Page 46 of The Contract

She dives smoothly into our fabricated story, painting it in perfect strokes—how we met at an event, how I pursued her with single-minded determination, how she resisted at first—she smirks at this, the perfect touch of teasing—but I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Mrs. Callowaylovesit.

“Elena, you must join me Thursday for doubles at the club,” she says warmly. “My old friend Sandra is bringing her daughter. I won’t take no for an answer.”

I fight the urge to smirk.Perfect.

“Thank you so much. I would love to.” Elena answers with a bright gleam in her eye.

It’s a masterpiece of deception, even Marcus was watching, impressed.

But something twists in my stomach.

Like she’s too good at this.

Like she’s done it before.

I school my reaction fast, smoothing my expression before anyone notices.

Because for the first time tonight, I realize something unsettling.

Shehasdone this before.

Some other fuckers before me purchased her time to sell whatever fantasy they wanted, and all that practice helps her deliver tonight’s performance.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I have to repeat something I realized yesterday when we met at The Ledger.

She’s an escort. A professional.

This is what she does.

So why the fuck does it feel like she was mine first?

The limo ride back to the Blackstone is quiet.

I reflect on the evening—every question asked, every answer I gave—making sure my stories remain consistent with the write-up prepared for our contract.

Things wentperfectlywith Mrs. Calloway, and securing a tennis outing in two days was unexpected. Something that bodes well.

Inside the penthouse, Damien moves toward his room without hesitation, his jacket draped over his arm, his bow tie undone at the collar. He looks composed. Unbothered.

But I caught the way his jaw clenched when Mrs. Calloway praised our match.

The flicker of something unreadable when I recited the engagement story.

And now, he keeps his back to me, offering nothing.

I should let it go.

Instead, I take a step forward.“Wait.”

He stops but doesn’t turn right away. When he does, his expression is unreadable, a single brow lifting in question.

Smoothing my hands over the silk of my dress, I keep my voice even. Professional.

“I just wanted your impression on how things went. Anything you’d like me to adjust going forward?”

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