A deal with the bad boy

The first time I met Alexander Blackwood, he offered me a deal that would change my life. The second time, he kissed me. And the third time, I discovered that the most dangerous mistake a girl could make was believing a bad boy could never break her heart. But I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Elena Carter, and until that rainy Friday night, my biggest problem had been figuring out how to pay my bills without selling the last piece of jewelry my mother had left me. Then my landlord called. “Miss Carter, you have until Monday to pay the remaining rent,” he announced over the phone. “After that, your belongings will be on the street.” I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers against my forehead. “Please, Mr. Harris. Just give me one more week. I'm trying to get the money together.” “You said that last week.” “I know, but—” “No more excuses.” The call ended. I stared at my phone, fighting the tears threatening to spill. My bank account contained exactly thirty-two dollars, my refrigerator was practically empty, and my job at the boutique paid barely enough to keep me alive. One more week. That was all I needed. Unfortunately, the universe had never been particularly generous to me. By eight that evening, I was standing outside the most expensive hotel in the city, wearing a borrowed black dress and shoes that pinched my toes. My best friend, Sophie, had insisted that I attend the charity gala with her. “Rich people throw money around at these things,” she'd said. “Maybe you'll find someone willing to donate to your unfortunate existence.” I'd laughed then. I wasn't laughing anymore. Inside, crystal chandeliers glittered above polished marble floors. Women draped in designer gowns moved between tables while men in expensive suits discussed business deals worth more money than I would ever see in my lifetime. I didn't belong there. I knew it. The security guard knew it. Even the woman at the entrance had looked at my dress as though she suspected I'd stolen it. Still, I lifted my chin and walked inside. I was going to enjoy the free food if nothing else. “Don't embarrass me,” Sophie whispered beside me. I glanced at her. “I'm not the one wearing a dress that probably costs more than my rent.” She grinned. “Exactly. So behave.” Before I could respond, a sudden murmur swept through the ballroom. Heads turned toward the entrance. Women straightened their dresses. Men adjusted their ties. Conversations faded into whispers. “Is that him?” someone asked. “Alexander Blackwood.” The name traveled through the room like a warning. I turned out of curiosity. And immediately understood the fuss. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a black suit that fitted him as though it had been made specifically to emphasize every dangerous inch of him. His dark hair was neatly styled, but a few strands fell carelessly over his forehead. His face was unfairly handsome. Sharp jaw. Straight nose. A mouth that looked as though smiling was something he charged people for. But it was his eyes that caught my attention. Cold, dark, and utterly indifferent. He walked through the ballroom as if he owned every person and every breath in it. Perhaps he did. “That's Alexander Blackwood,” Sophie murmured. “Twenty-nine, billionaire, and apparently allergic to commitment.” “Sounds exhausting.” “He's also rumored to have destroyed three companies belonging to men who crossed him.” “Charming.” “And his last girlfriend reportedly left the country.” I looked at her. “Why?” “Because she said dating him was like sleeping beside a loaded gun.” I looked back at Alexander. He was speaking to an older man, his expression unreadable. Whatever the man said made him smile briefly. It wasn't a warm smile. It was the sort of smile that made you wonder whether you were witnessing a beautiful moment or the beginning of someone's funeral. Then his gaze shifted. And landed directly on me. My breath caught. For one strange second, the noise around us seemed to disappear. His eyes moved over my face, lingering long enough to make me feel as though he could see every embarrassing detail of my life. Then his expression hardened. He looked away. I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. “Don't tell me you're already interested,” Sophie teased. “I'm interested in the dessert table.” “Of course you are.” She disappeared into the crowd before I could stop her, leaving me alone beside a table of champagne glasses. I reached for a glass. A waiter suddenly brushed past me. Someone bumped my elbow, and the champagne spilled down the front of my borrowed dress. “Oh, no!” I stared at the spreading stain in horror. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. I grabbed a napkin and hurried toward the nearest corridor, hoping to find a restroom before anyone noticed. Unfortunately, the corridor was not empty. A man stood near a tall window, speaking quietly into his phone. Alexander Blackwood. I froze. He glanced at me, then at the champagne dripping from my dress. “Bad night?” he asked. His voice was deeper than I'd expected. “Wonderful night,” I replied tightly. “I'm just adding a little decoration to my dress.” His gaze returned to my face. For a moment, I thought I saw amusement in his eyes. “You're the girl who was staring at me.” Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I wasn't staring.” “No?” “No. I was looking at the entrance.” “Interesting. I was standing in front of it.” I hated him immediately. Not because he was handsome. Not because he was rich. But because he looked far too pleased with himself. “Congratulations on your excellent eyesight,” I said, attempting to walk past him. “What's your name?” “Why?” “Because I asked.” “And I didn't answer.” His eyebrows rose slightly. People probably didn't speak to him that way often. Good. Let him suffer. I continued down the corridor, but his next words stopped me. “How much do you need?” I turned slowly. “What?” He slipped his phone into his pocket. “Money. You look like someone who's having financial difficulties.” My embarrassment transformed into anger. “You don't know anything about me.” “I know you're wearing borrowed shoes, your dress doesn't fit properly, and you've been checking your phone every five minutes.” My stomach tightened. He continued calmly. “You also looked ready to cry when you received that call.” I wanted the marble floor to swallow me. “Congratulations,” I snapped. “You've discovered that poor people exist. Would you like a medal?” Instead of getting angry, he smiled. This time, it was almost genuine. “You have a mouth on you.” “And you have a problem with minding your business.” “Usually.” He stepped closer, and I caught the subtle scent of his cologne—something dark, expensive, and annoyingly attractive. “I'm looking for someone,” he said. “Try a dating app.” “I need a woman to pretend to be my girlfriend.” I blinked. Once. Twice. Then I laughed. I couldn't help it. “You're serious?” “Entirely.” “You're Alexander Blackwood. You could have half the women in that ballroom begging for the privilege.” “That's precisely the problem.” His smile disappeared. “My family is pressuring me to announce an engagement. My grandfather has made it clear that if I don't settle down soon, he'll reconsider the terms of his succession plan.” I stared at him. “And you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?” “For three months.” I laughed again, but his expression didn't change. “This is ridiculous.” “Perhaps. But I'll pay you.” The laughter died in my throat. I hated that my attention sharpened at those words. “How much?” “Enough to solve your immediate problems.” My heart began beating faster. He named a figure. I stared at him, certain I'd misunderstood. That amount could pay my rent for months. It could clear my debts, replace the shoes I was wearing, and give me enough breathing room to figure out my future. It could save me. And that was exactly what frightened me. “Why me?” I asked. “Because you don't seem interested in impressing me.” “That's because I'm not.” “Even better.” He reached into his jacket and removed a black business card. “Think about it. You'll attend events with me, accompany me when necessary, and convince my family that our relationship is real. In return, I'll pay you every month.” I took the card but didn't look at it. “And what happens if I refuse?” “Nothing. You'll walk away, and we'll never speak again.” For some reason, I didn't believe him. Alexander Blackwood didn't look like a man who was accustomed to hearing no. “What are the rules?” I asked. His gaze sharpened, as though he'd expected me to ask that question. “No dating other men during the arrangement. No discussing the deal with anyone. No disappearing without informing me.” “That sounds controlling.” “It's a business agreement, Elena. Not a romance.” I stiffened. “How do you know my name?” His eyes flicked toward the small identification tag still clipped to my dress. I followed his gaze and wanted to scream. Of course. He extended his hand. “Three months. A generous payment. Clear boundaries.” I looked at his hand. Then at the card. I thought of my landlord's threat. The overdue bills. The empty refrigerator. The fact that I'd been pretending everything was fine for so long that I'd almost forgotten what fine felt like. This was a terrible idea. A dangerous idea. Possibly the worst idea I'd ever considered. But desperation has a way of making terrible ideas look like lifeboats. I placed my hand in his. “Three months,” I said. “And if you break your promises, the deal is over.” His fingers closed around mine. “Agreed.” Something flickered in his eyes—something I couldn't quite identify. Then he leaned closer. “One more thing, Elena.” I swallowed. “What?” His gaze dropped briefly to my lips before returning to my eyes. “Whatever happens between us, don't mistake this arrangement for love.” I pulled my hand free. “Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Blackwood. You're not my type.” His smile returned, slow and infuriating. “We'll see.” I should have walked away right then. I should have thrown his card into the nearest bin and returned to my miserable little life. Instead, I signed the contract two days later. By Monday morning, Alexander Blackwood had paid my rent, settled my outstanding bills, and sent a car to collect me for our first family dinner. I thought the hardest part would be pretending to love a man I barely knew. I was wrong. Because when I arrived at his mansion that evening, a beautiful blonde woman opened the door. She looked me up and down, then smiled without warmth. “So you're the girl Alexander bought.” My blood ran cold. Before I could respond, Alexander appeared behind her. His expression darkened. “Victoria,” he warned. She ignored him and leaned toward me. “Enjoy your little arrangement, sweetheart. You're not the first woman he's paid to stay by his side.” Then she whispered the words that shattered every illusion I had about the man I'd agreed to trust. “And you won't be the last.”