Page 66 of The Contract

Part of me thinks it was a show on my behalf. The logical side of me—the business side that knows this is a temporary arrangement—reminds me it’s simply the fastest way to travel.

With powerful men like Damien, time is money.

The transition from his helicopter to the sleek, waiting town car is seamless, and by the time we pull through the gatedentrance of the Calloway estate, my shoulders have finally relaxed.

I’m in Ledger mode, the perfect Companion, ready for whatever the weekend ahead will demand of me.

It seems Marcus arrived just before us,sansJames.

I think he’s going to open my car door, but Damien beats him to the handle, and I don’t miss the teasing look Marcus gives him or the look of warning Damien returns.

“No James this weekend?” I ask, genuinely disappointed.

“Photoshoot in L.A., unfortunately.”

Marcus tenderly touches my upper arm, pressing a false kiss to my cheek as if we’re old friends.

It looks convincing to the observing Calloways, who are making their way toward us.

The estate is stunning—floor-to-ceiling windows open to a sweeping ocean view, sheer curtains billowing softly in the salty breeze. The air is thick with the scent of sun-warmed wood and sea spray, and for a fleeting second, I let myself take it in.

If this were any other weekend, any other situation, I might have actually enjoyed it.

But then, just as quickly, the moment sours.

Because over Damien’s shoulder, lounging on a sun-drenched chair like he owns the place, is Adrian Kingston.

His drink swirls lazily in his hand, dark eyes locked on me with a smirk that makes my stomach twist.

Fuck.

I was hoping the weekend away—him remaining back in New York—would give Lucian time to figure out what’s going on and throw me a lifeline.

He was my first call as soon as I left the country club, just before I texted Damien.

Hold tight,he told me.

Well, with the grip I have on my purse, I can’t hold any tighter than I am right now.

This is bad.

Really fucking bad.

An attendant walks ahead of us, showing us to the private bungalow we’ll be staying in for the weekend. Damien refuses the man’s help with our bags, carrying them both with one hand while his other holds mine.

Since it’s only Marcus walking with us, I don’t tell him the physical touch is unnecessary. I just walk alongside them, listening to their low conversation about Adrian.

Apparently, he was a surprise to them as well—inviting himself in at the eleventh hour and interjecting unfounded concerns into Mr. Calloway’s mind.

The bungalow is a spacious two-bedroom, two-bathroom beachfront home. The flower arrangement and welcome basket aren’t just thoughtful but beautiful. The open floor-to-ceiling windows bring the cool ocean breeze inside.

“You’ll be okay for a while on your own?” Damien asks, setting my bag down on the bed in the guest room after I refused his offer of the primary bedroom.

“I’m fine. Good luck at your meeting.”

I dismiss him and Marcus, who head off to the first of several closing conversations with Mr. Calloway.

Debating whether I should unpack his bag along with my own, I decide against it and instead try to call Lucian again.

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