UNTAMED CONTRACT

CHAPTER TWO: THE RULES OF ENGAGEMENT

The air in the 50th-floor penthouse suite felt suddenly too thin, thick with the scent of aged cedarwood, rich bourbon, and the heavy, unsaid tension that had been building between us for two years.

Ten million dollars.

I stared at the black leather folder resting on the mahogany desk between us, my fingers trembling slightly as I pressed them against the polished wood to steady myself. That single document held enough money to wipe out my father’s predatory business loans, secure my mother’s medical care for life, and save our family bakery from being seized by collectors at the end of the week.

It was a lifeline. But looking at Julian Vance, standing towering and dark in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows with the rain-slicked city skyline behind him, I knew this lifeline came with a catch.

Julian didn't do charity. Every move he made was cold, calculated, and aimed at total victory.

"Ten million dollars doesn't buy my dignity, Julian," I said, forcing my voice to sound as steady as it did when I managed his multi-million-dollar calendar every morning. "If I am going to sign this, we set ground rules."

Julian turned slowly, holding his crystal glass of whiskey. He had already discarded his dark charcoal suit jacket hours ago. His crisp white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, revealing the strong line of his neck, and his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, exposing lean, muscular arms covered in faint dark hair.

He looked less like the untouchable CEO of Vance Global and more like a predator taking his time.

He took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes tracking every small breath I took. The corner of his razor-sharp jaw flexed. "I'm listening, Maya."

"Rule number one," I said, taking a deliberate step backward to put some distance between my body and his overwhelming warmth. "No physical contact unless we are actively in front of the press, your board members, or your grandfather. The second the office door or the penthouse door closes, we return to being strictly employer and employee."

Julian set his glass down on the mahogany table with a soft, ominous clink.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pushed off the desk and walked toward me. His strides were long, unhurried, and completely devoid of doubt. I stood my ground, refusing to let him see the way my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, but as he closed the gap, his shadow completely swallowed mine.

He stopped just inches away. I could feel the radiant heat pouring off his body, smelling the faint trace of his costly cologne mixed with the dark scent of dark spirits.

"Rule number one is rejected," Julian murmured, his deep baritone dropping an octave, vibrating right through my chest.

I tilted my chin up, glaring at him. "It’s not a negotiation."

"Everything is a negotiation when I’m the one funding it," he replied smoothly, his eyes dropping to my mouth for a fraction of a second before locking back onto mine. "We will be living under the same roof for ninety days, Maya. Paparazzi camp outside my building. My grandfather’s board has eyes everywhere, and they will be searching for any crack in our story. If we act like polite strangers behind closed doors, someone will notice the hesitation. The affection cannot look practiced. It has to look natural."

"Natural?" I scoffed softly, the breath catching in my throat as he took one more microscopic step forward, trapping me between his chest and the desk. "You want me to pretend I'm madly in love with you?"

"I want you to stop fighting what's already in this room," he whispered.

Before I could fire back a sharp comeback, Julian reached out. His long, calloused fingers caught the line of my jaw, tilting my face upward. The touch was possessive, firm, yet agonizingly gentle. My breath hitched in my throat as his thumb slid upward, brushing slowly over the soft curve of my bottom lip.

A jolt of pure, fiery electricity shot straight down my spine, pooling low in my stomach. My inner defenses crumbled for a terrifying second, my eyes fluttering shut at the sheer sensation of his skin against mine. For two long years, I had locked away every single secret thought about how his hands would feel on me. Now, with a single touch, he was unlocking every single one of them.

Julian noticed. I heard his breath hitch, his thumb lingering against my lip, pressing slightly harder as his gaze darkened with something raw and hungry.

"Tomorrow night is the Vance Gala," Julian said, his voice dropping into a low, rough murmur against my skin. "A custom gown will be delivered to your apartment by noon. You will wear it, you will hold my hand, and when the board asks how a cold bastard like me managed to pull a woman like you..."

He leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just beneath my ear, sending a shudder straight through my body.

"...you will tell them I’ve been completely obsessed with you since the day you walked into my office."

My pulse was racing so fast I thought he could probably hear it. "And what if I walk out that door right now?"

Julian pulled back just enough to look me in the eye. A dangerous, breathtaking smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he reached into his inner pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen once.

A quiet ding echoed from my handbag.

I frowned, reaching into my purse to pull out my phone. A notification flashed across the screen from my personal banking app:

WIRE TRANSFER CONFIRMED: $10,000,000.00

I stared at the numbers in disbelief, my mouth slightly open.

"Your father’s debt was cleared five minutes ago," Julian murmured, leaning in until his lips almost touched mine, his breath fanning hot over my mouth. "The contract is already active, Maya. You're mine for the next three months.