Chapter 2 - The Contract at Midnight
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in the private master suite on the top floor of the Astor Grand, wrapped in a plush white velvet robe, drinking warm honey tea while a hotel physician checked the minor cut on my wrist from where the champagne flute had brushed against me.
The door clicked shut as the doctor left, leaving me alone with Julian Vance.
He stood near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, looking out at the glittering night lights of the Manhattan skyline. He had removed his tuxedo jacket, unbuttoning his top collar, looking impossibly handsome and grounded against the backdrop of the city he practically owned.
"Why did you do that?" I asked softly, setting my teacup down on the mahogany table. "You don't know me, Mr. Vance. You just lied to the entire elite of New York city to save a girl who was dripping in cheap alcohol."
Julian turned around slowly, holding two crystal glasses filled with sparkling water. He walked over and sat in the leather armchair across from me, handing me one.
"I know more about you than you think, Ava," Julian replied quietly.
I blinked. "What?"
Julian pulled a sleek black leather folder from his briefcase and laid it on the coffee table between us. "Six months ago, when Damian Cross abruptly left his junior associate position at Miller & Associates to join my subsidiary firm, Vance Capital, I ordered a standard background check on his financial disclosures."
He opened the folder, revealing copied bank statements, tuition receipts, and loan payment logs—all bearing my signature from the past four years.
"I saw the $4,800 transfer you made from your savings account," Julian said, his eyes softening with deep respect. "I saw the receipts for his professional wardrobe, the rent checks signed in your handwriting while you worked double shifts at coffee shops and medical billing offices. Damian Cross claimed to my board that he was an independent prodigy who built himself from nothing. But the paper trail proved he was built by you."
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I forced them back. "I was an idiot. I believed him when he said we were a team."
"You weren't an idiot, Ava," Julian corrected gently. "You were loyal. A rare, priceless quality in this city. And tonight, when I saw him pour champagne on the woman who sacrificed everything to put him in that room... I decided it was time he paid his debt."
I leaned back against the plush velvet sofa, trying to process the magnitude of what was happening. "And the fiancée comment? What was that?"
Julian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his intense gray eyes fixing onto mine.
"My grandfather's will stipulates that to retain my position as Chairman of the Vance Board of Directors, I must be married or engaged to a woman of proven character by my thirty-third birthday—which is in three months," Julian explained smoothly. "The board expects me to marry a shallow heiress like Victoria Langford. But I refuse to tie my life or my empire to someone who measures worth by a bank balance."
Julian pushed a single piece of paper toward me.
"A three-month arrangement," Julian said softly. "You move into my penthouse. We attend five major public galas together as a couple. I give you a public platform, a brand-new career in event management at the highest level, and a five-million-dollar settlement when the contract ends. In return, you help me secure my chairmanship."
May you like
I stared at the document, my mind spinning. "Five million dollars? Julian... I'm just an assistant."
"No, Ava," Julian murmured, reaching across the table to gently touch the back of my hand. "You are the woman who is going to show Damian Cross and this entire city what happens when you underestimate a true queen."
