Page 33 of The Contract

This is what she does.

What she’s been doing for years.

I should have known—the way she carried herself, the way she met every challenge I threw at her last night with effortless ease. She wasn’t just some beautiful woman out for a casual dinner. She was trained for this.

The realization shouldn’t bother me.

And yet, something about it does.

Was she supposed to meet a client there? Or had she already been with one?

I need to check into her stays at the Wolfe and lock that reminder away for tomorrow.

I slide the lace back into my pocket, clenching my jaw as I hear the soft chime of the elevator behind me.

Fuck. She’s here.

I take a slow breath, willing my body to behave before turning my head just slightly, catching a glimpse of her out of my periphery.

She’s standing in the entryway, poised and elegant as ever. The same woman who had been pressed against me just hours ago is now standing in my home—not as my mystery lover, but as my contracted fiancée.

And just like that, the rules have changed.

I tighten my grip on my phone, forcing my voice into something smooth and unbothered. “Thanks for checking on it, Cal.”

Then, finally, I turn to face her.

For a moment, I just take her in.

She looks the same as she did last night, but somehow completely different.

Last night, she was undone—flushed, breathless, wild beneath my hands. Now, she is the picture of control. The perfect Ledger Companion.

The part of me that thrives on control should appreciate that.

But all I can think about is the way she unraveled for me.

I let a slow smirk tug at my lips, my voice low. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”

Something flickers across her expression—just for a second—before she smooths it over, her posture remaining composed.

“Neither did I,” she admits, stepping fully into the space.

A charged silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words.

Then, her lips part, as if she’s about to say something. “Mr. Wolfe, about last?—”

“Damien.”

The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it, firmer than I intended.

She hesitates. I see it—the brief uncertainty, the way she almost steps back, like she can sense the shift in the air between us.

But she recovers quickly, pressing her lips together before continuing, her voice calm and measured.

“I just wanted to say… if I had known you were my contract?—”

I already know where she’s going with this.

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