Page 167 of The Contract

But I don’t want to.

I’ll go as slow as she wants, but I want her in my home, in my bed. In my life.

Permanently.

A glance at the clock tells me I have ten minutes before Calloway arrives. The sixty-fifth-floor conference room is already filling with lawyers, their low conversations a steady hum as they prepare for the final stages of the merger.

Two days. That’s all it will take to sign everything, to finalize every detail.

By tomorrow night, it’ll be done.

Everything I’ve built, everything I’ve worked toward, will expand in ways I never thought possible.

Marcus steps inside, his face a mask of something cold, unreadable.

The shift in the air is immediate. The steady rhythm of my pulse falters.

I know that look. Something’s wrong.

I straighten in my chair, the good mood that had been lingering just moments ago slipping through my fingers like sand.

“Everyone out.” My voice is steady, with a sharp edge beneath it.

Marcus’s eyes sweep the room in confirmation.

We’ve been friends for so long, we can communicate without words at this point. Whatever this is, it’s fucking bad.

The lawyers gather their files, making their exit.

The last one barely clears the doorway before Marcus moves, striding toward the conference table. His fingers fly across the keyboard as he connects his laptop to the screen on the wall.

A sinking feeling coils in my gut.

This isn’t good.

This isn’t something minor. This isn’t just another corporate fire to put out.

This is something worse.

“You’re fucking killing me, Marc.” I nearly growl the words, my jaw tight. “What is it?”

Marcus exhales, his voice low and measured, controlled in a way that only makes the unease gnawing at my ribs tighten.

“I found something. You’re not gonna like it.”

The words hang between us like a live wire, pulsing with tension as Marcus’s computer connects to the screen.

“I’m sorry, Damien.”

I can’t look at him—I don’t need to. Whatever he found, he already knows it’s going to gut me.

The television lights up, and I freeze.

The entire fucking world stops spinning as my mind processes what I’m looking at.

“What is this?” I ask Marcus, but I can’t look away.

“It’s a deleted account. One of our guys recovered it.”

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