Oops! I Signed A Baby Contract

Mia stared at the number on her banking app until it blurred: two hundred and forty dollars. Rent was due in nine days, and eleven job applications that month had brought back nothing but polite rejection emails, if they answered at all.

Kessia was away for the weekend, visiting her cousin, so the apartment was quiet except for the hum of the ancient refrigerator and the sound of Mia’s own heartbeat, loud and useless in her ears.

She had a business degree, a mother back home who called every Sunday and asked, carefully, if things were getting better, and nothing else to show for the last two years. Things were not getting better. They hadn’t been for a long time.

Two years ago she had walked across a graduation stage in a cheap gown she’d rented for the day, certain that a degree meant something would open up for her. Instead it had bought her a folder of transcripts nobody wanted to look at, and a mother who still believed, every single Sunday, that her daughter was doing fine in the city. Mia never told her the truth. She couldn’t. Her mother had sold half of what she owned to send her here in the first place, and Mia wasn’t about to hand that sacrifice back wrapped in bad news.

She pulled her one good dress out of the closet, black and cheap but it didn’t look cheap, and laid it flat on the bed. She wasn’t proud of the plan forming in her head. It wasn’t even a plan yet, more a shape she kept circling without looking directly at it. She told herself it was only for tonight, just once, enough to cover rent and send something home before her mother started asking harder questions. After that, she’d find real work and never think about it again.

By the time she zipped up the dress and checked herself in the cracked mirror behind the door, she had almost talked herself into believing it. She practiced a smile in the glass, the kind that made men forget to ask questions, and told herself this version of her was just for tonight too.

**

“What are your plans for the weekend, Mateo?” Felix asked as they walked toward the car park.

“What plan, other than finishing the business ahead of us? We have to hit the company’s target for this month, you know that.”

Mateo and Felix were more than business partners. They’d been friends since they were kids, and even though Felix technically worked for Mateo, who had inherited his father’s company, neither of them treated it that way.

“You are so boring,” Felix said, shaking his head.

“If prioritizing my company makes me boring, thank you.” Mateo said it dryly, dropping his briefcase into the boot of the car.

“Take a chill break, dude. Come on.” Felix blocked the driver’s door before Mateo could open it.

“What is it, Felix?”

“It’s Friday. Do you know what’s popping in the city right now?”

Mateo shook his head, unimpressed.

“The club,” Felix said.

“I don’t do clubs.”

“You will tonight. You’re coming with me. Loosen up a little. Stop being so dull.”

“I’m not dull. I already wasted half my twenties partying. I’m not going back to that.”

“Sorry to break it to you, I’m doing you a favor,” Felix said, grinning.

“What favor?”

“Your dad asked me if there’s a woman in your life.”

Mateo’s brows pulled together. “He asked you too? He brought it up the last time we spoke. Have I really gotten to that age where parents nag about settling down?”

“I don’t know, man. All I know is you haven’t moved on since your last girlfriend dumped you.”

“She didn’t dump me. I loved her, and she cheated, and I was the one who ended it.”

“Same thing. She cheated because you’re boring. Get a life, Mateo. You’re a workaholic.”

Mateo didn’t argue further.

“So you’re coming to the club?”

He sighed. “Fine. You win.”

He climbed into the passenger side, still muttering something about deadlines Felix ignored completely.

The club was loud, neon light sliding across the walls in time with the bass. Felix disappeared into the crowd within minutes, while Mateo found a corner of the bar, nursing whiskey and answering emails on his phone. When a woman approached, he waved her off without looking up. He did that three more times before the fourth one refused to leave.

“Hey, handsome.”

Mia had spotted him the second she walked in: alone at the bar, sharp suit, the kind of quiet, expensive stillness that told her he wasn’t used to being told no. Her heart was going fast under the dress, but she smoothed her hair and walked over anyway, rehearsing the opening line in her head even as her stomach twisted.

He glanced up, unbothered, and went straight back to his phone.

“Let me be,” he muttered.

She didn’t move. “Why come to a club if you’re not here for fun?”

He ignored her.

“And who wears a three piece suit to a club?” she said, letting a little mockery into her voice, hoping it would land better than flattery had.

“I came straight from the office.”

“Ah, a businessman. Working class. I like your type.” She smiled, and underneath the smile she was already doing the math: watch, suit, the way he tipped without checking the bill.

“Thank you,” he said flatly, sipping his whiskey.

“I’m Mia.” She held out her hand.

He shook it, more out of reflex than interest. “Mateo.”

“What kind of business do you do, Mr. Mateo?” She sat close, closer than she needed to.

“Why do you care?”

She could feel him trying not to notice her, and failing. “You’d be surprised. A man like you, you’re not like the others. I can tell.”

He rolled his eyes, but something in him softened, just slightly. She noted that too, filed it away the way she filed away everything useful: the watch on his wrist, the unhurried way he moved, a man who had never once had to worry about a due date. It made what she was about to do easier. She took the bottle from his hand and poured two glasses before he could object.

“Cheers,” she said, lifting her glass to his.

“Tell me, Mateo. What do you do when you’re not working? What do you do for fun?”

He drank and tried to wave her off. “I know your type, and I know what you want. I’m not interested.”

She leaned in anyway, her voice dropping low. “I just want to spend some time with you. I’m more interested in the man underneath the suit.” Her fingers traced down his shirt front, and for a second, her nerve almost failed her. She hated this part. She kept going anyway.

Mateo’s eyelids were growing heavy, his vision blurring at the edges. Mia cupped his jaw and let her lips hover close to his, close enough that he wouldn’t notice her other hand slipping toward his glass.

He tried to pull back. “Did… did you put something in my drink?” He fought the drowsiness, but it dragged him under anyway, his head dropping, his body going slack against the bar.

She stood, slung his arm over her shoulder, and steered him toward one of the dim back rooms. Nobody stopped them. They looked, to anyone watching, like a couple leaving to be alone, and even Felix, catching sight of them from the dance floor, only grinned and assumed his friend had finally loosened up.

Mateo tried to fight it, tried to form words, but his body wasn’t listening anymore. He groaned something that wasn’t quite a sentence.

She laid him on the bed and, for a moment, just looked at him: the expensive watch, the wallet thick with cash and cards, the necklace, the phone. It was, by any measure, the easiest job she’d ever pulled. She told herself that was a good thing.

She took her time anyway, quiet and methodical, and when she was done, she slipped out of the room and let the crowd swallow her.

Outside, the night air hit her face and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She hadn’t planned on doing this again. She told herself it was the last time, and didn’t fully believe it.

Behind her, in a room he didn’t know the number of, Mateo slid the rest of the way into unconsciousness. He didn’t even know her real name.