Page 58 of The Contract

He’s the kind of problem that doesn’t go away quietly.

And he’s just found his favorite plaything again.

Sandra and her daughter are already moving back toward the court, rackets in hand, chatting about their last set.

Perfect. A distraction.

I move to join them, eager to put as much space between myself and Adrian as possible. My grip tightens around my racket as I exhale slowly, resetting.

I can do this. Just one more round, then lunch, and I can leave.

But fate—or rather, Margo—has other plans.

“Oh, one second, dear.” She frowns, glancing at her phone as it rings on the side table. “It’s Richard. I need to take this.” She stands, already answering. “Adrian, you go ahead and play in my place.”

Shit.

I school my expression, even as dread lurches in my stomach.

Adrian smirks, already stepping onto the court. “Love to.”

Sandra and her daughter are oblivious to the sudden shift in energy, already positioning themselves for play. I force my feet forward, gripping my racket so hard it creaks.

The game is tense.

I keep to my side, moving quickly, efficiently, avoiding him at every opportunity. But Adrian is determined to do the opposite.

He lingers too close. Moves into my space under the guise of gameplay.

When I call a shot and move to return it, he’s suddenly there, right behind me.

“Nice reflexes, baby,” he murmurs, just low enough for only me to hear.

My spine stiffens.

I don’t respond. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, I focus on the game—on anything but the dark, simmering satisfaction in his voice.

The round is over quickly—too quickly.

Margo, now off the phone, calls out from the sidelines, “Lunchtime, ladies! Sorry, Adrian—girls only!”

Adrian feigns offense at his aunt, who chuckles. Sandra and her daughter are already walking toward the umbrella-covered table, distracted as they chat.

Margo turns, heading in the same direction, leaving Adrian and me a few paces behind.

Too close.

“We should get coffee sometime,” he says smoothly.

“No.”

I raise my hand just enough for the sunlight to catch the glint of my engagement ring. “I’m engaged, remember.”

His smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it widens, dark amusement flashing in his eyes.

His fingers tighten around my wrist, pressing against my pulse—a slow, deliberate squeeze. My stomach turns, a cold sweat prickling at the back of my neck as he tugs me just close enough for his breath to ghost my cheek.

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