before taking his seat across from me. "You’ve been hard to find," he said, his voice smooth and low.

I took a sip of water, buying myself a moment. "I’ve been... busy."

"Busy," he repeated, leaning back in his chair. His eyes were searching, probing, but I held my ground.

We moved through the meal, the tension between us simmering beneath layers of polite conversation. He asked about my work at FireStitch, his eyes lighting up when I described the latest collection. I found myself easing into the evening, the nerves slipping away with each shared laugh, each stolen glance.

Then he reached for the mashed potatoes, scooping a generous serving onto my plate. "I heard these are a favorite of yours," he said casually.

I blinked in surprise. "You heard that?"

A smirk tugged at his lips. "I make it a point to learn things that matter."

My heart fluttered, and I scooped up a spoonful, bringing it to my lips as he watched. It was smooth and buttery, perfectly seasoned. I took another spoonful, savoring the taste.

But then, just as I set the spoon down, a wave of nausea crashed over me. It was sudden and fierce, my stomach twisting painfully.

"Excuse me," I whispered, bolting from the table before he could react.

I barely made it to the bathroom, shutting the door and collapsing against the sink throwing up everything that i ate that night including the beautiful dinner i just had. My breaths came in ragged pulls, and I clutched the counter, willing the feeling to pass.

"No, no, no," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut. "Not now. Not here."

I steadied myself, running cool water over my wrists and splashing some on my face. When I finally felt the nausea recede, I looked at my reflection. My cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with anxiety.

I couldn’t let him know. Not yet.

Drawing in a shaky breath, I straightened, composing myself before stepping back out. Jaden was standing near the hallway, concern etched into his features. "Angela, are you alright?"

I forced a smile, nodding as I approached him. "Yeah, just... too much butter, I guess."

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go. For now.

I only wished I could convince myself as easily.