Filed Under Love

CHAPTER 2

The pen felt heavier than it should.

Zara stared at Clause 12 like it might delete itself if she looked away long enough. $500,000 USD payable to Wolfe Industries within 30 days. Her entire net worth was a negative $47,000, and she had a library card.

“You’re joking,” she said because someone had to.

Adrian Wolfe leaned against the desk, arms crossed, still damp from the pool. Or shower. Or whatever billionaires did at 7 PM instead of having normal HR departments. “I don’t joke about contracts, Ms. Alim. Or money.”

This clause is Insane. Illegal. A lawsuit waiting to happen. She chose her words. “unconventional.”

“My last legal counsel,” he said, swirling his drink, slept with me, then sold screenshots of my private messages to the Daily Graphic for eighty thousand cedis. She’s currently being countersued for breach of contract. She will lose.

Zara’s throat went dry. “So you fine people half a million dollars for dating you?”

I fined people half a million dollars for lying to me, he corrected. The romance part is just the most common vehicle for the lie. You can date anyone else in Accra. Just not me. Simple.

Nothing about this man was simple. Not his house, not his eyes, not the way he said lies like he’d been choking on it for years.

She set the pen down. “Mr. Wolfe, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. The ad I answered was for 1400 Wolfe Ridge Lane. Corporate office. Normal hours. This is different. She gestured at the glass walls, the rain, the $500K threat, not what I expected.

“I know.” He didn’t blink. “1400 is my office. 1404 is my home. You knocked on the wrong door. I decided to answer.”

“You decided?” she asked

“I needed a lawyer. You are a lawyer. You quoted Article 4, sub-section 2 from memory while dripping on my rug. You’re either brilliant or a very committed stalker. I’m betting on brilliant.”

It was the first compliment anyone had given her in four months of rejections. It shouldn’t have warmed her chest. Yet it did.

“I can’t live here,” she said, weaker now. “I have” She almost said a life to.. but she retorted. She had a rented room with three other law graduates and a landlord who thought “notice” meant banging on the door at 6 AM.

“You have 48 hours to vacate your current residence before your landlord changes the locks. I know because I had you investigate while you were walking up my driveway.” He said it like he was commenting on the weather. “Your name is Zara Alim, 24, GIMPA Law, first class honours. Student debt: 547,000 cedis. Last employment: unpaid internship at Doku & Associates, terminated three months ago when the senior partner retired. You’ve submitted 43 job applications since. Zero offers.”

Zara went cold. Then hot. Then furious. “You had no right”

“I have every right to investigate the person I’m about to give access to my life,” he said flatly. “Would you prefer I hire you blind? That didn't work out so well last time.”

He pushed the paper toward her again. Under Clause 12 was a signature line. Next to it: Effective Immediately.

“What exactly would I be doing?” Her voice sounded foreign. Lawyer voice. The one she used in moot court when she was terrified but couldn’t show it.

“You’ll review contracts. Draft responses to litigation. Respond to calls I don’t want to take. And you’ll tell me when someone is lying to me, because you are new enough that you haven’t learned to be afraid of me yet.” He paused. “Also, you’ll make sure I don’t accidentally commit fraud again.”

Again. The word hung there.

Zara picked up the NDA. Read it twice. It was airtight. No loopholes. No exit except breach, which triggered the penalty.

Her finger stopped on Clause 3: Employment term: 12 months minimum, unless terminated for a reason.

Twelve months $150,000. That was her debt, gone. Plus, savings. Plus, her mother’s hospital bills. Plus not going home to tell her father she didn’t fail.

She looked up. Adrian was watching her, and for a second, the storm in his eyes cleared. He just looked tired. Like a man carrying a whole building on his back.

“Why me?” she asked. “You could have hired any lawyer in this city.”

“Because you didn’t recognize me,” he said. “Everyone else walks in here and sees my net worth. You walked in and saw a test. You saw the rug. You told me the code of conduct. You didn’t even ask for a towel.”

It was the most honest thing anyone had said to her in months.

Zara uncapped the pen. Her hand didn’t shake. “I have conditions,” she said.

His eyebrow went up. Fractionally. “You’re in no position to question my … ” he didn’t even conclude before she started reciting her conditions.

“One,” she cut in because if she stopped she’d lose her nerve. “I got a real contract, not just this NDA. Hours, duties, benefits. Two, I get my own room with a lock. Three, if you ask me to do anything illegal, I would walk away. Clause 12 doesn’t cover refusing to commit a crime.”

He studied her. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Acceptable. I’ll have my assistant, the one I haven’t fired yet, draft it tonight.”

“And four,” Zara said, the words out before she could catch them, “you stop the investigation about me without my consent.”

Something flickered in his face. Surprise, maybe. Or respect. “Deal.”

She signed. Zara Alim. The letters were small but defiant.

Adrian took the paper, didn’t look at it, and set it aside like it was a takeout menu. “Welcome to Wolfe Industries, Ms. Alim. Your room is upstairs, and the second door on the left. There are clothes in the closet. I guessed your size.”

“You” Guessed my size? “That’s invasive.”

“You were drowning,” he said, already walking away. “Be here at 6 AM for briefings. Don’t be late again.”

He vanished down a hallway, leaving her standing in his living room, in wet clothes, holding a Montblanc pen, technically employed, technically homeless, and technically forbidden from falling for her boss on pain of financial ruin.

The rain had stopped.

Zara exhaled for the first time since she knocked.

This was insane. This was reckless. This was the best thing that had happened to her all year.

She looked at the couch. Then at the stairs.

Clause 12 didn’t say anything about hating him.

That, at least, felt safe for now.