Wrong Inbox

Zariel had sent her boss a proposal to marry her, and he had just opened it.

"Please tell me that says Marcus," she whispered, pointing at the name on her screen. "Look properly, Maya. People have survived worse spelling mistakes."

Maya leaned across the desk, her hair clip scraping the glass partition. She read the address, then stopped chewing her gum.

"That says Kaelen Sterling. There isn't a generous way to read it."

Zariel clicked the message again, although opening it for the fourth time could hardly change the recipient. The subject line filled the screen: CONFIDENTIAL CONTRACT MARRIAGE PROPOSAL.

Below it sat the attachment she had spent half the morning improving. Public appearances, payment terms, physical boundaries, everything a wealthy client needed to rent a convincing spouse.

"I was changing his calendar," she said. "Marcus needed the revised template, the agency server was down, and I had both windows open."

"On your work computer?" Maya glanced toward the executive corridor. "You run a fake dating business beside his meeting schedule?"

"I run it after work. Today was an exception."

"Today might be your last day at work."

Zariel reached for the recall option. Her fingers slipped on the mouse, she tried again, and the blue read indicator remained beside Kaelen's name.

Maya caught her wrist before she could click anything else. "He has it, Zari. Sending another message won't make him forget the first."

"Maybe he thinks someone is testing the mail filter."

"Does the document have our company watermark on it?"

Zariel lowered her hand. She could still see the pale lettering behind the clauses, a small shortcut that now looked remarkably like evidence.

"The client needs a husband by Friday," she said.

"If we lose that booking, the bank takes Brenda's house. I couldn't wait for Marcus to fix the server."

Maya's teasing expression faded. "How much time does she have?"

"Until the end of the week. I've got three hundred dollars, and the bank doesn't accept good intentions."

Across the floor, someone laughed over a ringing telephone. Zariel wanted to turn around and ask them how they could possibly find anything funny.

She had worked for Kaelen for a year, learning his schedule, anticipating his demands, keeping his days running without being noticed. He had dismissed a senior vice president over a careless presentation last Tuesday. She had delivered a marriage business to his inbox.

An alert covered the message before she could decide whether to apologize.

Executive Suite 1A. Emergency meeting. Attendance required immediately.

Maya let go of her wrist and took the files off the edge of the desk.

"Straighten your jacket," she said. "And don't tell him the server story before he asks. You'll talk yourself into a second disaster."

Zariel pulled her curls back into their loosened bun. "If I don't come back, delete my browser history."

"Come back and do it yourself," Maya said quietly.

Her badge shook against the scanner outside his office. She steadied it with both hands, waited for the light to turn green, and entered.

Kaelen sat behind his desk with her document facedown beside his tablet. He didn't look up. The city stretched behind him, bright enough that she could see her reflection in the glass, a woman clutching a tablet to keep her hands occupied.

"You wanted the merger schedule?" she asked. "I have the changes."

He finished reading whatever was on his screen, set the tablet down, and looked at her.

His blue eyes moved from her untidy hair to the tablet pressed against her chest. Zariel lowered it before he could tell her to.

"Take a seat, Miss Thorne. The schedule can wait."

She sat opposite him, her knees tucked together, and placed the tablet across her lap. His suit had no creases, his desk no clutter, and her mistake was the only paper between them.

"About the message," she began, "I was checking whether an unusual attachment would get through our internal filters."

Kaelen rested a finger on the printout. "A marriage proposal is an unusual choice for a security test."

"The subject matter wasn't the point. It was the attachment."

"Then explain why the proposed f*e is five hundred thousand dollars."

She pressed her lips together. She could hear herself inventing excuses and knew how those excuses sounded to a man who signed off on investigations.

"I sent it to the wrong person," she said. "It belongs to a private business. I'll remove the files from this computer."

"You prepared it yourself?" His finger stayed on the page.

"Most of it. My partner handles the bookings."

"And you handle the terms." He waited until she nodded. "The boundaries are unusually specific."

"People get careless when they think payment buys everything."

His gaze held hers, and Zariel regretted the answer without regretting what it meant. She had coached enough frightened clients to know why those clauses mattered.

"I understand this creates a problem with my employment," she said. "The work is separate. I haven't used company information, and nobody at my agency has access to your files."

"I have not asked about your employment yet."

That last word kept her in the chair. She glanced at the office door, then back at the document, wondering whether she would leave with an escort.

"Mr. Sterling, the proposal wasn't intended for you."

"I gathered that from the recipient you meant to choose."

He turned the paper over and slid it across the desk. Zariel recognized the clauses she had checked that morning, including the penalties she had tightened at Marcus's request.

At the bottom, beneath the space reserved for the client, black ink cut across the page.

She leaned closer, certain she was reading it incorrectly. Kaelen's signature was familiar from a hundred documents, and this one matched every stroke.

"You signed it?" she asked, forgetting to lower her voice.

He watched her across the desk, leaving the proposal within her reach.

"I need a wife, Miss Thorne. You have just offered me one."