Chapter 15- Awkward Encounter

MIA

It's morning.

I have classes today. I get up. My body aches from sleeping in a bed that's too soft. Too big. Too unfamiliar.

I take a quick bath. The water is hot. The scented oil, the shampoo, the soap—they all feel different. Expensive. Like I'm using some kind of holy relic. I wash my hair. The lather is thick. The scent is floral. Jasmine and something else I can't name.

Don't get me started on getting dressed.

I open the door to the walk-in closet. It's the size of Charlotte's entire apartment. Rows and rows of clothes. All designer. All my size. I'm hyperaware that I'm about to wear clothing that a man picked. Not just any man. Alexander.

I start with underwear. I stare at the drawer. La Perla. Agent Provocateur. Chantelle. Fleur du Mal. Silk. Lace. Delicate. Intimate.

This is really too much.

After what feels like a lifetime, I settle on an outfit. Not too much. Comfortable. A cream-colored cashmere sweater from Loro Piana. Dark jeans from Rag & Bone. Simple. Understated. I hope.

I notice a new tray of food has been brought in. It wasn't there last night. Someone must have come in while I was sleeping.

I contemplate. Then decide to have a look. Just a look. After all, I'm not that hungry.

I open it.

It's very attractive. In a way that makes my mouth water. Brioche French toast. Golden. Dusted with powdered sugar. Fresh berries on the side. Maple syrup in a tiny crystal pitcher. A single orchid on the tray.

"Just one bite," I say.

I take one bite.

I hold my cheeks. "It's so good."

I did say one bite. But it would be a waste to throw away such a meal. I rush through the food, stuffing my mouth like a squirrel because of time. The clock on the wall says 8:15. I need to leave by 8:30.

Just then, a knock on the door.

I try to say come in, but my mouth is too full.

Wait. My eyes catch myself in the mirror. Full-mouthed. Looking like someone who hasn't seen food before. I can't let anyone see me like this.

I think about going to the bathroom. Spitting it out. Flushing it. But that would be a waste of such good food.

I stand up. Grab the water. Try to use it to aid my chewing.

I almost choke.

The knock again. Very impatient.

I manage to swallow some of the food. Not properly chewed. But manageable. Given the circumstances.

No, manageable doesn't mean easy. Those words are not synonyms. It's now a chewable amount that's left. I drink some water. Another knock. The third one.

I walk over to the door. Open it.

I first see black suit. Then I raise my head. And I'm met by an impatient set of ice blue eyes.

Good morning.

I say it under my breath. My tongue is picking particles from inside my mouth.

Day one. And he's already caught me in my most awkward state.

— — —

ALEXANDER

She greets me half-mouthful.

"Morning."

I walk into the room. Pass her. The scent of her shampoo lingers in the air. Jasmine. Something else. I don't acknowledge it.

"I trust you're well settled."

She nods. Her tongue is still working at her teeth. I roll my eyes at the movement.

I drop the folder on the table. "You have to sign the contract. So we can move past this point."

She nods. "Alright."

I pull out a pen from my suit jacket. A Montblanc. Black. Silver trim. I hand it to her. Direct her to the signature line. She signs. Her handwriting is small. Neat. She doesn't read the terms.

I take the pen back. "Thank you."

I get up to leave. Then pause.

"You have to quit your job at the bar."

She looks up. "Why?"

I turn. Give her a bored expression. "That's a very stupid question. I can't have my fiancée working at a bar. It would raise suspicion. The last thing we want is for the plan to go up in flames."

She nods slowly. As if just understanding. Then: "How am I supposed to get money for my stuff?"

"Whatever you need money for, you'll have here."

She frowns. I can see the thoughts turning behind her eyes. She doesn't understand. She's not used to this. To having someone else provide.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out. A text from my mother. But before I open it, I tell her, "Send your bank account details. For the upfront payment. Three million."

She blinks. "Upfront? What?"

I sigh. Massage the bridge of my nose. "You mean you signed without knowing the terms and conditions?"

She doesn't answer.

I tuck my phone back into my pocket. "You get three million upfront. The rest comes after. If you breach the contract—or if it's breached from your end—you owe me six million. So watch yourself."

Her eyes go wide. Her mouth opens. Closes. No sound comes out.

I grab my phone again. Tap my mother's message. I'm already turning to leave when I add, "You'll have a driver. To take you wherever you need to go."

She says, "Oh."

I turn away. Read my mother's text.

"Alexander, darling. I'm curious about this girl of yours. When will we meet her? Your father is anxious. Perhaps dinner this weekend? Let me know."

Yeah right.

I turn back. "About the dinner. I just got the text. My mother wants to meet you."

She looks up. Panic flickers across her face. "So soon?"

"We have a lot to do."

"A lot?"

She slaps her hand over her face. "We need a story. Something foolproof. How we met. How long we've been together. Basic likes and dislikes. Everything."

She sinks into one of the chairs.

I lean against the wall. Cross my arms. Study her.

"That's true. We need an ironclad story."

She looks at me. Her eyes are wide. Worried. This is real to her now. The contract is signed. The money is real. The dinner is looming. She's about to step into my world.

And I'm about to let her.

"Then we better start talking," I say.