The Contract

by Melanie Moreland

  I sighed. That door was slammed so often I had to get maintenance to rehang it almost every month. A few minutes later, David slammed back out, cursing under his breath. I watched him leave, an anxious sensation building in my stomach. If he was in a bad mood, it meant Mr. VanRyan would be in a bad mood. That meant only one thing: soon he’d be yelling at me for whatever mistake he thought I’d made today.

  I hung my head. I hated my life. I hated being a PA. I especially hated being a PA for Mr. VanRyan. I had never known anyone so cruel. Nothing I did was ever enough—certainly not enough to warrant a thank you or a grudging smile. In fact, I was certain he had never smiled at me the entire year I’d worked for him. I could remember the day David summoned me to his office.

  “Katy,”—he looked hard at me—“as you know, Lee Stevens is leaving. I am going to reassign you to another account rep—Richard VanRyan.”

  “Oh.” I had heard horror stories of Richard VanRyan and his temper, and I was nervous. He went through PAs quickly. However, reassignment was better than no job. I had finally found a place for Penny where she was happy, and I didn’t want to take her out of it.

  “The pay rate is higher than what you’re making now and that of the other PAs.” He quoted me a figure that seemed enormous, but the amount meant I could give Penny her own room.

  Surely, Mr. VanRyan couldn’t be that bad.

  How wrong I had been. He made my life hell, and I took it—because I had no other choice.

  Not yet.

  My intercom buzzed, and I steadied my nerves. “Mr. VanRyan?”

  “I need a coffee, Miss Elliott.”

  “Anything else, sir?”

  “A few moments of your time.”

  I shut my eyes, wondering what was about to happen. “Right away.”

  Carrying his coffee, I approached his office with trepidation. I knocked, entering only when he bade me to come in. I had made that mistake once and would never do it again. His biting remarks had stung for days over that infraction.

  I made sure my hand didn’t shake as I placed his coffee in front of him and readied my notebook, waiting on his instructions.

  “Sit down, Miss Elliott.”

  My heart began to hammer. Had he finally convinced David to let him fire me? I knew he’d been trying since the first week I worked for him. I tried to keep my breathing even. I couldn’t lose this job. I needed it.

  I sat down before my legs could give out and cleared my throat. “Is there a problem, Mr. VanRyan?”

  He waved his finger in the space between us. “What we discuss in this office, I trust it remains confidential?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded and reached for his mug, sipping the beverage in silence.

  “I need to speak with you on a personal matter.”

  I was confused. He never spoke to me about anything unless it was to shout out his demands.

  “All right?”

  He glanced around, looking uncharacteristically nervous. I took a moment to study him as he gathered his thoughts. He was ridiculously handsome. Well over six feet tall, his shoulders were broad, his waist trim—he was the poster child for how to make a suit look good. He was clean-shaven most of the time; although on occasion, like today, his jaw bore a day or two’s growth, which highlighted his strong profile. He kept his light brown hair short on the sides, but longer on top, and had a cowlick, causing one patch to fall over his forehead. An imperfection, which only made him more perfect. He yanked on it when he was agitated, which was how he acted at this moment. His mouth was wide, his teeth bright white, and his lips were so full I knew many women envied them. His hazel eyes lifted to mine, and he straightened his shoulders, once again in control.

  “I need to ask something of you. In doing so, I will be placing a huge amount of trust in your discretion. I need to know you will honor my trust.”

  I blinked at him. He wanted to ask me something? He wasn’t firing me? A small shudder of relief flowed through me; my body relaxed a little.

  “Of course, sir. Whatever I can do.”

  His eyes locked on mine. I had never noticed how the colors swirled in his eyes under the lights—a mixture of gray, green, and blue. Often they were so dark with anger, I never held his gaze for more than a second or two. He seemed to study me for a moment, then nodded.

  He reached for one of his cards and wrote something on the back, handing it to me.

  “I need you to come to this address this evening. Can you be there at seven?”

  I glanced at the card, noting the address wasn’t far from the home where I would visit Penny after work. To get there by seven, however, my stay would have to be short.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, his voice void of the usual hostility.

  I lifted my gaze to his and decided to be honest. “I have an appointment after work. I’m not sure I can make it for seven.”

  I expected his ire. For him to sweep his hand in the air, and demand I cancel whatever plans I had and be where he needed me to be at seven. I was shocked when he only shrugged.

  “Seven-thirty? Eight? Can you work with that?”

  “Seven-thirty would be doable.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you at seven-thirty.” He rose to his feet, indicating this strange meeting was over. “I’ll make sure my doorman knows you’ll be arriving. He’ll send you up right away.”

  It was all I could do not to gasp. His doorman? He was asking me to his home?

  I stood up, disconcerted. “Mr. VanRyan, is everything all right?”

  He regarded me with a strange look on his face. “With your cooperation, it will be, Miss Elliott.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, excuse me, I have a one o’clock meeting to attend.”

  He picked up his mug. “Thank you for the coffee and your time.”

  He left me staring after him, wondering if I had entered an alternate universe.

  Never once in the year I worked for him had he ever said thank you to me.

  What the hell was going on?

  KATHARINE

  I STOOD ACROSS THE STREET from Mr. VanRyan’s building, staring up at the tall structure. It was intimidating and spoke of wealth—all tinted glass and concrete looming over the city, reminding me of the man who lived within it. Cold, remote, unreachable. I shivered a little as I looked at it, wondering why I was there.

  The building was about a ten-minute walk from the home, and I was on time. It hadn’t been a good visit with Penny today; she had been upset and agitated, refusing to eat or talk to me, and I ended up leaving early. I was disappointed. She had been good all week, and I had hoped today would be the same; that I’d be able to talk with her as we used to, but it hadn’t happened. Instead, it just added to my stressful, odd day. I left the home feeling despondent, and unsure as to why I was going to see Mr. VanRyan.

  Mr. VanRyan.

  He had already confused me asking me to his home this evening. His behavior the rest of the afternoon proved to be equally bizarre. When he returned from his meeting, he asked me for another coffee and a sandwich.

  Asked me!

  He didn’t demand, he didn’t sneer or slam his door. Instead, he stopped in front of my desk and politely requested lunch. He even said thank you. Again. He hadn’t come out of his office the rest of the day until he left, when he stopped, asking if I had his card. At my murmured, “Yes,” he nodded his thanks and left, not slamming the door.

  I was beyond puzzled, nerves taut, and my stomach in knots. I had no idea what I was doing at his home, much less why.

  I inhaled a calming breath. There was only one way to find out. I straightened my shoulders, and crossed the street.

  Mr. VanRyan opened his door, and I tried not to stare. I had never seen him look this casual. Gone was the tailored suit and crisp white shirt he favored. In its place, he wore a long-sleeved, thermal shirt and jeans, and his feet were bare. For some reason, I wanted to giggle at his long toes, but I tamped down the odd reaction. He indicated for me to come
in, stepped back, allowing me to pass. He took my coat, and we stood staring at each other. I’d never seen him look uncomfortable. He gripped the back of his neck, clearing his throat.

  “I’m eating dinner. Would you join me?”

  “I’m fine,” I lied. I was starving.

  He grimaced. “I doubt that.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re too skinny. You need to eat more.”

  Before I could say anything, he grasped my elbow and led me to the high counter separating the kitchen from the living space. “Sit,” he ordered, pointing to the high, padded stools.

  Knowing better than to argue with him, I did. As he moved into the kitchen, I looked around at the enormous, open space. Dark wood floors, two large, chocolate brown leather sofas, and white walls highlighted the vastness of the room. The walls were undecorated, aside from a massive TV hung over the fireplace—no personal photos or knickknacks. Even the furniture was bare—no cushions or throw blanket anywhere. Despite its grandeur, the room was cold, impersonal. Like the set of a magazine spread, it was well appointed and pristine, with nothing giving a clue about the man who lived in it. I glimpsed a long hallway and a set of elegant stairs that I assumed led to the bedrooms. I turned back to the kitchen—it was similar in style and impression, dark and light combined, and void of personal touches.

  I repressed a shiver.

  Mr. VanRyan set a plate in front of me, and with a smirk, opened the lid on a pizza box. I felt a smile tug on my lips.

  “This is dinner?”

  Somehow, it seemed too normal for him. I hadn’t had a slice of pizza in ages; my mouth watered looking at it.

  He shrugged. “I usually eat out, but I felt like pizza tonight.” He lifted out a slice and slid it on my plate. “Eat.”

  Too hungry to argue, I ate in silence, keeping my eyes on my plate, hoping my nerves wouldn’t get the best of me. He ate steadily, devouring the rest of the pizza, aside from a second slice he put on my plate. I didn’t object to it or the glass of wine he pushed in my direction. Instead, I sipped it, enjoying the smoothness of the deep red merlot. It had been a long time since I had tasted such a good wine.

  When we finished our strange meal, he stood, discarding the pizza box, returning fast. He picked up his wine, drained his glass, and paced for a few minutes.

  Finally, he stood in front of me. “Miss Elliott, I will reiterate from earlier today. What I’m about to share with you is personal.”

  I nodded, unsure what to say.

  He tilted his head to the side and studied me; I had no doubt he found me lacking in every way. Still, he continued.

  “I’m leaving Anderson Inc.”

  My jaw dropped. Why would he leave the company? He was one of David’s golden boys—he could do no wrong. David bragged about Mr. VanRyan’s talent and what he brought to the company all the time.

  “Why?”

  “I was passed up for partner.”

  “Maybe next time . . .” I stopped talking when I realized what this meant. If he left and they chose not to reassign me, I was out of a job. Even if they did reassign me, I would be taking a pay cut. Either way, I was screwed. I could feel the blood draining from my face.

  Mr. VanRyan held up his hand. “There won’t be a next time. I have an opportunity I’m exploring.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” I managed to ask.

  “I need your help with this opportunity.”

  I swallowed. “My help?” I was even more confused. He never wanted my personal help.

  He stepped closer. “I want to hire you, Miss Elliott.”

  My mind raced. I was sure, if he moved on, he would want a clean break. He didn’t even like me. I cleared my throat. “As your assistant at your new opportunity?”

  “No.” He paused, as if thinking about his words, then spoke. “As my fiancée.”

  All I could do was to stare at him, unmoving.

  RICHARD

  Miss Elliott gaped at me, motionless. Slowly, she slid off the stool, facing me, her gaze flitting around the room. “Do you think this is funny?” she hissed, her voice shaking. “I’m not sure what kind of a prank this is, Mr. VanRyan, but I assure you, it’s not amusing.”

  She marched past me, grabbing her coat and purse from the sofa, whirling back around. “Are you taping this so you can watch it later? Laugh over it?” A tear slid down her cheek and she brushed it away, the movement jerky and angry. “Isn’t it enough you treat me like shit during the day, now you want to have fun after hours, as well?”

  She stormed toward the door, and I recovered from the shock of her angry outburst quick enough to rush forward and prevent her from leaving. I leaned over her, pushing the door shut.

  “Miss Elliott . . . Katharine . . . please. I assure you, it’s no joke. Hear me out.” She was so close I could feel her body trembling. I had thought about her reactions but hadn’t considered anger. “Please,” I coaxed again. “Listen to what I have to say.”

  Her shoulders sagged and she nodded, allowing me to draw her away from the door and over to the sofa. I sat down opposite her and indicated she should, as well. She did warily, and it took all I had not to snap at her and tell her not to look like a frightened rabbit. What did she think I was going to do to her?

  Her words echoed in my head. “Isn’t it enough you treat me like shit during the day, now you want to have fun after hours, as well?”

  I shifted a little in my chair—I supposed I deserved her wariness.

  I cleared my throat. “As I said, I’m planning on leaving Anderson Inc. The company I’m hoping to move on to is vastly different from the way David runs his company. They value their employees—to them family and integrity are paramount.”

  Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t say anything.

  “In order to even get my foot in the door, I had to convince them I wasn’t the person they think I am.”

  “Which is?”

  “Arrogant, selfish.” I sucked in a long breath. “A tyrant at work and a playboy after hours.”

  She tilted her head; her voice was quiet and firm. “Pardon my bluntness, Mr. VanRyan—you are exactly that.”

  “I’m aware.” I stood and paced a little. “I’m also good at my job and tired of being shit on by David.” I sat back down. “I felt something talking to Graham—something I haven’t felt in a long time: excitement at the thought of a new campaign. Inspired.”

  She gaped at me. “Graham Gavin? You want to go work for The Gavin Group?”

  “Yes.”

  “They rarely hire.”

  “There is an opening. I want it.”

  “I still don’t understand where I come in.”

  “Graham Gavin will not hire someone unless he feels they fit in with the image he has: family first.” I leaned forward. “I had to convince him I’m not the playboy he heard about. I told him I’m leaving Anderson Inc. because I fell in love and want a different way of life.”

  “With who?”

  I reclined against the cushions. “You.”

  Her eyes widened to the point of hilarity, her mouth opened and closed, with no sound coming out. Finally she spoke. “Why–why would you do that?”

  “It was pointed out to me that you were the exact kind of person to convince Graham Gavin I had changed. When I thought about it, I realized that person was right.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t even like me.” She swallowed. “I’m not overly fond of you, either.”

  I had to chuckle at her politeness. “We can work around that issue.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “Simple. One way or another, I’m out of Anderson Inc. You’ll have to leave, too.”

  Immediately, she began shaking her head furiously. “I can’t afford to leave, Mr. VanRyan. So my answer is no.”

  I held up my hand. “Hear me out. I will pay you to do this. You will have to give up your job, as well as your apartment and come live here with me. I’ll pay you a s
alary plus all your expenses for however long this takes.”

  “Why would I have to live here?”

  “I may have indicated to Graham we live together.”

  “You did what?”

  “It made sense when he asked. I didn’t plan it—it happened. Now back to my offer.”

  “What would you expect me to do?”

  I tapped my fingers on the arm of the sofa, contemplating. I should have thought this through more.

  “Live here, appear at any function I go to as my fiancée, present yourself as such at all times.” I shrugged. “I haven’t thought it all through yet, Miss Elliott. We’ll have to figure it out. Set some ground rules; get to know each other so we can actually pass as a couple.” I shifted forward, resting my arms on my thighs. “And this has to happen fast. I’m supposed to take you to a function this weekend.”

  “This weekend?” she squeaked out.

  “Yes. You don’t have to be living here by then, but we need to get our stories straight and at least know the basics. We have to seem close—comfortable with each other.”

  “Maybe you should start by not calling me Miss Elliott.”

  I laughed dryly. “I suppose it would seem odd . . . Katharine.”

  She didn’t say anything, dropping her gaze to her lap, her fingers playing with a loose thread on her shirt.

  “I’ll buy you a new wardrobe, and make sure you have spending money. You won’t want for anything if you agree to this arrangement.”

  She lifted her chin. I had never noticed the stubborn little cleft in it until now. “What would you pay me?”

  “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars a month. If the charade lasts longer than six months, I’ll double it.” I smirked. “If we do have to get married, I’ll pay you a bonus. When we can divorce, I’ll make sure you get a good settlement and handle all the details. You’ll be set for life.”

  “Married?”

  “I have no idea how much time it will take to convince Graham so my cover isn’t blown. It could be two months or three. I can’t see it being more than six. If I think it’s needed, I’ll marry you at city hall and we’ll end it when we can.”

  She clasped her hands, her pale face now a ghostly white. Indecision and shock etched all over her expression.