Chapter 3: The Proposition

Riley's POV

Brett Graham's office was a monument to power. Floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Manhattan, the city lights twinkling like stars below. Everything was chrome and glass, cold and expensive.

Just like the man seated behind the massive desk.

"Sit," he said without looking up from his tablet.

I perched on the edge of the leather chair, Lily heavy in my arms. She was burning up now, her small body trembling with fever. Every minute we spent here was a minute she wasn't getting help.

"Your name," Brett said, finally raising those steel-gray eyes to mine.

"Riley Plia. This is my daughter, Lily."

He didn't acknowledge Lily's existence. "Age?"

"Twenty-Four."

"Employment history?"

I swallowed. "I was a marketing assistant at Morrison & Associates until eight months ago."

"Fired?"

The word hit like a slap. "Yes."

"Why?"

My face burned. "My boss... he made advances. When I refused, he fired me and made sure I couldn't get another job."

Brett's expression didn't change. "So you're unemployed, blacklisted, and living where?"

"In my car."

"For how long?"

"Eight months."

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Let me understand this correctly. You're a homeless, unemployed single mother with no resources, no prospects, and a sick child. You've been living in a car for eight months, and now you're proposing to be my fake girlfriend."

Each word was like a knife, precisely placed to cut deepest. I felt tears prick my eyes, but I blinked them back.

"Yes."

"What makes you think you're qualified for such a position?"

"I'm not," I said quietly. "But I'm desperate, and desperate people work harder than anyone."

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Interest, maybe. Or amusement.

"The terms would be non-negotiable," he said. "Six months. You would accompany me to events, act as my girlfriend in public, and never reveal the true nature of our arrangement."

"Okay."

"You would live in my penthouse, but in the staff quarters. You would dress as I dictate, speak as I dictate, and behave as I dictate. Any deviation from my instructions would result in immediate termination of the contract."

My heart sank. Staff quarters. I'd be a servant, not a girlfriend. But Lily stirred in my arms, and I pushed down my pride.

"I understand."

"You would be subject to public scrutiny. The media will investigate your past, your family, your failures. They will find every embarrassing detail and publish it for the world to see."

"I don't care."

"You would attend charity galas, business dinners, and social events where you'll be surrounded by people who have more money than you'll ever see. They'll look down on you, and you'll smile and pretend you belong."

"I can do that."

"You would have no privacy. No personal life. No contact with friends or family without my permission."

"I don't have friends or family."

That stopped him. For a moment, something that might have been sympathy crossed his features. But it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"The compensation would be five hundred thousand dollars, paid at the end of six months. Not a penny before."

My breath caught. Half a million dollars. Enough for Lily's surgery and a fresh start.

"What if I can't... what if I don't make it the full six months?"

"Then you get nothing."

The words hung in the air between us. Nothing. After everything I'd endure, if I broke or quit or failed to meet his impossible standards, Lily would still die.

"There's one more thing," Brett said, his voice dropping lower. "This arrangement would include physical intimacy when required for appearances. You would be expected to play the part convincingly."

My stomach clenched. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means you would kiss me when cameras are present. Hold my hand at events. Share my bed when we travel." His eyes were cold, calculating. "It means you would convince the world that you're madly in love with me."

"And privately?"

"Privately, you would remember that this is a business transaction. Nothing more."

I looked down at Lily, her small face flushed with fever. She was so sick, so fragile. Without that surgery, she would die. And I would do anything—anything—to prevent that.

"I need time to think."

Brett's laugh was harsh. "Time? Your daughter is burning up with fever, you have nothing to your name, you're living in a car. What exactly do you need to think about?"

"I need to know you're serious. That you'll actually pay me at the end."

"I'm worth eight point two billion dollars. Five hundred thousand is pocket change."

"Then why not pay me some of it upfront?"

His eyes narrowed. "Because trust is earned, not given. And you, Riley Plia, have yet to prove you're worth trusting."

I stood up, my legs shaking. "Twenty-four hours. I'll give you an answer in twenty-four hours."

"Twelve hours."

"Twenty-four."

We stared at each other across his massive desk. Finally, he nodded once.

"Twenty-four hours. But understand this—if you walk out that door, this offer disappears forever. There are no second chances with me."

He pulled a business card from his desk and held it out. When I reached for it, his fingers brushed mine. They were warm, surprising me.

"Don't disappoint me, Riley," he said quietly. "I don't handle disappointment well."

As I walked toward the elevator, Lily heavy in my arms, I felt his eyes on my back. Watching. Calculating. Planning.

I had twenty-four hours to decide if I was brave enough to make a deal with the devil.