Contracted to The Billionaire

Emma's Pov 

"Miss Clarke, you have fourteen days before we begin foreclosure proceedings."

I stared at the banker across the desk, his words hitting me like physical blows. Fourteen days. Two weeks to come up with fifty thousand dollars or lose the only thing I had left of my father, our apartment.

"I understand," I whispered, gathering my purse with trembling hands. "Thank you for your time."

The February air bit through my thin coat as I stepped onto the Manhattan sidewalk. Three jobs. I worked three jobs, and it still wasn't enough. The medical bills from Dad's cancer treatment had swallowed everything: my savings, my business, my future. Now they wanted the apartment too.

My phone buzzed. Sophie.

"Please tell me the bank meeting went well," my best friend said without preamble.

"Fourteen days, Soph. Then I'm homeless."

Her sharp intake of breath said everything. "Emma, I can loan you…."

"You're about to have a baby. You need that money." I blinked back tears, refusing to cry on a public street. "I have one more client payment coming. The Cross Enterprises gala is tonight. If I can impress Alexander Cross, maybe he'll refer me to his wealthy friends. It's a long shot, but it's all I've got."

"The billionaire with the personality of a glacier? Good luck with that."

I almost smiled. Almost. "I have to try. I'll call you after."

The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel gleamed with crystal chandeliers and ice sculptures shaped like the Cross Enterprises logo. I'd spent three weeks planning this charity gala, pouring every ounce of creativity into making it perfect. It had to be perfect. This was my last chance to prove Emma Clarke Events was worth saving.

"The floral arrangements are wrong."

I spun around to face Alexander Cross himself, six feet of tailored suit and cold authority. His steel-gray eyes swept over my carefully arranged centerpieces with obvious displeasure.

"Mr. Cross, we discussed the peonies and eucalyptus. You approved them."

"They're too soft. Too personal. This is a corporate event, Miss Clarke, not a wedding." He pulled out his phone without looking at me. "I'll have my assistant order replacements."

Something inside me snapped. Maybe it was the fourteen-day deadline. Maybe it was the three years of watching my dreams die slowly. Maybe I was just tired of men in expensive suits treating me like I was invisible.

"No."

His head lifted sharply, surprise flickering across his handsome face. "Excuse me?"

"I said no. These flowers represent hope and new beginnings, which is exactly what your charity provides to underprivileged youth. They're meant to feel personal because your cause is personal. When was the last time you actually talked to one of the kids your foundation helps, Mr. Cross? Because I did. I spent a week interviewing them, learning their stories, and understanding what your money actually means to them. These flowers aren't too soft. Your approach is too cold."

The silence stretched between us like a live wire. His jaw tightened, and I realized I'd just committed career suicide by yelling at a billionaire.

"You interviewed the foundation recipients?"

"Yes. I always research my clients' causes. It helps me create events that matter, not just look expensive."

Alexander studied me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Up close, he was younger than I expected, maybe early thirties, with dark hair and a face that would be devastatingly attractive if it ever showed any emotion.

"What's your name?"

Emma Clarke. I own the company you hired."

"The owner came by herself to set up?"

"I'm the only employee left, Mr. Cross. So yes, I'm here." I lifted my chin, refusing to be ashamed. "And I stand by every choice I made for your event. If you don't like it, fire me. But these flowers stay."

Something shifted in his expression, not quite a smile, but a slight softening around his eyes. "The flowers stay. And Miss Clarke? You're right. I haven't talked to the foundation kids in two years. Maybe I should change that."

He walked away, leaving me stunned and still employed.

The gala was perfect. Donors praised every detail, guests raved about the personal touches, and Alexander Cross gave a speech about the real faces behind the foundation, leaving half the room in tears. I watched from the shadows, exhausted but proud.

"Miss Clarke."

I turned to see Alexander approaching, his assistant, Patricia, hovering nearby with a tablet.

"Mr. Cross. I hope everything met your standards."

"It exceeded them. Patricia, pay Miss Clarke double her contracted rate as a bonus."

My heart leaped. Double meant I could buy myself another month, maybe two. "Thank you. That's very generous."

"You earned it." He paused, studying me again with that unnerving focus. "You said you're the only employee left. Is your business failing?"

Heat flooded my cheeks. "That's a rather personal question."

"I'm considering hiring you for future events. I need to know if you'll still be in business."

The lie formed on my lips, professional, polished, fake. But I was so tired of lying.

"My father died two years ago. Cancer. The medical bills destroyed me financially. I'm about to lose everything, Mr. Cross, so no, I probably won't be in business much longer. But I'm excellent at my job, and I'll fulfill any contract I sign."

Patricia's eyes widened with something like pity. Alexander's expression remained unreadable.

"I see. Thank you for your honesty." He glanced at Patricia. "We'll be in touch."

They walked away, and I sagged against the wall. At least I'd go down with my dignity intact.

My phone rang at midnight, jolting me from exhausted sleep. Unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Miss Clarke, this is Patricia Lawson, Mr. Cross's assistant. Mr. Cross would like to meet with you tomorrow at nine a.m. at Cross Enterprises headquarters. It's regarding a business proposal."

My pulse quickened. "A proposal?"

"I can't discuss details over the phone. Will you be available?"

"Yes. Yes, I'll be there."

"Excellent. Oh, and Miss Clarke? Bring a lawyer if you have one. You'll want legal counsel for this."

The line went dead, leaving me staring at my phone in the darkness.

What kind of business proposal requires a lawyer?