The Rainy Encounter

Chapter Four

Evan

The manila folder on my desk is already open when I pick it up,

Givenshi. Father's gone, three years now.

One sister, Sixteen.

School fees already behind, bank balance… almost nothing.

And the one thing that catches my eye, Medical deb for her mother's treatment, twenty-one thousand.

I tap a single, rhythmic finger against the armrest. Twenty-one thousand dollars, that amount is a rounding error. It's less than the tax on the Maybach sitting in my private garage downstairs.

A soft click echoes through the silent penthouse suite.

"Mr. Vendel," my private secretary, Cynthia, speaks through the intercom. "Miss Givenshi is here."

"Send her in," I command, my voice a low, level baritone.

I don't close the folder. I leave it wide open right in the center of the desk, if she is going to serve a purpose in my world, I need to know exactly how she handles pressure when she has absolutely no cards left to play.

The heavy mahogany doors slide open.

Nahla Givenshi steps into the room, and the the room makes her look smaller the second she walks in, her hazel eyes darting around the room as if she's waiting for a firing squad to step out from the shadows.

She is pale, the dark circles under her eyes are even worse than they were on Friday, yet, as she walks toward my desk, she doesn't slouch. She forces her chin up, her shoulders straight, fighting through the visible trembling in her knees.

She stops two feet from the desk, her gaze dropping to the open folder bearing her name before snapping up to lock onto my steel-grey eyes.

"Sit, Miss Givenshi," I say, gesturing to the black leather chair opposite me. She hesitates, before she finally lowers herself into the seat.

"Mr. Vendel," she starts, her voice tight. "If this is about the other night... I apologize for violating corporate protocol. I wasn't thinking clearly. I just saw that you are getting drenched, and it is an instinctive reaction. It won't happen again."

"The other night is irrelevant," I state flatly, leaning forward, resting my forearms on the desk and looking into her eyes, "If I fire every employee who lacks boundaries in a rainstorm, I'd have an empty logistics tier. I don't bring you up here to discuss an umbrella."

She blinks, a flicker of genuine confusion cutting through her terror. "Then... why am I here, sir?"

I slide the folder an inch closer to her. "I like efficiency, Miss Givenshi. So let's skip the corporate pleasantries. Your mother's clearance was revoked by the hospital administration at exactly nine-thirty this morning. You have forty-eight hours to secure twenty-one thousand dollars, or her treatment is indefinitely postponed. Am I correct?"

She freezes for a second and then it lands..

"You had someone dig through my private life? My family's tragedies? Who gives you the right to look at my family's struggles like they're corporate data?" Her voice shaking, but it's no longer just from fear. It's raw, unadulterated anger.

"I gave myself the right," I say simply.

"Let's skip this." I lean forward. "I'll be direct,

I have no intention of firing you, Nahla," I say, using her first name deliberately. The shift in tone makes her pause, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. I close the folder with a sharp, decisive snap. "I have an offer."

She narrows her eyes, her defensive walls staying firmly upright. "What kind of offer?"

"A personal contract," I say, looking her straight in the eyes, letting the full gravity of the word sink in. "I need a wife," I say not bothering to dress it up. "Not real. Just legal."

Silence and then

Nahla stares at me, her lips parting slightly as her brain tries to process the sheer absurdity of the words leaving my mouth. "You... you want a contract marriage?"

"A business arrangement," I correct smoothly. "One year, separate quarters, no emotional interference, no public scandals and in exchange for your legal signature," I pause and then say, " I'll cover your mother's past and future medical expenses, secure full tuition coverage for your sister's remaining education, and provide a monthly stipend that ensures your family never looks at a billing statement again."

She sits entirely frozen, instead of crying with relief or jumping at the pen, She looks me dead in the eye and says,

"No thank you, Mr. Vendel."

Without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and walks out of my office, leaving the penthouse in absolute silence. I stare at the seat she was just in and for the first time in a while... I'm speechless.