BABY, JUST SAY YES!

Chapter 4

The hospital room had grown quieter after Marcus and Sophia finally left, though the air still carried the faint, lingering tension of their presence. Elena sat propped against the elevated bed, the thin blanket pulled high over her lap. The IV line in her hand itched. Her throat still felt raw. Every time she closed her eyes she saw turquoise water and the flash of Sophia’s red dress, followed by the image of Marcus swimming past her as if she were already gone.

Harold Croft remained in the visitor’s chair, cane resting against his knee, sharp eyes studying her with open curiosity and something warmer beneath it. Julian stood near the window, arms loosely crossed, gaze fixed on the city lights beyond the glass. He had not spoken much since the others departed. He simply stayed, a quiet, solid presence that somehow made the sterile room feel less cold.

Harold cleared his throat. “I still can’t quite believe it,” he said, shaking his head. “Three months I’ve wondered about the young woman who saved my life, and here she is. In a hospital bed, no less, after my own grandson pulled her out of a swimming pool.”

Elena managed a faint, tired smile. “I didn’t do anything extraordinary. Anyone would have helped.”

“No,” Harold said firmly. “They wouldn’t have. I collapsed near the fountain in Lincoln Park on a Saturday afternoon. Dozens of people around. Most of them pulled out their phones. A few stepped back like I might be contagious. You dropped to your knees without hesitation. Checked my pulse, started compressions, kept counting out loud even when a man tried to tell you that you were doing it wrong. You stayed until the paramedics took over. Then you simply walked away before anyone could ask your name.”

The memory returned in sharper detail now that he described it. The heat of the afternoon sun. The sudden weight of an elderly man crumpling onto the path. The automatic way her training from a long-ago first-aid course had taken over. She had not wanted thanks. She had not wanted attention. She had only wanted the man to keep breathing.

“I left because the paramedics had it under control,” Elena said quietly. “There was nothing more I could do.”

Harold’s expression softened. “You gave me more time. That’s not nothing. My doctors later said those minutes mattered. I’ve spent three months wishing I could thank you properly.” He glanced at Julian, then back at her. “And now fate has a sense of humor. You saved me. My grandson saved you. Seems only fair that the two of you should be properly introduced.”

Julian turned from the window at last. His face gave little away, but Elena noticed the slight tightening at the corner of his mouth, as if he already sensed where his grandfather’s thoughts were heading.

Harold’s eyes gleamed with sudden mischief. “In fact,” he continued, “I’ve been telling this one for months that he needs to settle down. Thirty years old last month and still no serious relationship. No wife. No plans for a family. I keep warning him that all the money in the world means nothing if he ends up alone in a big empty house.” He looked at Elena with open calculation that was only half playful. “Perhaps the universe is trying to tell us something. You need a proper thank-you. He needs a wife. Seems like a neat solution, doesn’t it?”

The words hung in the air.

Elena stared at him. For a moment she thought she had misheard. Then the full weight of the suggestion settled over her, and something inside her chest shifted—sharp, sudden, and unexpectedly clear.

Marriage.

The will.

Her mother’s company.

The clause that had hung over her like a blade for years: Elena Harrington would inherit controlling interest in Harrington Enterprises only upon legal marriage. Without a husband, the shares remained under the voting control of the board—and by extension, under the influence of her father and Diane. Sophia had already begun circling that power like a shark scenting blood. Marcus had been her solution. A convenient, socially acceptable husband who would unlock the inheritance while requiring as little emotional investment as possible.

That solution now lay in ruins at the bottom of an illuminated swimming pool.

Elena’s gaze moved slowly to Julian.

He stood very still near the window, the city lights casting faint silver edges along his profile. He did not laugh at his grandfather’s suggestion. He did not dismiss it. He simply listened, expression unreadable, as if he were weighing the words with the same careful attention he might give a business proposal.

Harold continued, clearly enjoying himself. “I’m only half joking, you understand. A man reaches a certain age and starts to see the value in stability. Julian has the company, the responsibility, the legacy. What he doesn’t have is someone who will tell him when he’s being an i***t and still stand beside him afterward.” He smiled at Elena. “You already proved you don’t panic in a crisis. That’s rarer than you think.”

Elena’s mind raced.

A contract. Temporary. One year. Long enough to satisfy the will, claim the company, and remove Diane and Sophia’s influence. Long enough to rebuild. She would not need love. She would not need promises of forever. She would need a legal signature and a man willing to stand in public as her husband for a defined period of time.

And Julian Croft—quiet, competent, already tied to her by two life-saving acts—was under clear pressure from the one person whose opinion seemed to matter to him.

She looked at him more carefully now. The expensive simplicity of his clothes. The controlled way he held himself. The absolute lack of performance in his silence. He did not fill the space with unnecessary words. He did not try to charm or impress. He simply existed in the room with a gravity that made everything else feel slightly less solid.

“Grandfather,” Julian said at last, voice low. “You’re embarrassing her.”

“I’m offering her a practical solution,” Harold corrected. “And I’m offering you one as well. You’ve spent the last decade building walls and empires. At some point the walls become a prison. I won’t be here forever to remind you of that.”

The quiet admission of mortality landed heavily. Julian’s jaw flexed once, the only visible reaction.

Elena spoke before the moment could slip away. “You’re serious.”

Harold turned back to her, eyes bright. “I’m an old man who nearly died on a park path and then watched his grandson dive into a pool after a woman he didn’t know. I’ve earned the right to be a little reckless with my suggestions. Besides…” He tilted his head. “You have the look of someone who just lost something important and is already calculating the next move. Am I wrong?”

She did not deny it.

The betrayal still burned. The image of Marcus swimming past her still made her stomach turn. But beneath the anger and the residual fear of the water, a colder, clearer part of her mind had begun to work. Harrington Enterprises was her mother’s legacy. It was the one thing Elena had left that truly belonged to her bloodline. She would not lose it because Sophia knew how to smile for cameras and Marcus knew how to swim toward the easier rescue.

She needed a husband.

Julian Croft, it seemed, needed to satisfy an aging grandfather who had already decided the matter in his own mind.

Elena met Julian’s eyes across the room. For the first time since he had pulled her from the water, she allowed herself to look at him not as a rescuer, but as a possible solution.

“I have conditions,” she said quietly.

Harold’s eyebrows rose with interest. Julian remained silent, but something in his posture shifted—attention sharpening, the air between them changing.

Elena continued, voice steady despite the residual rasp in her throat. “My mother’s will requires that I be legally married in order to claim controlling interest in Harrington Enterprises. My former fiancé was meant to serve that purpose. That arrangement is no longer possible.” She paused, choosing her next words with care. “A temporary marriage—one year, publicly acknowledged, privately agreed upon—would satisfy the legal requirement. After that, both parties would be free to dissolve the arrangement without contest.”

Harold let out a low, delighted chuckle. “Practical. I like her already.”

Julian still had not spoken. His gaze remained locked on Elena’s face, assessing, measuring, giving nothing away. She forced herself not to look down, not to soften the proposal with unnecessary explanation or apology. This was not a romantic overture. This was survival.

“You would be compensated,” she added. “Generously. And you would be free to live your life as you choose during the term of the agreement, provided the public appearance of the marriage remains intact.”

The silence stretched.

Harold looked between them with undisguised satisfaction, as if he had just watched two particularly interesting chess pieces move into position. “Well, grandson? You’ve been telling me for years that you don’t have time for the usual games of courtship. Here’s a woman who doesn’t require them. She needs a signature. You need me to stop asking when you’re going to settle down. Seems efficient.”

Julian’s eyes flicked to his grandfather, then returned to Elena. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet and measured.

“You’re proposing a contract marriage.”

“Yes.”

“One year.”

“One year.”

“And at the end of it, we walk away clean.”

“If that is what both parties want,” Elena said. “Yes.”

Something unreadable moved behind his eyes. He did not look offended. He did not look amused. He looked as though he were turning the idea over carefully, examining it from every angle the way he might examine a complex acquisition.

Harold leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with the direction of the conversation. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the details. I’m an old man and it’s late. But Elena—” He waited until she looked at him. “Whatever you decide, thank you. For the park. For keeping me here long enough to see my grandson look at a woman like she might actually matter.”

He rose with the help of his cane, patted Julian’s shoulder once, and made his way to the door. The soft click of it closing behind him left the room suddenly, heavily quiet.

Elena waited.

Julian remained near the window for a long moment, profile outlined in city light. Then he turned fully toward her and crossed the small distance to the side of the bed. He did not sit. He simply stood there, looking down at her with that same steady, unflinching attention he had given her on the terrace when she was still coughing up pool water.

“You’re serious,” he said.

“I don’t have the luxury of not being serious,” Elena answered. “My sister and my former fiancé will move quickly to consolidate influence at the company. The longer I wait, the harder it becomes to reclaim what is mine.”

Julian studied her face as if searching for cracks in the resolve. He found none.

“And you’re choosing me because I pulled you out of a pool.”

“I’m choosing you because you pulled me out when the man who was supposed to marry me did not,” Elena said. “And because your grandfather clearly wants this enough that you are already considering it. That makes you motivated. Motivation is useful.”

A faint, almost invisible shift touched the corner of his mouth—not quite a smile, but close. “Practical.”

“Yes.”

He was quiet for another long moment. Then he nodded once, slow and deliberate.

“I’ll consider it,” he said. “Properly. Not as a joke my grandfather made in a hospital room. If we do this, we do it cleanly. Terms in writing. Expectations clear. No misunderstandings.”

Elena felt something tight in her chest loosen by a fraction. It was not relief, not yet. It was the first fragile sense that the ground beneath her feet might be solidifying again.

“I can have a draft prepared by morning,” she said.

Julian’s gaze held hers. “Then I’ll have my own counsel review it. We’ll meet tomorrow and decide.”

He did not offer his hand. He did not soften the moment with unnecessary warmth. He simply gave her a clear, professional path forward when every other path had collapsed.

Elena nodded.

Julian lingered a second longer, as if there were something else he might say. Then he turned and walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the frame.

“For what it’s worth,” he said without looking back, “I wouldn’t have swam to the other woman.”

The door closed softly behind him.

Elena sat in the quiet hospital room, the monitors beeping steadily beside her, and felt the seed of the idea take root. It was desperate. It was transactional. It was the only viable option left.

And for the first time since Sophia had shown her that photograph, Elena felt the faint, dangerous stir of hope.