Chapter 2 - The Proposition
1359 Words
It wasn’t just the wine.
The table had been booked for dinner, which meant she got charged the full service fee—even if the only thing consumed was disappointment. Somehow, it was always her paying the damn bill. Typical!
She left the restaurant without a word, heels biting into the pavement, makeup still perfect. Her dress, still war-ready.
She didn’t go home.
She wasn’t in the mood to be alone.
There was a bar a few streets down—low lights, loud silence, and a bartender who didn’t ask questions. The kind of place where broken people ordered beautiful drinks and pretended not to bleed.
She walked in like she belonged there. Like the world owed her something and she’d collect it with interest.
Tight black dress. Long legs. Mouth painted in a shade called sin. Hair tumbling past her shoulders in dark waves that looked effortless, but weren’t. Nothing about her was.
She slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar.
Crossed one leg over the other slowly.
Ordered vodka, neat.
The first sip burned. The second numbed. The third made her forget she was alone.
Almost.
But she wasn’t alone for long.
She felt him before she saw him.
Heat behind her. That stillness that made everything else too loud.
Then—his voice. Deep, smooth, calm in a way that made her skin tighten.
“I was going to offer to pay for dinner. But you looked like you had that handled.”
She didn’t turn. Just let the glass hover near her mouth.
“Are you stalking me or do you haunt every bar in a ten-block radius?”
“I was nearby.”
“Of course you were.”
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. His presence filled the space beside her like gravity. Heavy. Unyielding.
She looked at him.
Dark tailored suit, open collar, the top button undone like it had never stood a chance. Hair dark and pushed back with just enough mess to suggest he didn’t give a f**k.
But she knew better.
His face was all harsh lines and cold angles.
Eyes grey, not silver—steel.
Hard. Precise. Not the kind that flickered. The kind that pinned.
“You followed me.”
“I had a proposition.”
She snorted. “You always open negotiations like this?”
Nathan raised a brow. “You don’t like direct men?”
“I don’t like men who think they know what I need.”
“You need out.”
She went still. One breath. Two.
He ordered his drink. Scotch. No ice. Of course.
“I need someone. Public. Smart. Sharp enough to keep people from asking why I don’t date.”
She smirked. “Why me?”
She let her eyes drift lazily over him. “What happened to the girl from your table? She looked... eager.”
Nathan’s expression didn’t shift.
“She was a walking wellness podcast,” he said flatly.
“Crystals, gut health, five minutes of eye contact and I knew she probably moaned like she was apologizing.”
Ava blinked. Once.
“Didn’t even make it past the appetizer,” he added. “I walked out when you did.”
She took a slow sip, lips curving.
“Charming.”
He tilted his head.
“You were the only one at that restaurant who looked like a threat. You’re memorable.”
She didn’t respond. Just took a slow sip. Let the glass cover her mouth a second too long.
She hated that she remembered, too.
It hadn’t been the first time they’d seen each other. But it was the only time they’d ever been alone.
Two years ago.
Liam had left some legal folder at her apartment after a fight. She was still pissed enough to deliver it herself, uninvited, unapologetic. She remembered wearing red. Lipstick to match. Fury tucked behind her spine like a knife.
She’d walked into that glass-and-steel office tower like she had a right to be there.
The receptionist was gone. The office was half-dark.
And Nathan Hale was there.
He’d looked up from his desk as she entered.
No smile. No warmth.
A charcoal dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Broad shoulders, long fingers curled over a fountain pen like he was writing someone’s execution. His tie was loose. His jaw was sharp enough to split atoms.
His eyes had locked on her.
Not surprised. Just… watching.
The way a predator watched terrain.
She’d walked right up, folder in hand, and placed it on his desk without a word.
He hadn’t moved.
She broke the silence.
“You look like someone who drinks scotch with lawsuits.”
His reply had been instant. Cold. Like a warning.
“And you look like someone who ruins men and never apologizes.”
Ava had blinked once. That was all he’d gotten.
She turned to leave. Fast. But not fast enough.
Behind her, she heard him mutter.
“Liam doesn't deserve that mouth.”
She hadn’t told Liam. Hadn’t even admitted to herself how hard her pulse had spiked. Or how long his voice stayed in her head after the elevator doors closed.
And now...two years later,he dared to call her memorable.
“It’s not that I’m memorable,” she said, low. “It’s that you obsess.”
He didn’t deny it.
She lifted her drink, sipped slowly. “So you want to fake a relationship.”
“I want you to let them believe it.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Five hundred thousand.”
Ava blinked. Once. Twice.
Then laughed — low, bitter.
“Half a million? To fake chemistry and sell it to the world? Sounds exhausting.”
“You wouldn’t have to fake it,” he said calmly.
She stared at him. “You think I’d w***e myself out for a paycheck?”
“No. I think you’re smarter than that. And more expensive.”
Her jaw tightened.
Because she was considering it.
And she hated that.
She thought of her account balance. Of the unpaid therapy she ghosted. Of the months she spent pretending to be okay because she couldn’t afford to fall apart. Of Zoe fronting rent once without saying a word.
Of the quiet humiliation of always owing someone.
Five hundred thousand.
Enough to finally owe no one. Not even herself.
She shifted on the stool. “What are the rules?”
“No public drama. No real commitment. You show up, you smile, you look like you belong on my arm.”
“And in private?”
He studied her. “That depends on what you want.”
She leaned in, voice like a purr.
“Do you want to f**k me, Nathan?”
His mouth didn’t move. But his fingers curled once against the bar.
“I’m not going to answer that here.”
“Because you’re polite?”
“Because I’d rather show than say.”
She let that sit for a beat, then exhaled through her nose.
“You think this is control,” she said. “But it’s not. You’re not in charge of me.”
“I don’t need to be,” he said. “I just need you close.”
He slid the card across the counter like a move he’d rehearsed.
Sleek. Black. Embossed. Dangerous.
Just like him.
“Think about it. You have until tomorrow. Eight p.m.”
She looked at the card. Didn’t touch it.
“I’m not agreeing.”
“I’m not begging.”
He finished his scotch, set the glass down with precision.
Like every move had been calculated three steps ago.
Nathan stood.
Buttoned his jacket like it was a battle move.
“Enjoy your drink,” he said, already walking away.
He didn’t look back.
Didn’t ask if she’d call.
Didn’t need to.
Ava stayed there.
Jaw tight.
Fingers clenched around that sleek black card.
Vodka melting in her throat like ash.
Her heart was loud. Her head, louder.
And neither of them knew if she was angry, intrigued…
or already his.
And if she said yes… what would he ask of her next?
- Writer
