Chapter 6 The Contract

• Ninette's POV
• My heart stopped when I saw him standing in the hotel lobby, looking exactly as devastating as he had that night six weeks ago.
• It had been six weeks since I'd woken up alone in that hotel room, his scent still on the sheets but every trace of him gone. Six weeks of trying to forget the way his hands felt on my skin, the way he'd made me feel beautiful when I'd felt destroyed.
• And now he was here, walking toward me like he owned the world, his gray eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my knees weak.
• I should run, told him to fuck off for disappearing without a word. But my feet wouldn't move, and honestly, I was too tired to run from anything anymore.
• He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell that expensive woodsy cologne that had haunted me for weeks. Up close, in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the lobby windows, he was even more devastating than I remembered with sharp jaw, perfect suit, and those eyes that held me like an anchor.
• "You," I managed. "What are you doing here?"
• "Looking for you." He said it like it was obvious. "I've been looking for you for six weeks."
• My brain stuttered. "What?"
• "I should have left my number that night. Should have woken you up before I left. But I had an emergency meeting at dawn that I couldn't miss, and you looked so peaceful sleeping that I didn't want to disturb you." His jaw tightened. "By the time I got back, you'd already checked out. No name left at the desk. No way to find you."
• "So how did you find me?"
• "I went back to that bar. Every night for two weeks. Asked the bartender if he'd seen you. Finally, he remembered your name; Ninette. That was three weeks ago. From there, it wasn't hard to track you down."
• Three weeks ago. Which meant...
• "You've been looking for me for three weeks and only found me now?"
• "Found you two days ago, actually. But I needed to make sure you were... available. That there wasn't a husband in the picture anymore." Something dark flashed in his eyes. "There isn't, is there?"
• "How do you know about my husband?"
• "I made some calls, asked around, and found out you're in the middle of a messy divorce." He took a step closer. "I'm sorry about that, by the way. About what he did to you."
• The sympathy in his voice made my throat tight. "You still haven't told me why you're here."
• "Because I can't stop thinking about that night." His voice dropped lower, intimate. "And because I have a proposition for you. One that could solve both our problems."
• "What kind of proposition?"
• "Not here." He glanced around the lobby, at the receptionist trying not to stare. "Have dinner with me. We'll talk somewhere private."
• Every instinct screamed this was a bad idea. I didn't know this man. Didn't know his real name, what he did for a living, anything beyond the fact that he'd given me the best sex of my life and then vanished.
• But I also had $340 in my account and nowhere to go.
• "Fine," I heard myself say. "Dinner. But somewhere public."
• A small smile tugged at his lips. "Deal. There's a restaurant two blocks from here. Antonio's. Meet me there in an hour?"
• "I don't even know your name."
• "Adrian." He extended his hand like we were at a business meeting. "Adrian Wolfe."
• I took his hand, and the moment our skin touched, heat shot up my arm. The same electricity from that night, still there, still undeniable.
• "Ninette Cole," I said, even though he clearly already knew that.
• "One hour, Ninette. Don't run away this time."
• Then he walked out of the lobby, leaving me standing there trying to remember how to breathe.
• Adrian Wolfe.
• Why did that name sound familiar?
• I pulled out my phone and googled him.
• And nearly dropped the phone.
• Adrian Wolfe is the CEO of Wolfe Enterprises, net worth: $8.2 billion, and one of the most powerful men in the country. Featured in Forbes, Fortune, every major business publication.
• I'd fucked a billionaire.
• A billionaire who'd just tracked me down and asked me to dinner.
• What the actual fuck was my life?
• One hour later, I sat across from Adrian Wolfe in a private corner booth at Antonio's, an upscale Italian restaurant that probably had a six-month waiting list for normal people.
• Adrian had ordered wine for himself, water for me. The restaurant was moderately busy with the dinner crowd, but our corner felt secluded, intimate.
• "So," I said, twisting my napkin in my lap. "You're a billionaire."
• "I am."
• "And you spent six weeks tracking down a woman you slept with once."
• "Yes."
• "Why?"
• He leaned back, looking at me with those storm-cloud eyes. "Honestly? I don't know. I've had plenty of one-night stands. None of them stuck with me the way that night did, like the way you did."
• Heat flushed through me at the memory. "It was good sex."
• "It was more than that." His voice dropped. "You were more than that."
• I didn't know what to say to that, so I changed the subject. "You said you had a proposition."
• "I do." He set down his wine glass. "I need an heir."
• I blinked. "Excuse me?"
• "My board of directors has been pushing me to marry and produce a successor for the past three years. They want stability, legacy, proof that I'm building something that will last beyond my lifetime. It's affecting my position, my ability to make certain decisions."
• "So get married and have a kid."
• "I don't want a real marriage. I don't have time for the complications of an actual relationship. What I need is an arrangement. A contract."
• My stomach twisted. "You want to pay someone to have your baby."
• "Not just someone." His eyes locked on mine. "You."
• The word hung in the air between us.
• "You're insane," I finally said.
• "I'm practical." He pulled a folder from his briefcase; of course he brought a briefcase to dinner, and slid it across the table. "The contract is straightforward. We get married. You carry my child. In exchange, I pay you five hundred thousand dollars upfront, provide you with a penthouse apartment, cover all your expenses, and give you five million dollars when we divorce after two years."
• Five hundred thousand dollars.
• I couldn't even process that number.
• "Why me?" I asked. "You could have anyone. Someone from your world. Someone who knows how this all works."
• "Because everyone from my world would want something more. They'd see this as an opportunity to get their hooks into my fortune permanently. But you..." He leaned forward. "You didn't even know who I was that night. You weren't trying to trap me or impress me or use me. You were just broken and real and honest."
• "I'm still broken."
• "I know. That's why this could work. You need a way out of your situation. I need an heir. We help each other."
• The waiter appeared with our food. I stared down at the pasta I'd ordered without really seeing it.
• "What would this marriage look like?" I asked.
• "Separate bedrooms. No expectations of intimacy unless you want it. Complete freedom during the day as long as you attend required events with me: galas, charity functions, the occasional business dinner. We play the happily married couple in public, and in private, we have our own lives."
• "For two years."
• "For two years. Then we divorce amicably, you walk away with enough money to start over anywhere you want, and we both get what we need."
• It was insane. Completely insane.
• But so was my life right now.
• "I need time to think about it," I said.
• "You have twenty-four hours." He signaled for the check. "I'll be at my office at Wolfe Enterprises tomorrow. My assistant's name is Jim. Call him, and he'll arrange a meeting."
• The waiter brought the check. Adrian paid with a black card without even looking at the total.
• We walked out of the restaurant together. A town car waited at the curb. It was his, obviously.
• "Can I give you a ride back to your hotel?" he asked.
• "I can walk. It's only two blocks."
• "Ninette." He caught my hand, and the electricity was still there, sparking between us. "For what it's worth, I wish we'd met under different circumstances. I wish I could offer you something more than a contract."
• "But you can't."
• "No. I can't." His thumb brushed across my knuckles. "But I can offer you safety, security, and a way out. That has to count for something."
• It counted for everything.
• I pulled my hand away before I did something stupid like lean into him. "I'll think about it."
• "That's all I ask."
• I walked back to my hotel alone, the folder clutched in my hands, my mind spinning.
• Five hundred thousand dollars.
• A penthouse.
• All expenses covered.
• Five million at the end.
• All I had to do was marry a stranger and carry his child.
• A stranger who made my body remember things I was trying to forget.
• A stranger who'd spent six weeks tracking me down.
• A stranger who might be offering me the only lifeline I'd ever get.
• Back in my hotel room, I opened the contract and started reading.
• Twenty pages of legal language, but the terms were clear. Marriage. Baby. Money. Divorce.
• Clean. Simple. Transactional.
• So why did my chest ache at the thought of it?