The Bill‍ionaire’​s Muse

Chapter 5: You have one chance

(Meghan’s POV)

“Please come join me in the car, Meghan, because my dad just moved the meeting forward by thirty minutes,” Adrian Vaughn said, his voice coming through the speaker of my phone with a sharp, frantic edge.

I stood by our apartment window, my fingers pinching the plastic casing of the phone as I watched the long, black Benz idling directly over a massive pothole on our street corner.

Sofia was sitting on the sofa behind me, her eyes tracking my rigid posture while she sipped her tea.

“The car is waiting, Adrian, but I’m not stepping inside until you confirm the payment,” I said, my tone completely calm as I grabbed my backpack from the kitchen table.

“The lawyer is in the back seat with the paperwork right now,” Adrian said, his breathing sounding shallow over the line. “Everything is ready, Meghan. The hundred thousand dollars will be sent right now, but I need your signature on the nondisclosure agreement before we cross the gates of the estate, or my dad will call the whole thing off.”

I cut the call without giving him a reassuring answer, shoving the phone into my front denim pocket.

“You are actually going through with this,” Sofia said, setting her mug down on the table with a soft rattle. “Meghan, he is a billionaire property developer. If his family realizes you are trying to trap him, they will completely blackball you from every design firm in the country.”

“They won’t realize anything,” I said, pulling the straps of my bag over my shoulders. “They need this lie just as much as we need that hundred-thousand-dollar wire transfer.”

“Just be careful,” Sofia murmured, her voice dropping into a tight line of worry as she looked at her laptop screen.

I hurried down the narrow, dark stairwell of our building and stepped out into the bright morning air.

The driver in the dark wool suit opened the door of the Benz the exact moment my boots hit the concrete sidewalk.

I climbed into the leather interior, and the smell of expensive polish hit my nose. Adrian was already sitting next to me with a thick stack of white papers resting on his knee.

A middle-aged man with gray hair and a sharp leather briefcase sat beside him, unscrewing a pen without looking up at my face.

“Sign the bottom of pages four, twelve, and twenty,” Adrian said, sliding the documents across the gap between our seats. His hand shook slightly as he adjusted his tie. “The certified bank details for your sister’s academic wire transfer are attached to the back page. The money will move into the university account the exact second you sign this.”

I picked up the pen, my fingers clamping tightly around the metal barrel to stabilize my hand.

I signed my name quickly, the ink bleeding slightly into the thick paper. “The contract states I have full creative control over the design of one of your dad’s hotels. If your legal team tries to alter that clause after the meeting, the entire deal is void.”

“The clause remains exactly as you wrote it,” Adrian said, his whiskey-colored eyes locking onto mine with an unblinking intensity. “But you have to survive the next thirty minutes first. My dad built this empire from nothing, and he can smell a performance from a mile away.”

“Good thing I’m a good actress,” I said, sliding the signed papers back to his side of the car.

The car turned through the massive iron gates of the Vaughn estate ten minutes later, rolling up a long driveway lined with tall cypress trees.

The driver led me through a stone side entrance into a massive hallway with vaulted ceilings and marble floors that reflected the bright daylight. A woman in a gray tailored suit met us at the base of the grand staircase, her expression entirely blank as she tapped her digital tablet.

“Mr. Harlan Vaughn is waiting in the study,” she said, nodding toward the heavy double doors at the end of the long corridor. “He prefers to speak with Ms. Cole alone for the initial introduction.”

Adrian stiffened beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine as he took a short step forward. “That wasn’t the arrangement, Marcia. I’m coming inside with her.”

“Your dad was very specific, Mr. Adrian,” the woman said, her voice remaining entirely flat. “Kindly wait here.”

I turned my head to look at Adrian, noticing the sudden tightness around his jawline and the way his knuckles clamped against his pockets.

“I can handle an old man,” I whispered to him, my voice carrying a sharp edge.

“He isn’t just an old man,” Adrian said, his voice dropping so low the coordinator couldn’t hear. “Don’t let him back you into a corner, Meghan.”

I didn’t answer him. I walked past the gray suit and pushed the heavy, dark wood doors open, stepping into a library lined with thousands of leather books that stretched all the way to the high ceiling.

A large fire crackled in the hearth, throwing orange shadows across a desk the size of a small car. Harlan Vaughn sat behind the desk, his shock of white hair contrasting sharply with his granite-colored skin.

“So,” Harlan said, his voice rough and deep. “You are the designer my son is suddenly introducing to the board.”

“I am Meghan Cole, sir,” I said, keeping my hands clasped tightly behind my back so he couldn’t see the way my fingers were locking together with tension.

“Adrian tells me you are brilliant,” Harlan said, leaning back in his leather chair as he let out a short, dry laugh. “He also said you are the absolute one. But he failed to mention that you were working as a temporary server for my hotel catering group. Which version of the story is the truth?”

“Both versions are completely true, Mr. Vaughn,” I said, holding his gaze even as my knees felt slightly weak against the floorboards. “I design when I have the opportunity, and I take serving shifts when I need to clear an immediate financial obligation.”

He turned back toward the study doors, sliding them open with a heavy click. “I want you to pitch me a design concept next Tuesday. If your designs are as brilliant as Adrian claims they are, you will lead the entire development team.”

I froze on the stone tiles, my mouth opening slightly. “You are giving me the project?”

“I am giving you a single chance to prove you belong in this family, Ms. Cole,” Harlan said, looking back over his shoulder. “If you are playing a game with my son, I will find out, and I will ruin your career before it even begins. But if you are genuine, you might be the only person capable of fixing him.”