Chapter 2

Three days.

That ridiculous deadline had followed me into the elevator, through a board meeting, and now into the banking hall where I should be feeling fulfilled after a meeting. But no. The countdown to forced marriage by my own parents, which is quite similar to imprisonment, fills my mind.

I looked at my watch. I let out a breath when I saw that it was barely six. Enough time to go home, pour myself a glass of wine, eat yesterday's leftover pasta, and pretend I didn't have exactly three days to manufacture a husband.

"Oh. You’re so young. I bet patients ask for you all the time,” a teller from one of the counters commented as she eyed the man in front of her with something I can’t explain, “I know I would.”

I stopped walking when I saw how she winked at him.

I watched them carefully. The teller was smiling. The customer wasn't. The teller was leaning over the counter, chatting with a customer as though they were on a first date instead of discussing a loan application. Company policy was crying somewhere.

The customer wore neat clothes that had clearly been washed a hundred times over, the fabric faded from years of use. I could feel my eyes twitch as he tried to make himself smaller because of the teller’s impressive ogling. I can tell by the way he looked down on his rugged folder, his straightened posture from earlier now the opposite.

I just watched. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole just so the conversation would be over.

The guy cleared his throat, “Are there… Are there any questions about my application? Anything that I can answer with the documents that I have?” he asked in a quiet, calm voice as he straightened the creased corners of his folder.

Calm. Skeptical but calm.

The teller laughed at that. Her laugh is becoming annoying to me now. I watched as she shook her head at him, leaning towards the counter more as she slid a piece of paper towards the guy. I frowned. Whatever she had just slid across that counter, I'd watched enough romance movies to know it wasn't part of any loan application procedure that needs to be done.

I walked closer. As subtly as possible. I motioned for Georgia to stay where she is and she just nodded, completely absorbed by the notes from the meeting.

The teller faked a hum, leaning back to her seat and putting a forefinger on her chin to act like she’s thinking about where she had put the keys to the answers of the universe. She shook her head at the customer’s question before lowering her voice.

“Hm, no. But you know, I am really close to the manager approving the loans. I can probably expedite this process with no additional documents needed if you-”

“No, thank you,” the man, tall and very visibly tired and offended, stood up while closing his folder, “Sorry for wasting your time. I think this is not a good idea but I hope you have a great evening ahead.”

The teller's smile disappeared.

I watched as he hurriedly walked to the exit doors, fixing his shirt and double-checking if he still had all his documents in his folder. He stopped in front of the small trash bin by a pillar, throwing away the small piece of paper the teller gave him.

I looked back to the number of windows the teller was in to make a mental note. Window 3. I’m gonna need to have a word with William about this.

I turned back to the man. He’s almost at the exit. It snapped me back to reality. I quickly walked after him.

“Sir?” I called and he turned around, checking his surroundings to see if he’s the one being called. My eyes squinted slightly when I saw his whole face at once for the first time.

He looked approachable. Safe. Dignified despite the tired look in his eyes.

Almost like a puppy.

An alarmingly muscular puppy.

Oh.

Eleanor, please. Not now. For the love of God, shut up.

He pointed at himself, completely stopping in his tracks. He mouthed ‘Me?’ as he looked at me with confusion.

I nodded, walking normally now. I looked back to Georgia who’s watching me and I motioned for her to follow me now. Before she did, I saw her stop a roaming guard as she nodded back to the window subtly. I heard her tell the guard in a low but clear voice, “I'll need her name for HR.”

I looked back to the man in front of me, tilting my head up because of his build.

“I just watched that exchange between you and the lady in Window 3. I believe there was a misunderstanding inside.”

The man stiffened up, his lips pursing as he looked back to the window. He shook his head.

“There wasn’t. And I don’t need the loan that bad.”

He hesitated to say that line. Like saying it is more like a mantra than the truth. It made me feel sick but I didn’t let it turn my expression sour. I just sighed with a nod.

“Walk with me,” I told him in a hushed voice, the banking hall buzzed around us, suddenly feeling too crowded to have this conversation., “I have an offer that doesn’t have to cost you your morals.”

He looked back to the window. Then to his folder. Then to me.

His grip on the folder tightened, “Okay.”

I walked out, he followed a step behind while Georgia stayed behind the both of us.

I thought back to what Amelia said earlier. ‘It's better for it to be on your own terms than theirs.’

She’s right.

I watched the man walk away from the loan. Throw away the phone number. Apologize on his way out.

People don't usually do all three.

I only have three days. I need to try.

We stopped in front of the car. I know I shouldn’t offer to take him to a second location. He’s a stranger, I’m a stranger to him. It just won’t add up. The last thing he needed was to feel trapped again.

I turned to him, sighing before speaking, “I need a husband.”

He didn’t speak.

A second passed. Then a minute. Then two minutes.

Then finally, “What?”

“I need a husband. In three days,” I repeated, shame started to creep up on me, “Whatever you need the money for, for multiple reasons or just one, I can help.”

He let out a dry laugh, tilting his head up as he let out a scoff of disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” he looked down at me and said it with all the respect he could possibly muster, “You watched the teller speak to me like I can be bought with dinner and show and now you’re out here trying to do the same thing?”

It does sound similar. I hate that it sounded too similar.

“You don’t need to have dinner with me. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want. I just need to show up with a husband at an event so I can keep my freedom,” I explained to the best of my ability without making it sound as insane as it actually is, “You need money. I need my freedom.”

“I…” he opened his mouth, then closed it again before breathing in deeply, “I have a lot of questions right now,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking down, “I do need money but I don’t think rushed marriage to a stranger is the solution.”

“It is purely contractual. Both of us will be protected by a contract,” I reassured him, “Give me a number.”

He looked skeptical, “How do I know this is not some sick joke?”

I handed him my business card. He looked at me with doubt before reading it.

Silence.

He looked back at me.

Then back down.

His eyes widened.

“Ashford Links?”

I nod.

He stares another second.

“...You're that Eleanor Ashford?”