Sterling’s Fortune

Chapter 10

Elodie woke up wrapped in warmth.

It wasn't the suffocating heat of a car heater, nor the unreliable radiator of her apartment. It was a solid, living warmth.

She blinked open her eyes. The room was bathed in the soft, grey-white light of Christmas morning. Snow was falling gently outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, muting the city below.

She was in Alistair’s bed.

And Alistair was... everywhere.

They were spooning. His heavy arm was draped over her waist, holding her pulled back against his chest. His face was buried in the crook of her neck. She could feel his slow, steady breath on her skin.

They hadn't... done it. Not fully. The night before had been a blur of wine, exhaustion, and heavy make-out sessions that had migrated from the kitchen to the sofa to the bed. But somewhere around 2:00 AM, Alistair had stopped. He had kissed her forehead, muttered something about "doing this right," and simply held her while they slept.

It was infinitely more intimate than s*x.

Elodie shifted slightly, trying to stretch. Alistair’s arm tightened instantly.

"Don't move," he grumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "You'll let the cold in."

"It’s Christmas, Scrooge," Elodie whispered, smiling. "We can't stay in bed all day."

"We absolutely can," Alistair countered. He nuzzled her neck, the scratch of his morning stubble sending shivers down her spine. "I’m the CEO. I can declare a holiday mandate."

"I need coffee," Elodie laughed, trying to untangle herself.

Alistair groaned, a deep rumble in his chest. He rolled onto his back, releasing her. He looked at the ceiling, then turned his head to look at her.

His hair was a mess. His eyes were heavy-lidded and soft. He looked younger, lighter.

"Merry Christmas, Elodie," he said.

"Merry Christmas, Alistair."

He reached out and traced the line of her jaw with his thumb. "I suppose I should get the coffee. Since you made dinner."

"That seems fair."

He sat up, the sheet falling to his waist. His chest was bare, sculpted and tanned. Elodie had to physically look away to keep from blushing like a teenager.

"Don't look so scandalized, Miss Rose," he teased, swinging his legs out of bed. "You’ve seen the merchandise."

He walked to the ensuite bathroom. Elodie fell back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling. She touched the rose gold bracelet. It was humming, a contented, purring vibration.

This is real, she thought. This isn't just a contract anymore.

Ten minutes later, Alistair returned with two mugs. He was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants, which Elodie hadn't even known he owned, and a tight grey t-shirt.

"Coffee," he said, handing her a mug. "Black. No sugar. I'm working on the sugar part."

"I'll take it."

They sat on the bed, sipping coffee, watching the snow fall. It was perfect. It was the kind of peace Elodie had never known in her chaotic life.

"So," Alistair said, setting his mug on the nightstand. "I lied."

"About what?"

"About not getting you a gift."

He reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a small, flat envelope.

"It’s not jewelry," he said quickly, seeing her expression. "You have enough jewelry. This is... practical."

Elodie took the envelope. She opened it.

Inside was a legal document. She skimmed it. Her eyes widened.

It was a deed. A deed to the building in Queens where she lived.

"You... you bought my apartment building?" she gasped.

"I bought the building," Alistair corrected. "And I fired the management company. The radiator will be fixed on Tuesday. The rent for all tenants has been frozen for five years. And Unit 4B, your unit, is now owned by you, free and clear."

"Alistair," tears pricked her eyes. "This is... this is too much. I can't accept a building."

"It’s an investment," he shrugged, looking uncomfortable with her gratitude. "Queens is up-and-coming. And besides... I couldn't have you going back to a place that makes you freeze."

"I thought I was living here now?" she teased, wiping a tear.

"You are," he said intensely. "But a woman should always have her own safety net. Just in case."

He leaned in to kiss her.

BZZZZT.

Alistair’s phone, sitting on the dresser across the room, vibrated. It wasn't a text. It was a relentless, angry buzzing.

BZZZT. BZZZT. BZZZT.

Alistair pulled back, frowning. "Ignore it."

BZZZT.

"It sounds urgent," Elodie said. The bracelet on her wrist suddenly turned ice cold. The hum stopped dead. A chill went through her. "Alistair, answer it."

Alistair sighed. He walked over to the dresser and picked up the phone.

He looked at the screen. His relaxed posture vanished instantly. His shoulders tensed, the muscles in his back bunching.

"Don't read that," he muttered to himself. Then he looked up at Elodie. His face was pale.

"What?" Elodie asked, standing up. The cold from the bracelet was spreading up her arm. "Is it the merger? Did the stock crash?"

"Don't look at your phone," Alistair ordered. His voice was sharp. The CEO was back.

"Why?"

Elodie scrambled for her own phone on the bedside table.

"Elodie, don't—"

It was too late. Her screen was lit up with notifications. Google Alerts. Twitter tags. Texts from her mother.

She opened the first link. It was The Manhattan Tattler, a notorious gossip rag.

The headline was in bold, black letters:

THE BILLIONAIRE AND THE BANKRUPT: ALISTAIR STERLING’S $40,000 MISTRESS.

Elodie felt the blood drain from her face.

"Oh my god."

She scrolled down. It was all there. A copy of her credit report. Her student loan balances. Her eviction notices from two years ago. And, most damning of all, a leaked copy of the "Employment Agreement" she had signed in his office, specifically the clause about her salary being garnered to pay for the lobby damages.

“Meet Elodie Rose,” the article sneered. “A walking financial disaster who managed to flood Sterling Tower and then seduce its CEO to avoid a lawsuit. Sources say Miss Rose, who has a credit score lower than the temperature outside, trapped the reclusive billionaire into a relationship to wipe out her debts. Is it true love? Or is it just a very expensive transaction?”

There were quotes. Anonymous, of course.

"She’s always been looking for a shortcut," said a 'former landlord'. "She’s bad news. A jinx," said a 'former employer'.

Elodie dropped the phone on the bed as if it had burned her.

She felt naked. Dirty. The beautiful morning light suddenly felt harsh and judgmental.

"They think..." She choked on a sob. "They think I'm a prostitute. That I'm sleeping with you to pay off the lobby."

"It’s Bianca," Alistair said. His voice was dangerously quiet. "Only she would have the connections to pull your credit history that fast. And she saw the way we looked at each other at the ball."

"It’s all true," Elodie whispered. "I am bankrupt. I am a disaster. I did sign that contract."

"Elodie, stop." Alistair walked toward her.

She backed away. "No! Don't come near me. Look at this, Alistair! This is what I bring you. Scandal. Shame. I’m not a lucky charm. I’m a liability. Just like you said in the beginning."

"I was wrong in the beginning," Alistair said firmly.

"Were you?" Elodie grabbed her robe and pulled it on, tying the sash with shaking hands. "Look at the news! Your stock is going to tank. The board is going to think you're being manipulated by a gold digger. Vance is going to pull the permits because he thinks we're a sham."

"I don't care about Vance!" Alistair shouted.

"I do!" Elodie yelled back. "I care because I love you!"

The words hung in the air.

Elodie froze. She hadn't meant to say it. It had just slipped out, raw and terrified.

Alistair stared at her. His eyes widened.

"Elodie..."

"I have to go," she sobbed. "If I leave... if I disappear... you can spin it. You can say you fired me. You can say you realized I was a fraud. It will save your reputation."

She ran for the door.

"Elodie, wait!"

"No! Let me fix this. It’s the only lucky thing I can do for you."

She ran out of the bedroom, down the hall, and grabbed her coat from the rack. She didn't even put on shoes. She just shoved her feet into her boots and slammed the heavy penthouse door behind her.

Alistair stood in the bedroom.

The silence was deafening.

He looked at the unmade bed. He looked at the deed to the apartment she had left on the nightstand.

He looked at the compass on the dresser.

The needle was spinning wildly again. Whirrrrrr.

It wasn't pointing to Home anymore. It was spinning between Fear and Ambition.

Alistair grabbed the compass and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a crack.

He picked up his phone. He dialed a number.

"Arthur," he said, his voice like ice. "Get the car. And get my legal team on the line. I am going to destroy The Manhattan Tattler. And then I am going to bury Bianca St. James."

"And Miss Rose, sir?" Arthur asked.

Alistair looked at the door she had just run through.

"She thinks she’s saving me," Alistair whispered. "She has no idea."

"Sir?"

"Don't follow her, Arthur. She needs to cool off. Let her run." Alistair walked to the window, looking out at the blizzard. "She can't run from luck. It always finds a way back."