Amber looked around, feeling desolate. She could hear the commotion coming from the trailer next door. Her neighbor had started drinking again and was taking out his anger by shouting at his wife. Amber walked to the window of her combined living room/bedroom/kitchen and saw the couple's two children standing in the street, tears in their eyes. Without hesitation, Amber slipped on her flip flops, stepped out of her trailer, and went to the children.
"Hey, are you two okay?" Amber asked softly, crouching down to their level.
The boy wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Mom told us to go outside... she said we’re not allowed to be
inside right now."
Amber’s heart sank. "I’m sorry you have to be out here like this. You don’t deserve it."
The girl, still holding her brother's hand, sniffled. "It’s scary out here. We don’t want to be alone."
Amber smiled gently, trying to reassure them. "How about we go to the park at the entrance of the trailer park? It’s not much, but we can play there for a while. I’ll send a message to your mom so she knows where you are."
The boy looked up at her, his face hopeful. "You’ll tell her?"
"Of course," Amber replied. "I’ll let her know you’re safe, and you can have some fun while things
calm down."
The girl hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Okay, but only if you promise we’ll come back before it get dark."
"I promise," Amber said, offering her hand. "Let’s make this our little adventure. Just the three of us."
The children grabbed her hand eagerly, and together, they walked toward the decrepit park at the entrance of the trailer park, leaving the noise and tension behind them.
--
After a late lunch, Amber barely managed to eat. She was a bundle of nerves. Since getting home yesterday, Amber had spent over three hours deep-diving into Ryan Carter’s online presence. Most of the articles painted him as a powerhouse in the business world, and from what she gathered, he was filthy rich. He occasionally popped up in gossip columns, usually photographed with a stunning
woman—who, after scrolling through endless pages, she discovered was his ex-fiancée. She couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t married her.Not that it was any of her business. Still, she hated to admit just how much time she’d wasted staring at his pictures. Fuck… he was ridiculously handsome.
Ryan Carter’s offer hadn’t left her mind. $500,000. Enough to escape this place, leave that dead-end job behind. Maybe she could take a course to work with children, even buy a small apartment. What more could she want? But no matter how tempting the offer was, she couldn’t shake the strange pull she’d felt when she was near him. And the way he looked at her... with disdain, with repulsion.
She’d have to put those thoughts about the attraction to him behind her. She couldn’t care less what he thought of
her. It would just be another job. But she needed to know more details. He’d have to give her part of the money once she accepted. Maybe she could put it in the bank and earn some interest. The most likely thing was that they’d end up living together. Less expense that way. The makeover he mentioned? That would be his responsibility, wouldn’t it?
So many unknowns, she thought, as she smoked a cigarette. A horrible habit, but she controlled it well. She only fell back into it when she was really nervous.
After flicking the cigarette butt into the ashtray and opening the window to let the smell out, Amber sat on the sofa
that doubled as her bed. Pulling her knees to her chest, she sent him a message.
Hello Mr. Carter, it’s Amber from last night. I have some questions about the offer. Would it be possible for us to meet?
A few seconds later, her phone buzzed with an alert for a new message.
What do you need to know? It was the short, impersonal reply she received.
Amber let out a small sigh of frustration. After thinking for a moment, she typed her response. How would the payment work? Where would we live? Together? What kind of makeover are you talking about? What’s the background of our story? You mentioned a wedding in Las Vegas, when would that be? She sent the message, feeling satisfied as she managed to match his tone.
Everything will be outlined in the contract. $50,000 when you sign, $150,000 when we get married, and the remaining $300,000 when we divorce. Yes, we will live together in my apartment. The makeover means appropriate clothing, a new hairstyle, and other womanly things that a stylist will surely help improve. As for the story, we’ll say we found each other recently in a restaurant and realized we still had feelings for each other. Something cheesy and tacky like that. When we go out together, it's not for you to talk. It's just for you to be seen. And I don't make a habit of justifying my personal choices.
Alright… but what exactly will I be doing during the year? Is it just about the public appearances, or are there other expectations? She stared at her phone, waiting for a reply, trying to sort out her thoughts.
Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Just keep your legs closed and don’t embarrass me.
Amber let out a frustrated sigh. It wasn’t what she had expected, but at the same time, she knew she needed to move forward and make a decision.
“Asshole”, she muttered under her breath. He was a real jerk. Amber's fingers flew over the phone keyboard as she typed, her frustration taking over. She couldn't hold back anymore.
And are you going to keep your dick in your pants? she wrote, her tone dripping with disdain.
Ryan replied again within seconds, Don’t worry about my dick. For $500,000, I don’t think you get to have an opinion.
The clock’s ticking. What’s your answer?
Amber stood up, annoyed, muttering a low, “Fuck”. She grabbed her phone and typed back, Fine, I accept. But I need to see the contract first.
Sweetheart, you’re not doing me a favor. Like I said, I’d just move on to the next. Send me your address. I’ll be there
at 9 PM. And yes, I’ll bring the contract.
Amber sent him her address and, lightinganother cigarette, thought to herself about what she was getting into.
