Chapter 4

The woman across his desk had not touched the tea.

Desmond noticed that before he noticed the bruise, a purple smear along her cheekbone

that no amount of hair could hide. She sat very straight, both hands wrapped around the

handles of a plastic hospital bag, like someone braced to be thrown out.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Starling.”

“You said you knew what they did.” Her voice was hoarse. “Prove it.”

He almost smiled. “Isaiah’s company carries far more debt than he admits to anyone.

Two of his investors are quietly pulling out. Emily has not been admitted to any hospital

in two years. Last Thursday she spent the afternoon at a spa.”

Dorcas’s knuckles whitened on the plastic. “How do you know that?”

“Because I pay people to know things.”

“You had me followed?”

“I had them followed. You were a footnote.” He let that sit. “I know what they did to you.

I also know exactly how little you can do about it alone.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I need a wife.”

Silence. A siren sounded, very far below.

“My grandfather died last night,” he said. “His will is simple. Once he is buried, I must

marry quickly, or the board takes control of Allen Corporation. The burial is in two

days.” He opened the folder David had drafted in four hours and turned it toward her.

“So I am offering you an agreement.”

“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” she said.She said it automatically, and she meant it. She had lost her child and her name in a

single day, and she still found room to be sorry for a stranger.

“Don’t,” he said, more sharply than he intended. “You have enough to be sorry about.”

Her chin came up. Good. He had no use for someone who collapsed.

“A contract,” she said.

“Everything in my life is a contract.” He ticked the points off on his fingers. “Six months.

You appear in public as my wife, and you do it convincingly. In private we live separate

lives. Neither of us has any emotional claim on the other. In return you receive

protection, financial security and a position at Allen Corporation. And my lawyers, for as

long as it takes to deal with Isaiah.”

“You want me to pretend to be Mrs Allen.”

“It’s a role.”

“And what do you get?”

“Control of my company. That is the whole transaction. Nobody is rescuing anybody.”

“Who else knows about this?”

“David. Nobody else. The board finds out when I announce it.”

She was silent. Then she reached into her bag, took out her phone, and slid it across the

desk.

“Look.”

On the screen was a photograph of a tablet. A signature. A purple stamp.

“That is a surrogacy waiver with my name on it,” she said. “I never signed it. The date is

wrong. The stamp is wrong. I took these an hour ago, while the woman who showed it to

me was on the phone.”Desmond looked at the photographs, then at her. He had been wrong about something,

and he did not enjoy it. She was not a woman with nothing. She was a woman with no

resources and a very good eye.

“Why photograph it?” he asked.

“Because it was the only thing in that room nobody had thought to take from me.”

He enlarged the stamp with two fingers. “The notary’s number is partly legible. David

can trace it.”

“Then trace it.” She took her phone back. “If I sign, will your lawyers use it?”

“Your case is separate. I’ll fund it.”

“In writing?”

“Everything is in writing.”

He slid a pen beside the folder. She did not look at it.

He had expected tears, or anger, or the sort of hard bargaining that came with

desperation. He had a number ready. He always did.

“Everyone has a price, Miss Starling,” he said. “Money. A house. A name. Tell me yours.”

She was quiet for so long that he almost repeated the question.

“I want my son back,” she said at last. “And I want Isaiah and Emily to lose everything

they took from me.”

“That is not a price. That’s a wish.”

“It’s the only thing I have.”

“Then it’s a start. Money buys most things, including justice, if you know who to pay.”

Something moved behind her eyes. She did not like that answer, and she did not argue

with it. She only looked at him the way people look at a locked door.“Why me?” she asked.

“Because you have nothing left to lose, and nobody in my world owns you.”

She stood, carefully, one hand on the edge of the desk. He caught himself half out of his

chair and forced himself to sit back down. She noticed.

“You said you weren’t rescuing me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then why did you almost stand up?”

He did not have an answer, and he did not like that either.

Dorcas picked up the folder.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to read it. Every line.” She tucked it under her arm. “I don’t trust you.”

“Good. You shouldn’t.”

“Give me the night.”

“The burial is in two days.”

She walked to the door.

“Where will you stay tonight?” he asked.

She did not answer.

“My driver will take you to a hotel. On my account.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“Don’t.”

She left. The door clicked shut behind her.David came in two minutes later and looked at the empty chair. “Sir. She took the

contract.”

“I know.”

“If she goes to the press with it—”

“She won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No.”

“Sir, with respect, she is carrying a hospital bag and half a scandal.”

“She also photographed the evidence before I thought to ask for it.”

He looked at the clock, and at the tea she had never touched, going cold.