Lucien.
I was in the middle of a phone call when she walked in.
I did not look up and that was intentional. I wanted to know the type of person she was.
Some would fidget, some would clear their throats, some would keep switching from one foot to another, their eyes darting around, searching. That was the life of the middle class.
I finished my call, set the phone face down and looked up. Our eyes met and the first sound that escaped me was a scoff.
She was not what I expected.
Mateo Alvarez was a man of poor decisions and I expected something like that. I expected someone dragged in here, eyes red from crying, dressed up desperately in whatever her uncle forced her, to look presentable.
But what stood in the centre of my office instead was a girl clad in a faded pair of jeans and a plain white shirt, her hair tied in a messy bun.
No single effort made or performance prepared.
Just her.
She was young, with hazel blue eyes warm in color as they moved around like someone trying to memorize the territory they had just walked into. The oversized jean she wore did very little to hide the quiet curves beneath them, though I doubted that was her intention.
She wasn't dressed for anyone. She dressed comfortably.
Behind her, Dominic closed the office door without a sound and stationed himself beside it, arms folded and expression unreadable as always.
I leaned into my chair, holding her gaze now.
And she stared back.
Most people withered under my gaze and could not last less than four seconds but she held mine, longer than four seconds without looking away.
Intriguing.
''Ámelia Nightshade,'' I said.
''Mr. Cross.'' She replied, her tone clipped.
I studied her for a moment longer than necessary before speaking again. ''Sit.''
She did, placing her bag on her lap and held my gaze across the desk with those hazel blue eyes again and waited.
My lips almost curled into a smile. Almost.
''Your uncle said you agreed to the arrangement.'' I passed a bottle of water towards her.
''Yes.'' She said. ''But I have my own terms to this arrangement.''
The room grew quiet and from the corner of my eyes, I saw Dominic raise his brows.
I tilted my head slightly. ''Your own terms?''
''Yes.'' She sated simply.
She reached into the bag without hesitation, drew out a piece of paper and leaned forward, pushing it to the edge of my desk.
''Á marriage contract.'' She said. ''With my rules. I refuse to become a bargain for a debt. If you agree to the terms, I stay for eight months and pay up every single coin he owed you and if you refuse..'' she paused, looking into my eyes more intently.
''You find another way to recover your eighty million.''
The silence that followed her information was the kind that never argued.
I reached forward and unfolded the piece of paper, her handwriting neat and deliberate. I read each rule again and again before setting the paper down.
She was still watching me, her expression fixed, like someone who had come to a conclusion.
Her rules were five:
She keeps her job at the bookstore.
A sex free marriage. No intimacy of any kind.
Her earnings goes directly to her savings and the debt alone.
No public display of affection without consent.
Freedom of movement. She comes and goes without reporting her whereabouts.
I was quiet for a moment.
In twelve years of running Cross Empire, no one, no one had ever presented their own terms. Not in boardroom meetings and in places far darker than boardrooms.
Men twice her age flinched under my scrutinity. But here she sat, holding my gaze and presenting rules.
''Ýou spent your night drafting this.'' I said.
Something flickered in her face for a fraction. ''That is not relevant.''
''To me, it is. It tells me you spent the night thinking instead of crying. Useful information.'' I nodded.
Her jaw tightened for barely a second and then released. ''Are you accepting my rules or discussing how I spent my night, Mr. Cross.''
Dominic's gaze flickered to her and then back to his position.
I looked at the paper again. Her rules were strategic, she wanted to ensure that she walked out of this arrangement with her money, job, dignity and freedom.
I set the paper down before speaking.
''Rule two,'' I studied her. ''A sex free marriage.''
She replied without blinking. ''Correct.''
''You should be aware that you are entirely not my type.'' My voice level was low and unbothered.
Something flickered across her face and then she swallowed. ''Then we have no problem.''
After a beat, I spoke. ''What is your full name?.''
She blinked, ''You already know my name.''
''I know what your uncle told me.'' I said, ''Now I'm asking you.''
''Amelia Nightshade.'' She responded after an eternity.
''Good.'' I folded the contract. ''I accept your contract.''
She exhaled, so quietly I almost missed it.
''But I have my own terms.'' I continued.
Her eyes snapped up to mine immediately, her brows raising slightly.
''Since you have proposed a marriage contract, we marry today.''
Her composure flickered, ''Today.''
''This evening.'' I said.
''I don't negotiate timelines. If we are doing this, we do it properly and we do it now.''
She said nothing. I watched her process my information.
''Continue.'' She said.
''You will live here for eight months. We share a room-''
''That wasn't in my terms.'' She cut me off.
I rolled my tongue across my left cheek slowly. ''It is in mine. Sharing a room does not violate any of your rules. Read them again if you need to.''
''Continue,'' she said again, quieter this time.
''If you see me on the news with another woman, you will not comment on it or question it. What I do outside of this arrangement and five rules is none of your concern.'' I said.
''Fine.'' Her jaw tightened.
I continued, ''And the eight months, not a day more. At the end of it, debt is settled, contract dissolves and you walk away.''
She looked at me steadily, ''Eight months.''
''Eight months.'' I repeated.
This was a transaction and nothing else.
''Agreed.'' She said simply.
I picked up my phone. ''then we have an arrangement. Welcome to Cross Estates, Miss Nightshade.''
She didn't smile, didn't reply, didn't thank me.
She simply sat there in her faded jeans and plain white shirt, her bag on her lap and her hazel blue eyes looking at me, deciding how much of a problem she had gotten herself into.
I made three calls in a quick session. A stylist, a make-up artist, a dressmaker who owed me a favour and would get a fit ready in three hours and then a fourth call to an officiant who handled paper work that men like me needed.
I set the phone down and looked across the desk. She was still watching me.
''Someone will take you upstairs,'' I said. ''You will be prepared there.''
''Prepared?.'' She questioned, like the word felt strange.
''For the wedding.'' I relayed. ''It takes place tonight Miss Nightshade, and I suggest you make peace with that.''
She stood, picked her bag, straightened her shirt and looked at me one final time. Those warm hazel eyes unreadable, giving me absolutely nothing that I had earned.
Then she turned and followed Dominic through the door.
I picked up the contract when the door closed behind them. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I found myself thinking that the next eight months would not go the same way I had planned.
My phone lit up on the desk beside me.
Stephanie Russo. Calling.
I let it ring without glancing back at the caller ID.