Page 1 of The Contract

“Miss Moreau, lovely to see you again. We have your table ready.”

The hostess leads me through the softly lit restaurant, the familiar hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the space.

“Thank you for taking me without a reservation.”

“Of course.”

She walks ahead of me—sleek black heels, a black form-fitting dress ending just above the knee. The air carries the rich scent of seared steak and expensive wine—comforting, in a way.

My phone buzzes in my hand just as she stops next to a small table for two.

A long-cushioned booth, wrapped in buttery-smooth leather the color of whiskey, is cool against the back of my legs as I slide in. A single, empty chair sits across from me, giving me a full view of the dining room—an old habit.

The cloth napkin glides across my lap as the heavy gaze of the man seated at the next table brushes against me.

I ignore him.

I’m accustomed to pulling the attention of powerful men.

Used to being stared at.

Sized up. Admired. Wanted.

It’s my job.

And I’m damn good at it.

But I’m not working tonight.

My new contract starts tomorrow, and coming toEmber & Ashfor my favorite steak has become my ritual. My last indulgence before I become whatever version of myself a man has paid for.

I swipe open my phone, seeing a text from my real estate agent, Nina.

NINA: You are spot on. This little bakery is in the perfect location. I can’t believe no one has scooped it up yet.

ELENA: So, still good for Monday then?

NINA: Still good! We’ll get you in before anyone else snatches it up. This place is meant for you.

A small smile tugs at my lips.

Itismeant for me.

I’ve worked and saved for four years to buy this place. And with this last contract’s bonus, I’ll finally have enough.

Sliding my phone onto the table just as a waiter approaches with a glass of water, I place my order without needing to glance at the menu.

I’ve been here enough times to know what I want—something indulgent. Something real. A reminder of who I am before I spend the next two weeks pretending to be someone else.

“The Velvet Ash, please.” I hand my menu over.

At the same time, a deep voice from the table next to me orders, “Ember Reserve.”

The sound of it sends a chill running up my arm, and I can’t help but glance at him.

And God—what a man.

The kind of devastatingly handsome that makes womenruintheir lives.

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