Marry me; The Billionaire's contract

ANASTASIA

“Marry me, Miss Brooks,” Dominic says, like he’s offering me an invitation to a soap opera.

I stare at the contract in front of me, as if staring hard enough would make it somehow disappear, turn into something that isn’t a marriage contract to the most condescending person on earth – Dominic Blackwood, the same man who now rules the business world, my dead father’s rival.

“Why would I want to marry you?” I ask, meeting his gaze, those blue eyes too pretty, too bright for the personality behind them.

“Because you need it. You need me, and the money, to stay afloat,” he supplies, leaning against his seat.

This son of a bitch makes my life hell without even trying, he's the reason behind all the late nights dad couldn't come home, all the diners dad couldn't make it to, all the times he drank because he couldn't handle anything, it's because Dominic is fucking ruthless, he'll do anything to beat anyone in his way.

“I can survive on my own,” I say. My hands tighten at my side.

He doesn’t reply. His eyes scan my outfit. Maybe wearing a crinkled hoodie that smells of sweat and loose sweatpants wasn’t the best outfit choice.

“Your fiancé left you. You need someone to replace his name on the marriage certificate,” he says, like he’s already signed the papers for me.

“Thank you for offering to play the role, but I wouldn’t want to marry you even if you were the last human breathing on earth…” And I mean it. It isn’t on my wishlist for the year to suddenly be proposed to by Dominic Blackwood.

“Likewise.”  I narrow my eyes, refusing to banter with him.

“What do I stand to gain?” I continue.

“Money, fame, power,” he supplies. I roll my eyes.

“Like I lack any of those.” His lips twitch slightly, not in a smile, just entertained. “Let me rephrase the question, what do you gain?”

“Shares in your dead father’s crumbling company.” His expression was unreadable except for the smirk playing on his lips.

“My, it’s my company now,” I correct. His mouth twitches.

“Either way, you need my help, and that’s where the contract comes in.”

“Extremely charitable of you,” I snort. He leans against the desk, his expression serious.

“It's a good deal. You need it, and it helps me.” I snort at his words, crumbling the contract in my hand until the paper is only the size of a small ball. I toss it on the table.

“Marry my ass,” I say, turning on my heel before he can react, already trying to reach a space Dominic doesn’t occupy.

“Think about it,” his words follow me out, hanging heavy like a cloud over me.

Why would I want to marry my dead father’s rival? I stomp out, kicking my feet against the door, like hurting it would hurt him somehow. Maybe my feet against his face would wipe that smug expression off his face.

My phone vibrates, catching my attention. I pull it out of my pocket, already knowing who’s calling.

“Hey, Rita…”

My phone shakes in my hand. I can hear the chaos, the alarms, voices shouting over each other, and the tapping of nails against keyboards.

“Ana… our name is going to be on tomorrow’s news, for the wrong reasons,” she says, trying to catch her breath.

“Rita. Talk to me, I’m breaking out over here.” I snap, pressing my lip in a thin line. I can hear her swallow.

Her voice drops. “It’s either Dominic, or no one’s making another payroll, we are flat broke” she mutters.

“Did you try the banks, any other ...”

“Ana no one's gonna help a company they are sure is on the edge of bankruptcy,” she says.

I let my hand drop to my side. My eyes wander to the closed door, lingering longer than it should have.

No. No. No fucking way. I turn towards the exit, ready to walk away.

My eyes drift to the bracelet on my wrist, the same one my father gifted me. I can still see him clear as day, sitting behind his desk in his office even when the sun has completely disappeared from the sky. ‘Ana, one day when you sit behind this desk, then you can make your own decisions,’ his fingers brushing over his name tag with a satisfied smile.

“Do I have to do this?” The silence that follows, and the constant stream of messages on my phone, provide an answer to my unanswered question. I twist the bracelet around my wrist, my teeth cut into my cheek, hard enough to taste blood.

I push the door open. My eyes meet familiar cold eyes. He’s sitting there like he expected me to return. He knew I would return.

I swallow, looking anywhere but at him.

“I will marry you,” I say. The words leave a bitter taste on my tongue.

A small pause. Time seems to stretch. His eyes remain silently on me.  

“My assistant will arrange everything,” he says, like suddenly getting married is a business deal.

“There’s one more thing.”  

He pauses, raising an eyebrow at me.

“You’ll have to pretend we’re something in front of others. Like we’re in love and happy couple especially in front of my fiancé… ex-fiancé. And you’ll have to keep to your end of the deal... save my company.”

For a while he doesn’t say anything. Then his jaw tightens.

“What makes you think I want to play pretend for your ex?” he comments.

“That’s the only way I’d sign the contract. We’re both doing something we don’t want.” I retort.

He nods. “The terms and conditions for the contract will be sent to you. Only call me when it’s decided.” 

“I’ll call your office,” I say, loathing the mere idea of hearing him talk. He doesn’t say anything for a while. He just stares, and I meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down.

“That should be all,” I add, mirroring his cold expression. I leave the office quietly, and I feel like I can suddenly breathe once the doors close.

I sigh, pulling out my phone and making a call while striding toward the exit.

“How did it go?” comes Rita’s worried voice. 

“I’m getting married,” I say, feeling the weight of my own words against my tongue. I pull the hoodie sleeves over my knuckles. It reeks of sweat and the wine my ex's mistress threw on me.