Pregnant for her pretend husband.

Chapter two

The building rose thirty stories into the sky, all gleaming glass and chrome that caught the afternoon sun and threw it back like a challenge. Haley stood on the sidewalk, staring up, her stomach performing acrobatic routines that had nothing to do with hunger.

This was wrong. Everything about this screamed wrong.

Buildings like this didn’t hire girls like her. This was the kind of place where women wore designer clothes and men wore watches worth more than Richard’s house. The valets alone probably made more than she’d earn in a year.

But you don’t have a choice, the desperate voice in her head insisted. Three months. Remember?

She remembered. The bruises on her ribs wouldn’t let her forget.

Haley smoothed down her thrift store skirt, the nicest thing she owned, and pushed through the revolving door.

The lobby hit her like a physical blow. Marble floors polished to mirror brightness. Crystal chandeliers dripping light like diamond rain. Artwork on the walls that looked expensive and vaguely… sensual. A woman draped across a couch, silk falling away from bare shoulders. Two figures intertwined in an embrace that suggested more than romance.

Her footsteps echoed too loudly in the vast space. The few people present, all impeccably dressed, turned to look. A man in a tailored suit let his gaze slide over her like hands, and Haley resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself.

Waitressing, she reminded herself firmly. Martin said waitressing. Just show them the card.

The reception desk was a curved marvel of black marble, and behind it sat a woman who belonged in magazines. Perfect makeup, perfect hair, perfect everything. She looked up as Haley approached, and something knowing flickered in her dark eyes.

“Can I help you?” The words were polite, but there was amusement underneath.

“I, yes. I’m here about the waitressing position?” Haley pulled out Martin’s card with shaking fingers. “Martin Webb sent me?”

The receptionist’s smile widened. She took the card, examined it, then looked at Haley with an expression that made her skin crawl. It was the look someone gives a lamb beingled to slaughter, pity mixed with inevitability.

“Ah, yes. Mr. Webb’s referral.” She typed something into her computer. “First time?”

“Yes. I’ve never worked at a place this… nice.”

“I’m sure.” The receptionist pulled out a crystal glass and a decanter filled with amber liquid. She poured a generous amount, sliding it across the marble toward Haley. “House policy. All new girls drink this before their first appointment. Helps with the nerves.”

Appointment? That was an odd word for a waitressing shift.

Haley stared at the glass. The liquid inside caught the light, swirling like liquid gold. “I don’t usually drink…”

“It’s mandatory, darling.” The receptionist’s smile never wavered, but her tone left no room for argument. “Can’t have you too nervous to perform well.”

Perform. Another strange word choice.

But arguing meant losing the job. Losing the job meant no escape money. No escape money meant Ferdinand.

Haley picked up the glass and drank.

The liquid burned going down, bitter and harsh, nothing like the wine she’d tried once at a friend’s wedding. It settled in her stomach like fire, spreading warmth through her limbs. Within seconds, her skin began to tingle. Her heartbeat quickened. A strange, unfamiliar heat bloomed low in her belly.

“There we go.” The receptionist checked her tablet. “Room 203. Your client is waiting. Second floor, east wing. Don’t keep him waiting too long.”

Client.

The word finally registered through the pleasant buzzing in her head. Clients. Appointments. Mandatory drinks. Sensual artwork. Men looking at women like they were commodities.

Oh God.

This wasn’t a restaurant.

“I, I think there’s been a mistake, ” Haley started, but the receptionist had already turned away, answering a phone call in fluid French.

Turn around. Leave. Run.

But her feet wouldn’t cooperate. The heat from the drink was spreading, making her thoughts fuzzy at the edges. And beneath the panic, a cold, practical voice whispered: What are you going back to? Richard’s fists? Ferdinand’s ownership? At least here, you might make enough money to escape.

The elevator ride to the second floor felt like descending into hell, even though she was going up. The hallway was lined with doors, and through one slightly ajar, she glimpse a woman in lingerie, a man’s hands on her waist.

This is wrong. This is so wrong.

Room 203 was at the end of the hall. Haley’s hand hovered over the brass handle, trembling. That drink was making everything feel surreal, distant, like she was watching herself from outside her body. The heat was intensifying, making her skin feel too tight, her clothes too restrictive.

Just waitressing, she told herself, even though she knew it was a lie. Just see what he wants. You can always leave.

She turned the handle.

The room was elegant, all dark wood and leather, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. A man sat in a wingback chair by those windows, his back to her, shoulders tense beneath what looked like an expensive suit.

He didn’t turn.

“Hello?” Haley’s voice came out smaller than she intended. “I’m here for the… the waitressing position?”

The words sounded stupid even to her ears.

The man turned slowly, and Haley’s breath caught in her throat.

He was beautiful in the way dangerous things are beautiful, sharp cheekbones, a jaw that could cut glass, dark hair swept back from a face that belonged on movie screens. But it was his eyes that held her captive. Dark, intense, burning with something she couldn’t name.

Those eyes traveled over her, and she felt exposed despite being fully clothed.

“What did you say?” His voice was smooth, cultured, with an edge of barely controlled anger underneath.

“I’m here to serve, ” The words came out wrong, breathless, and she tried again. “I mean, I want to serve your clients well. I’m a hard worker, and I’ll do whatever it takes, ”

His expression shifted into something complicated, disgust, arousal, disdain, and interest all warring for dominance. He stood abruptly, and Haley realized how tall he was, how he seemed to fill the room.

“I don’t know what game Marcus is playing,” he said, more to himself than to her, “but I’m not, ”

He stopped mid sentence, swaying. One hand went to the armrest for support, but his knees buckled. He crashed back into the chair, face going pale, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Haley rushed forward without thinking, the strange heat in her body temporarily forgotten in the face of his obvious distress. “Should I call someone? An ambulance?”

“No.” His hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising strength. His skin was burning hot. “No time. The poison, I can feel it spreading.”

“Poison?” Terror spiked through her. “Oh my God, I’ll get help, I’ll, ”

“Listen to me.” His eyes locked onto hers, and she saw something raw in them, fear, desperation, and a plea that made her heart clench. “There’s only one antidote. One way to counteract Black Lotus toxin. Elevated endorphins. Physical exertion. Specific biochemical response.”

The words made no sense through her panic. “I don’t understand, ”

“I need you.” He pulled her closer, and she could feel him trembling. “I’m going to die in this room unless you help me. I have forty minutes, maybe less. I can already feel my heart rate becoming irregular.”

Haley’s mind raced. “But I don’t know anything about poisons or medicine, I’m just, ”

“I have a dying wish.” The words came out hoarse, desperate. “Please. I don’t want to die here. I don’t want to die at thirty two with so much left undone. My father is in the hospital. My company needs me. People depend on me.”

His grip on her wrist tightened, and she looked into his eyes and saw truth there. This wasn’t manipulation. This was a man staring at his mortality.

“What do you need?” she whispered.