Chapter 3 The Rules Of Engagement

• ​The ink flowed onto the heavy paper. I pressed the pen down, writing my full name across the signature line before I could lose my nerve.
• ​"You're joking!" Solomon shouted, taking a sudden step toward the desk. "Freya, stop!"
• ​I set the pen down beside the sleek black card. "I need tuition, Solomon."
• ​"So you're becoming my father's sugar baby?" Solomon stared at me, his face turning a deep, angry red. "Have you completely lost your mind?"
• ​"You slept with my best friend in our bed hours ago," I said, leaning back in my chair.
• ​"That's entirely unrelated!" Solomon yelled, throwing his hands into the air.
• ​I turned my head and looked at Atticus. Atticus looked back at me, then slowly shifted his gaze to his son. Atticus shook his head, a heavy sigh escaping his chest.
• ​"Leave, Solomon," Atticus said.
• ​"Dad, listen to me—" Solomon started.
• ​"Leave before I remember I can legally rewrite my entire will tonight," Atticus said, his tone icy.
• ​Solomon gasped, taking a quick step backward. He glared at me, turned around, and stormed out, slamming the heavy wooden door behind him. The loud bang echoed through the room. The space suddenly felt much smaller.
• ​Atticus picked up the contract. He slid it into a leather folder, locked it inside his top desk drawer, and put the key in his pocket.
• ​"There is one rule, Freya," Atticus said, standing up.
• ​"Only one?" I asked, raising my brows. "I thought there would be fifty pages of rules."
• ​He walked around the desk, stopping two feet away from my chair. "Do not fall in love with me."
• ​A bubble of laughter burst from my chest. I couldn't stop it. The absolute arrogance of this man was unbelievable.
• ​"Trust me," I laughed, wiping a tear from my eye. "That is not going to be a concern."
• ​Atticus raised an eyebrow, his left hand sliding into his pocket. "Good."
• ​Neither of us believed a word of it.
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• ​Ten minutes later, a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Gable was guiding me through the house. The estate was beyond dramatic.
• ​"This is the indoor tropical garden," Mrs. Gable explained, gesturing to a massive glass dome filled with exotic palm trees and a humming waterfall.
• ​"Why does one family need a waterfall inside?" I asked, my eyes wide.
• ​"Mr. Fletcher likes the ambient noise," she replied smoothly. She led me down a marble staircase. "Here we have the wine cellar, the six-lane bowling alley, the private movie theater, and the primary library."
• ​"It's like a small village," I muttered, staring at the rolling ladders resting against three-story bookshelves.
• ​"It is home, Miss Barnes," Mrs. Gable said with a soft smile.
• ​She opened a pair of tall white doors at the end of the north wing.
• ​"Your suite," she announced.
• ​The bedroom was double the size of my entire previous apartment. A plush velvet sofa sat near a roaring fireplace, and a king-sized bed dominated the far wall. I walked over to the double doors of the walk-in closet and pulled them open.
• ​My mouth dropped open.
• ​Racks of designer coats, dresses, tailored pants, and shoes filled the massive space. Handbags sat on lit shelves like museum pieces. I pulled a beige cashmere sweater off a hanger and checked the tag.
• ​My exact size.
• ​I turned around, horror creeping into my throat. "Mrs. Gable... how are these all my size?"
• ​"The Fletcher team acquired your measurements six hours or so ago, dear," she said, adjusting a pillow on the bed.
• ​"How?" I whispered.
• ​"I don't know the details and it's best not to ask questions, Miss Barnes," she replied cheerfully.
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• ​At seven o'clock, I walked down to the main dining room. The table was long enough to seat twenty people, but only two places were set at the very end.
• ​Atticus sat in the chair at the head of the table. I took the seat to his left.
• ​"Why me, Atticus?" I asked, cutting into my roasted chicken. "Why not find a real socialite?"
• ​"A socialite brings complications," Atticus said, taking a slow sip from his crystal glass. "You bring necessity. You need tuition. I need stability."
• ​"How long have you planned this?" I pressed, leaning forward. "Did you know Solomon was cheating?"
• ​Atticus set his glass down. "Eat your dinner, Freya."
• ​A staff stepped forward, placing a small plate in front of me. On it sat two delicate, pink raspberry macarons.
• ​"My favorite," I gasped, picking one up.
• ​"They should be," the chef said proudly from near the kitchen door. "Mr. Fletcher specifically requested them for dessert."
• ​I slowly turned my head toward Atticus. He took another sip of his wine, looking straight ahead, entirely pretending he hadn't said a word.
• ​My phone buzzed continuously against the tablecloth. Solomon was having an absolute meltdown.
• ​Voice Note #1: You're making a huge mistake, Freya!
• ​Voice Note #11: You aren't even his type! Pick up!
• ​Voice Note #31: Answer your phone right now!
• ​I dragged my thumb across the screen and blocked his number completely.