The CEO's Forbidden Contract: 30 Days To Seduce Me

Chapter 5: The Plaza

The boxes weren't boxes. They were black vaults.

Three of them, delivered by two women in black who didn't speak, didn't smile, and looked at me like I was a stain on Adrian's perfect penthouse.

"Ms. Hartley?" One of them said. "Mr. Blackwood's selection."

They left them in the living room and disappeared, and I stood there in my cheap coat, staring at three matte black boxes with gold ribbon.

Adrian was on a call in his office, his voice low and lethal through the glass. I could hear words like "acquisition" and "you'll be fired by morning," and I knew I shouldn't interrupt.

So I opened the first box.

Cream satin. The exact dress from my dreams. The one from the cover I'd imagined a hundred times while writing this contract in my head.

It wasn't just a dress. It was liquid moonlight. Spaghetti straps so delicate I was afraid they'd break, a sweetheart neckline that made my heart pound, and a slit up the side that was scandalous and elegant at the same time.

The second box was shoes. Louboutins. Red bottoms. My size.

The third box made my hands shake.

A diamond necklace. Delicate chain, single teardrop diamond pendant. The one I'd described in Chapter 3 when I was still making it all up.

He remembered. He'd read my manuscript.

"Do you need help putting it on?"

I spun. Adrian was leaning against the doorway, off his call, watching me. He'd changed. Black tuxedo now, bow tie undone around his neck, hair still damp like he'd showered in the thirty seconds since I saw him.

"You read my book," I blurted.

"I read your draft." He walked toward me, slowly. "You described this dress. Page forty-seven. 'Cream satin that felt like sin against her skin.' I thought it was time you felt it."

My face burned. "You weren't supposed to read that part."

"I read all of it, just Emma. Every word you wrote about us before you even met me."

He was too close again. Always too close. He picked up the necklace, and his fingers brushed the back of my neck as he held it up.

"May I?"

I should have said no. I should have said this is moving too fast, this is business, this is a contract.

I said, "Yes."

He stepped behind me. The penthouse was silent except for the snow hitting the windows and my own ragged breathing. He gathered my hair, his knuckles grazing my skin, and clasped the cold diamond around my throat.

It fell perfectly into the hollow of my neck. His fingers lingered a second too long.

"You look—" His voice broke. He cleared his throat. "You look like you belong here."

I looked in the mirror across the room and didn't recognize myself. Warm golden skin, sparkling hazel eyes I didn't know I had, hourglass figure that the satin hugged like it was made for me, diamond burning against my throat.

I looked like his. I looked like just Emma.

"The car is waiting," he said quietly. "My mother hates being kept waiting more than I do."

---

The Plaza had never looked like this. Not in pictures, not in movies. The entrance was lined with press, cameras flashing, and a red carpet that was actually red.

"Why are there cameras?" I whispered as the limo pulled up. My hand was clutching Adrian's arm like a lifeline.

"Because Adrian Blackwood hasn't been seen with a woman in three years. Because everyone thought I died in that accident. Because you're the ghost story now."

The door opened. The flashes were blinding.

Adrian stepped out first, perfect, cold, CEO. Then he turned and held out his hand to me.

"Rule one," he murmured so only I could hear. "Smile like you're mine."

I put my hand in his. His hand was warm and swallowed mine completely.

The crowd roared. Or maybe that was just the blood in my ears.

He pulled me close, his hand on the small of my back, possessive, burning through the satin. "You're shaking."

"I'm wearing ten thousand dollars' worth of dress and a real diamond. I'm pretty sure I'm going to throw up on the red carpet."

"Don't." He leaned down, his mouth at my ear, and for the cameras it looked intimate, romantic. "If you throw up, I'll have to kiss you to make them forget it. And if I kiss you here, I won't stop."

I stopped shaking. My knees almost gave out instead.

Inside, the Plaza ballroom was gold and crystal and old money. Everyone turned. Everyone stared. And then a woman in a black Chanel suit cut through the crowd like a knife.

She was beautiful in the way villains are beautiful. Silver hair, ice-blue eyes, a mouth that had never smiled.

"Adrian." She kissed his cheek. Her eyes never left me. "So this is her."

"Mother. This is Emma Hartley."

Eleanor Blackwood looked me up and down. From my messy waves to my satin dress to my diamond necklace. Her gaze stopped on the necklace.

"Interesting choice," she said. "That necklace belonged to someone else once."

Adrian stiffened beside me. His hand tightened on my waist.

"Mother—"

"Oh, don't mind me, dear." She smiled at me, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I just thought you should know. My son has a type. And a contract for everything. Did he tell you about the last girl who wore that dress? Or the last girl who slept in that bed?"

The blood drained from my face.

"Mother, that's enough," Adrian said, his voice lethal now, the CEO voice, the ghost voice.

Eleanor sipped her champagne. "Is it? Because the board is watching, Adrian. They all think you've finally lost your mind. A waitress from Queens? Really? Ten thousand a month? You used to be smarter about your investments."

I wanted to disappear. I wanted the floor to open and swallow me and my satin dress and my fake diamond life.

Then Adrian did something I didn't expect.

He pulled me fully against him, in front of his mother, in front of the entire ballroom, and he looked down at me like I was the only person in the world.

"Emma," he said, loud enough for the nearest tables to hear. "Tell my mother what rule four is."

My mouth was dry. Everyone was listening.

"Rule four... I sleep... I sleep in your bed."

A collective gasp. Someone's champagne glass shattered.

Eleanor's perfect smile finally cracked.

Adrian's eyes never left mine. His thumb stroked my waist, slow, possessive.

"That's right," he whispered, but everyone could hear. "Just Emma. In my bed. Every night for thirty days."

He leaned down. I thought he was going to whisper again. I thought he was going to do that almost-kiss that was driving me insane.

He kissed me. Fully. In front of his mother, in front of the board, in front of the cameras that someone had smuggled inside.

His mouth was warm and desperate and nothing like a contract. One hand slid into my hair, the other held my waist like he was afraid I'd run. And I didn't. I couldn't. I kissed him back because for thirty seconds I forgot it was fake.

When he pulled away, his eyes were black with want.

"Still business?" he whispered against my lips.

The ballroom was silent.

Then his mother clapped. Slowly. Mockingly.

"Well, bravo, Adrian. You almost had me convinced. But we both know what happens after thirty days, don't we?"

She turned to me, and her next words made my blood run cold.

"Ask him what happened to the last girl he brought to The Plaza in that dress, Ms. Hartley. Ask him why she left before dawn and never came back."

Adrian's hand went cold on my skin.

And from the corner of my eye, I saw a man in a grey suit walking straight toward us, holding a manila envelope, looking right at me.

"Emma Hartley?" the man said. "You need to see this. It's about Adrian Blackwood. It's about why he's really called the ghost."