Signed, Sealed, Seduced?

By The Time

TIFFANY

By the time I returned to Bennett Interiors, I had convinced myself that the entire conversation with Richard Ashford had been some bizarre dream, a very expensive, incredibly absurd dream.

Unfortunately, the black business card sitting inside my purse was proof that it had actually happened. I walked through the glass doors of the office, trying to look normal, Molly immediately looked up from her desk.

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh no.”

I stopped. “What?”

“You have that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when something terrible happened but you’re pretending it didn’t.”

I forced a smile. “Nothing terrible happened.”

Molly slowly stood. “Did you get the investment?”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

Her face lit up. “Oh my God!”

She hurried around her desk. “You’re serious?”

I nodded. “They’re going to clear our debts.”

She grabbed my arms. “Tiffany!”

“And keep all our employees.”

Her mouth dropped open. “That’s amazing.”

“They’re also offering us exclusive design contracts for their hotels for the next two years.”

Molly stared at me, and for a few seconds, neither of us spoke, then she threw her arms around me.

“We’re saved!”

I hugged her back, but my smile felt weak. Saved… that was what I wanted, that was what I had spent months praying for, so why did the word suddenly feel so complicated?

Molly pulled away. “Okay, there is definitely a but.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You have the face again.”

I laughed nervously. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Tiffany.”

I looked toward my office. “I need to check something.”

She followed me with her eyes. “You’re hiding something.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’ll tell you later.”

She folded her arms. “That’s what people say right before they reveal they’re secretly married.”

I froze, for one horrifying second, the irony almost made me laugh.

“Definitely not.”

“Fine.” She pointed at me. “But I’m watching you.”

I hurried into my office before she could ask another question, the moment the door closed, I leaned against it and exhaled. I couldn’t tell her, at least not yet. How could I possibly say, Molly, we got the deal, but apparently I have to marry the Ashford heir for two years to get it?

She would either think I had lost my mind or immediately start planning my wedding, and neither option sounded appealing. I walked toward my desk and dropped my purse onto the chair, the black business card peeked out, so I pulled it free.

Damian Ashford.

I stared at the name, I still didn’t understand why Richard thought his grandson would agree to this, or why he thought I would. Marriage was supposed to be about love, trust, and commitment, not debt cancellation and business contracts. I placed the card facedown on my desk.

“No.” I whispered it to myself. “No.”

I had already made my decision, I wasn’t marrying Damian Ashford, even if it meant losing Bennett Interiors. The thought had barely left my mind when someone knocked on my door.

“Come in.”

One of our junior designers stepped inside, and her face was pale. “Miss Bennett?”

I immediately straightened. “What happened?”

She swallowed. “There’s a problem downstairs.”

“What kind of problem?”

“The employees are asking for you.”

My stomach tightened. “Why?”

“I think you should come see.”

I followed her downstairs. The atmosphere had changed completely, employees stood in small groups around the main design floor, nobody was working, nobody was talking loudly. The fear I had noticed that morning was back, only this time, it was worse. I spotted our finance manager near the reception desk.

“What’s happening?”

He looked uncomfortable. “We received another notice from the bank.”

My heart sank. “Another one?”

He handed me a document, I scanned the first page, then the second. My hands began to shake.

“This can’t be right.”

“It is.” He replied

I looked up. “They’ve frozen the company account?”

He nodded. “For seventy two hours.”

My blood ran cold. “Why?”

“The missed repayment triggered a clause in the loan agreement.”

I stared at the document. “How much time do we have?”

He hesitated. “Seventy two hours to provide the full outstanding amount.”

“And if we don’t?”

He looked away.

I already knew the answer.

“They can begin liquidation proceedings.” He said

The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet.

“No.”

My voice barely came out. One of the employees started crying quietly, and another looked at me.

“Miss Bennett, what does this mean for us?”

I couldn’t answer, because for the first time, I didn’t know how to reassure them. I’d spent months telling everyone we would survive, I had promised salaries would be paid, I had promised projects would continue, I had promised Bennett Interiors wasn’t going anywhere.

But standing there with the bank’s notice in my hand, I realized I might have been lying, not intentionally, but I had been lying to myself. This wasn’t a temporary setback anymore, the company was dying, and I couldn’t save it with determination alone.

I walked back into my office and closed the door. My breathing became uneven, I sat behind my desk and stared at the numbers on the document. Seventy two hours, three days, that was all we had. I reached for my phone, my father’s number was at the top of my contacts, so I called him.

He answered almost immediately. “Tiffany?”

“Dad.” My voice cracked. “I just found out about the account.”

Silence.

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to panic.”

“I’m already panicking.”

He sighed. “I was trying to find another solution.”

“Is there one?”

There was silence, and that silence answered everything. I closed my eyes.

“What are we going to do?” I asked

“I don’t know.” He replied

The words hurt more than I expected. My father always knew what to do, even when things were bad, even when he had made mistakes. He always found a way forward, but now he sounded defeated, and suddenly I understood.

This wasn’t only my dream anymore, it was his life’s work too, it was the employees who had stayed when the company couldn’t afford bonuses, the designers who believed in our work, the clients who had trusted us, the projects I had poured my heart into.

Bennett Interiors wasn’t just a company, it was everything my father had built, everything I had worked for, everything I wanted to carry into the future, I looked at the black business card sitting on my desk.

Damian Ashford, two years of marriage then divorce. I picked up the card, as my fingers traced the edge. Could I really do it? Could I marry a man I didn’t know? Could I live with him for two years? Could I separate business from feelings?