CHAPTER THREE

Robert Cho arrived at the Meridian Hotel forty-five minutes later with a leather briefcase and the unflappable demeanor of someone accustomed to drafting unusual contracts at unusual hours. He was in his late fifties, Korean-American, with silver-threaded hair and sharp eyes that assessed Catherine with obvious curiosity.

"This is highly irregular," Robert said, setting up his laptop on the conference room table. "Even for you, Harry."

"Irregular situations require creative solutions." Harry had removed his tuxedo jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, looking more human and somehow more dangerous in the partial undress. "Ms. Hayes needs a standard contract for temporary services rendered. Six months. Specific terms regarding public appearances and compensation."

Robert's expression suggested he knew exactly what kind of "services" they were discussing, but he was too professional to comment directly. Instead, he turned to Catherine. "Ms. Hayes, I need to ask if you've consulted with your own legal representation regarding this arrangement."

"I haven't," Catherine admitted. She was still wearing the champagne-stained dress, still processing the surreal turn her evening had taken. "Should I?"

"Ideally, yes. However, I can draft terms that protect both parties and give you seventy-two hours to have an independent attorney review before signing. That's standard practice for any contract of this... nature."

Catherine glanced at Harry, who nodded. "That's fine. Robert's fair. He'll make sure you're not getting screwed over."

"Legally speaking," Robert added dryly. He pulled up a template on his laptop. "Let's start with the basics. Term of agreement: six months beginning today, November fifteenth, and ending May fifteenth. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes," Catherine and Harry said simultaneously.

"Compensation?" Robert's fingers hovered over the keyboard.

"Five hundred thousand dollars," Harry said. "Paid in two installments—half at the three-month mark, the remaining half at completion of the six-month term. If either party terminates early after the first three months, the initial payment is retained but the second payment is forfeit."

"And if termination occurs before three months?" Catherine asked.

"Then a prorated amount based on time served, minimum twenty-five thousand." Harry's tone was businesslike. "You'll have invested time and energy. You should be compensated regardless."

Robert typed rapidly. "What about expectations for public appearances? Ms. Hayes needs specificity here."

"Minimum two public appearances per week," Harry said, looking at Catherine for confirmation. "Could be anything from dinner with my grandmother to corporate events to gallery openings. Catherine maintains veto power over any appearance that conflicts with her business obligations. I get same veto power for legitimate business conflicts."

"Weekends?" Catherine asked. "My busiest season is wedding season—spring and summer. I'll have events almost every Saturday from March through October."

"Then we schedule around your events. This is a business arrangement, Catherine. I'm not asking you to sacrifice your career."

There was something almost respectful in how he said it. Catherine had expected a wealthy CEO to assume his time was more valuable, his obligations more important. But Harry seemed genuinely willing to accommodate her work.

Robert continued typing. "Physical intimacy parameters?"

Catherine felt her cheeks heat. "Nothing beyond what's necessary for public appearances. Hand-holding, brief kisses, standard couple behavior. Nothing... more intimate."

"Define 'more intimate,'" Robert said clinically.

Harry answered before Catherine could find words. "Nothing requiring privacy. If we wouldn't do it in front of my grandmother, it's not part of the contract."

"What about living arrangements?" Robert asked.

"Separate residences," Catherine said quickly.

"Initially," Harry amended. "But Victoria will expect us to move in together after a few months. That's how engaged couples typically behave. I propose we maintain separate residences for the first eight weeks, then Catherine moves into the guest suite at my penthouse. Three bedrooms, completely private space, separate entrance if she wants it."

"I don't—" Catherine started.

"It's a twenty-three-hundred-square-foot guest suite with a full kitchen and separate entrance," Harry interrupted. "You'll have more space and privacy than most Manhattan apartments. And my grandmother won't question the engagement if we're not living together after a certain point."

He had a point, but the thought of living in Harry Blackwell's penthouse felt overwhelming. Still, this was a business arrangement. She could negotiate.

"I need to maintain my current apartment," Catherine said. "I'm not giving up my space completely. And the guest suite is genuinely private—you don't enter without permission."

"Agreed. I'll cover your current rent for the duration of the contract so you're not paying for two places."

Robert made more notes. "Exit strategy?"

"Clean break after six months," Harry said. "Mutual decision to part ways, amicable and friendly. Catherine signs an NDA about the contractual nature of the relationship but is otherwise free to discuss the 'engagement' in general terms. No disparagement clause—if I do something genuinely awful, Catherine's not bound to silence."

"And vice versa," Robert added, glancing at Catherine. "You agree not to deliberately sabotage Mr. Blackwell's business interests or public reputation."

"I'm not interested in sabotage," Catherine said. "I just want—"

She stopped, unsure how to finish. Revenge? Justice? A way to feel less like a victim?

"You want your ex-fiancé to regret his choices," Harry said quietly. "That's fair. And part of my end of this bargain is ensuring that happens. Robert, add a clause that I will use my position to make Marcus Chen's professional life extremely difficult. Not illegal, but definitely uncomfortable. Dead-end assignments, minimal advancement opportunities, reputation damage where ethically possible."

"That's potentially problematic," Robert warned.

"Then phrase it carefully. But Catherine needs assurance that I'm delivering on that promise."

Robert sighed and typed something lengthy. They spent the next twenty minutes hammering out details: what constituted an acceptable "public appearance," how to handle media inquiries, what happened if either party met someone they genuinely wanted to date during the six months (pause the arrangement by mutual agreement, adjust terms), emergency exit clauses if something truly untenable occurred.

Finally, Robert turned the laptop screen toward Catherine. "This is the draft. Take your time reading it. I recommend having your own attorney review it, but I've tried to make the terms as balanced as possible."

Catherine read through the contract slowly. It was surprisingly fair—Robert had built in protections for her, clear language about consent and boundaries, specific financial terms that guaranteed payment. There was even a clause about Harry covering any therapy costs if the arrangement caused her psychological distress.

"The therapy clause is standard in my unusual contracts," Robert explained when Catherine raised an eyebrow. "High-stress situations can have unexpected mental health impacts. This ensures you're not financially burdened if you need support."

"How many 'unusual contracts' have you drafted?" Catherine asked.

"Enough to know that clarity prevents ninety percent of future problems." Robert glanced at Harry. "Though this is definitely the most elaborate fake engagement I've written."

Catherine reached the signature section. Her hand hovered over the trackpad. This was insane. She should walk away right now, go home, deal with her broken engagement like a normal person.

But she thought about Marcus's face when Harry had kissed her. The shock. The beginning of understanding that Catherine wasn't going to collapse quietly into victimhood.

"I want one more thing," she said.

Harry leaned forward. "Name it."

"A clause that says if you meet someone—someone real that you want to pursue—we end this immediately, no penalties. I don't want to be the reason you miss a genuine connection."

Something flickered across Harry's face. Surprise, maybe. Or something more complicated. "That's remarkably generous for a business arrangement."

"This is already complicated enough. I don't want it even more complicated by either of us catching actual feelings somewhere else."

"Add the clause, Robert." Harry's voice had gone quiet. "Mutual and immediate termination if either party develops genuine romantic interest in a third party. No penalties, no forfeited payments."

Robert added the language and turned the laptop back to Catherine. "Anything else?"

Catherine stared at the screen. This was the moment. Sign and step into six months of elaborate deception, or walk away and face her shattered life alone.

She thought about Lily, crying fake tears while tangled in Catherine's sheets. About Marcus, irritated rather than remorseful. About her mother, prioritizing appearances over Catherine's pain.

Catherine signed.

Harry signed immediately after, his signature quick and decisive. Robert witnessed both signatures and closed the laptop with a definitive click.

"Congratulations," Robert said dryly. "You're now fake engaged. Try not to do anything that gets me disbarred."

---

Catherine left the Meridian Hotel ninety minutes after she'd arrived, her world completely transformed. Harry walked her to her car—a necessary show for any paparazzi who might be lurking—his hand resting possessively on her lower back.

"We should coordinate stories," Harry said as they reached Catherine's modest sedan. "My grandmother will want to meet you. Probably tomorrow, knowing Victoria."

"Tomorrow?" Catherine's voice pitched up. "That's—"

"Fast. I know. But those photos from tonight are definitely circulating, and Victoria has G****e alerts for my name. She's probably seen them already." Harry pulled out his phone and showed Catherine the screen.

It was a gossip site—"Elite Society Secrets"—with a photo of their kiss prominently displayed. The headline read: "Billionaire Harry Blackwell's Mystery Woman: Who Is the Blonde Beauty Who Captured NYC's Most Eligible Bachelor?"

Catherine's stomach dropped. "Oh my God."

"There are twelve similar posts across different sites. You're about to become very famous, Catherine Hayes."

She scrolled through the comments, which ranged from speculation about her identity to extremely detailed analysis of Harry's body language during the kiss. Someone had already identified her business—"She's Catherine Hayes from Ever After Events! That boutique wedding planning company!"

"My phone is going to explode," Catherine said faintly.

"Probably. Which is why we should get our story straight now. How did we meet?"

Catherine's mind spun. "I don't know. What sounds believable?"

"Mutual friends? Chance encounter? We've been dating quietly for a few weeks?"

"Quietly for two months," Catherine decided. "That's long enough to be serious but short enough that people won't question why there weren't earlier photos. We met through—" She thought quickly. "Through your grandmother, actually. She wanted event planning consultation for a family function. I came to her estate, you were visiting, we connected over a shared love of architecture."

Harry's eyebrows rose. "That's very specific."

"I plan events for a living. Making believable stories is part of the job."

"Architecture?"

"You develop real estate. I assume you care about building design. And I actually did minor in art history with a focus on architecture before switching to business, so I can hold a conversation about it."

"That's... surprisingly well thought out."

"Is it true?" Catherine asked. "Do you care about architecture?"

"I do, actually. Victorian and art deco specifically."

"Then we bonded over Victorian architecture at your grandmother's estate, started talking, and you asked me to dinner. We've been seeing each other quietly since early September. You didn't want to go public because of your history with media scrutiny, but tonight you couldn't help yourself."

Harry studied her face in the dim parking lot light. "You're good at this."

"I spend my life helping people create perfect moments. Crafting a believable love story isn't that different." Catherine's voice came out more bitter than she intended.

Harry's expression softened slightly. "For what it's worth, Marcus Chen is an idiot. And your sister—"

"Don't." Catherine held up a hand. "Please don't be sympathetic. I can handle cold and transactional. Kindness might break me right now."

Harry nodded once, understanding. "Then let's focus on the practical. I'll send a car for you tomorrow at six. Dinner with Victoria at her estate in Westchester. Wear something elegant but not ostentatious. She values subtlety and good taste."

"Six o'clock. Elegant but not ostentatious. Got it."

"Catherine." Harry caught her hand as she reached for her car door. "This is going to work. You'll get what you want, I'll get what I need, and in six months we'll both walk away exactly as planned."

He said it with such certainty, such confidence in his ability to control outcomes. Catherine wanted to believe him.

"Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Catherine. Welcome to the most elaborate business arrangement of your life."

---

Catherine drove home in a daze. Her phone had indeed exploded—texts from Nina, from clients, from acquaintances she hadn't spoken to in months, all demanding to know about the photos circulating online.

She ignored them all except Nina's increasingly frantic messages:

*CATHERINE. The Internet says you kissed Harry Blackwell. THE Harry Blackwell. CALL ME RIGHT NOW.*

Catherine typed back: *Long story. Come over? I need someone sane to talk to.*

Nina: *On my way. Bringing wine. A lot of wine.*

When Catherine finally reached her apartment—Marcus's things still scattered around, evidence of the life they'd shared—she grabbed a garbage bag and started throwing everything that belonged to him into it. His electric toothbrush. His half of the closet. The photo frames showing their supposedly happy relationship.

She was shoving his books into a box when Nina arrived, breathless and wide-eyed.

"Start talking," Nina demanded, setting down two bottles of wine. "Because the Internet thinks you're dating a billionaire, and last I checked, you were engaged to Marcus."

Catherine told her everything. The betrayal. The pregnancy. Her mother's reaction. The reckless decision to crash the gala. The kiss. And finally, in hushed tones that made it sound even more surreal, the contract.

Nina listened without interrupting, her expression shifting from shock to fury to something that might have been admiration.

"You signed a fake engagement contract," Nina said finally. "With Harry Blackwell. To get revenge on Marcus."

"And for half a million dollars."

"And for half a million dollars," Nina repeated. "Catherine. This is insane."

"I know."

"This is going to blow up in your face."

"Probably."

"You're going to fall for him." Nina pointed a knowing finger. "This is textbook fake relationship turns real. You're going to spend six months pretending to be in love, and then you're going to actually fall in love, and it's going to be a disaster because he's emotionally unavailable and you're rebounding from heartbreak."

"I'm not going to fall for him," Catherine protested. "This is business. Clean and transactional."

Nina gave her a look that suggested she knew better. "Famous last words. But you know what? Screw it. Marcus deserves this. Your sister deserves this. And you deserve half a million dollars and a revenge plot straight out of a romance novel."

She poured two large glasses of wine and raised hers in a toast. "To fake engagements, actual revenge, and hopefully not catastrophic emotional consequences."

Catherine clinked her glass against Nina's. "To six months of extremely complicated lies."

They drank, and Catherine tried not to think about Harry's hands in her hair, his mouth on hers, the electric shock of attraction that had felt startlingly, dangerously real.

It was just chemistry, she told herself. Physical response to a handsome man after emotional devastation. It didn't mean anything.

She had six months to keep believing that.