Sir, Our Contract Is Over

Chapter 3

15 days left until the contract expired.

Ever since Angela returned from overseas, Franklin had been coming home later and later.

I didn't ask questions. I didn't wait up for him anymore either.

When he walked through the door, the only light in the living room came from a single floor lamp. That was Clause 9 of the contract. Party B must keep the residence clean and the lighting in working order.

One night at 2 a.m., he pushed open the front door and froze when he saw me sitting at the dining table going over the accounts.

"Still up this late?"

"Settling accounts."

I closed the ledger. "Once the contract expires, I'm moving out. I need to tally up everything you've given me over the years, Mr. Baxter."

He stood there, his face darkening little by little. "Camille, do you really have to do this?"

"Do what?"

"Throw a fit, yell, lose your temper with me, whatever," he said, his voice low. "Just don't talk to me like we're... like we only signed a contract."

I looked up at him.

"Mr. Baxter, that's exactly what we did. We only signed a contract. You told me that yourself 3 years ago."

His face went pale.

The next day, Angela posted a set of photos in a classmates' group chat with hundreds of members.

They were work photos of me from 3 years ago, when I'd worked at a companionship agency, plus a photo of the company's service price list.

Social companionship, $800 an hour. Wedding attendance, $1,200 per event.

Angela: Mrs. Baxter's price list. Feel free to take a look.

The group chat blew up.

Someone screenshotted it and sent it to the chat group at Franklin's company, and someone else forwarded it to the Baxter family group chat.

That afternoon, Franklin's mother, Eleanor, called me. The first thing out of her mouth was, "You! You've humiliated our entire family! I told Franklin long ago, someone you pay to be around can never have real feelings for you!"

I held the phone and said nothing in my defense.

The next day, I went to Franklin's office to drop off a property document that needed his signature, another obligation written into the contract.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, the two receptionists at the front desk saw me and exchanged a look.

When I walked through the open office area, stifled laughter rose behind me.

"$800 an hour, so how much does she charge for dropping off a document?"

"Keep your voice down. She's the boss's wife now."

"What boss's wife? She's just hired help. She'll be gone when the contract's up."

I set the document on Franklin's desk. He was in a meeting and glanced at me through the glass wall.

I nodded at him and turned to leave.

It turned out that when people treated you like a product, you didn't need a price tag. One look, and they already knew your price.

That night, Franklin came home with his phone in his hand, his face grim.

"Don't take those photos to heart. Angela didn't mean it..."

"You don't need to explain anything to me, Mr. Baxter."

I said, "Those photos are real. The price list is real too. I did work in that industry, and you did pay to hire me."

"I just wanted to ask one thing." I looked at him. "The transplant center notified me that there's a matching donor kidney for my dad. The surgery costs $280,000 and is scheduled for next Wednesday. Can you transfer last month's payment under the contract to me early?"

He was silent for a moment.

"Next Wednesday..." he said. "That's the 1-year anniversary of Angela's return. She's having a party on a cruise ship, and I promised to keep her company."

"I'm not asking where you'll be that day," I said. "I'm asking about the money."

He looked at me, his expression complicated, and finally said, "Come with me to the cruise party that day. Play the part one last time. When it's over, I'll transfer every cent to you."

I stood there and didn't say anything for a long time.

So in the end, even my dad's life came down to a performance.

That night, I called Zoe, the boss of the companionship agency I used to work for.

After hearing me out, Zoe cursed on the other end. "Camille, you hang tight. I'll scrape the money together for you."

"You don't have to do that, Zoe," I said. "I just wanted to ask you about the old rules at our company. If a client wants to renew a contract, both parties have to agree, right?"

"Of course," she said. "Why? Does he want to renew?"

"He won't," I said. "I just wanted to make sure that once the contract expires, I can leave."