All Chapters of The Billion Dollar Contract: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

TodayWe ran across the tarmac, winded and desperate as we escaped the marsh into the daylight. Open ground, with nowhere to hide. We were vulnerable, exposed, and fully committed; there was no turning back now. Fifty feet away, the fuel truck sat double-parked near the hangar wall, the massive wing of the Gulfstream V looming overhead like a steel guillotine. Guards patrolled the hangar entrance, their attention fixed on the aircraft and the human cargo being unloaded inside, blind to the two figures racing across the tarmac in the long, stretching shadows of the evening.We reached a stack of equipment crates twenty feet from the fuel truck and ducked behind them, our chests heaving with exertion. My heart thudded against my ribcage like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. Elena produced the road flare we had purchased at the sporting goods store, her hands trembling, while I gripped the lighter in my sweat-slicked palm. We had one chance to do this right, one singular opportunit

ELENA’S POVI was late. I was late by twenty minutes.Twenty minutes to shower, change, and transform from a slutty stumbler back into a svelte professional. I threw open my apartment door, nearly sending my roommate Chloe flying off her couch."Jesus, El—you look like a truck ran over you," Chloe blinked, taking in my disheveled state. "A really hot truck. Oh my God, did you actually—""No time!" I bolted for the bathroom.The shower was a welcome blast of heat. Soap and shampoo scoured away the smell of expensive cologne and last night’s regrets as my thoughts spun in a frantic loop. This was my one chance. If I could get Blackwood Industries to sign on, I could finally show I was more than just the junior designer stuck with coffee runs and copycats.I snatched my most professional dress from the closet—a navy sheath that said ‘hire me’ without screaming ‘I’m trying too hard.’ I tugged my wet hair into a severe bun and covered every inch of pale skin with concealer and lipstick,

ELENA’S POVI ran.I fled out of the conference room, past the horrified assistant, and into the elevator before Adrian could follow. I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking, and by the time I’d pressed the lobby button I was a sweaty, stuttering mess. The doors closed, and I slumped against the mirrored wall, gasping for air. Married. I was married to Adrian Blackwood.The harsh fluorescent lights flickered overhead—buzzzzzt, buzzzzzt, buzzzzzt—setting my nerves on edge. I burst out of the lobby and into the unforgiving sun of Midtown. The city swarmed around me, suits and briefcases and people with real lives, real reasons to be here. Everywhere I looked, there was movement. The city kept on moving, but my entire life had just collapsed.I tugged my phone out of my purse with trembling fingers and dialed my dad.“Elena?” He grunted, a weary, tired sound. He was drunk. But it was barely even noon.“Dad. Is it true? You owe money to a loan shark?”There was a pause. Dead silence on t

ADRIAN’S POVMilk dribbled down my chest, soaking through the cotton of my shirt and chilling my skin.I stood there, droplets of cereal sliding down my fifteen-thousand-dollar suit, looking at the woman who’d just pelted me with breakfast food. Elena glared back at me, her chest heaving, her chin tilted up in defiant challenge.She looked absurd. Her too-large pajamas sagged off her body, her hair was a disaster of tangles, and she was barefoot in my spotless, sterile living room. She was a mess. A total disaster.And I’d never wanted anyone so badly in my life.Shock rocked through me like a physical blow, freezing me in place. I wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She was a problem to be solved. A means to an end. A chess piece I’d deftly maneuvered into place to secure the Hartley deal. But here she was, in her shabby pajamas, fury flashing in her green eyes, and she was the only real thing in my sterile existence.And I loathed her for it.“Go to bed, Elena.”My voice was roughe

ELENA’S POVThe photo on Adrian’s phone seared into my brain like a brand. My father. Bloody. Unconscious. The ballroom at the Plaza swirled around me, a kaleidoscope of lights and noise that suddenly made no sense.“Where is he?” My voice croaked, barely audible over the string quartet. “Where—”“I’m tracing it now.” Adrian was already on his feet, phone to his ear, his voice shifting into command mode. “Marcus. I need a location on this number. Now.”He grabbed my elbow and wrenched me through the crowd, not caring who we bumped into. Whispers trailed us like smoke. Curious stares burned into my back. I didn’t care.We crashed out of the hotel entrance into the humid night air. The town car was already there, engine idling.“Queens,” Adrian growled at the driver as he shoved me into the backseat. “I’ll text the address.”His phone buzzed. A text from Marcus with an address. My father’s apartment building. Of course.The ride felt like a nightmare in slow motion. Adrian made calls,