9. Amara
Chapter nine
Amara
W hat the hell did I do?
This was a mistake. A massive, irreversible, life-altering mistake.
I sink into my chair, staring blankly at my computer screen, trying to convince myself I haven’t just torpedoed my entire life. But then my inbox pings, and there it is.
Contract Details – Blackwood Proposal.
My stomach flips, nerves twisting tighter as I hover over the email.
Do not open it .
Just delete it and pretend this never happened.
But, of course, I can’t. With a resigned sigh, I click.
The email opens, with the contract attached. Swallowing down my nerves, I double-click, and the document fills the screen. My eyes dart over the text, the legal jargon practically leaping off the page. I try to focus, but all my brain seems to catch are fragments.
Business arrangement… three-month timeline… promotion… no outside romantic entanglements…
And then I see it.
The promotion. The salary bump. Everything he promised me and more.
Interior Design Lead for the new Blackwood properties.
It’s all there, staring back at me in crisp, black-and-white, a dream I’ve spent years chasing.
This should feel like a victory. I should be excited, proud, like I’ve finally made it. But instead, there’s this dull ache in my chest, this sinking feeling that whispers I’m trading a part of myself for something I should’ve earned on my own.
Am I really ready for this?
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I could back out. Walk into his office, tell him this isn’t for me, that I’ll find another way. I could go back to being the invisible girl who blends into the background.
But then I think of my tiny apartment. The cracked tiles in the kitchen I can’t afford to replace. The rent that swallows my paycheck whole every month.
I don’t have a choice.
Before I can second-guess myself, I hit print, grab the contract, and make my way to his office. My heels click against the hardwood floors, my pulse pounding louder with every step.
When I reach his door, I stop, my hand hovering over the handle.
This is it. The moment everything changes. Once I walk in there, there’s no going back.
I knock twice, my knuckles brushing against the cool wood.
“Come in.”
His voice is calm, controlled, like always.
I push the door open, and find him adjusting his cufflinks, his jacket draped over the back of his chair, and his tie slightly loosened.
Even off-guard, he’s intimidatingly perfect.
“Amara.” His dark eyes meet mine. “I take it you’ve read the contract?”
“I did,” I say, stepping inside and letting the door click shut behind me.
“And?” His brow arches, waiting for me to continue.
I set the contract on the edge of his desk. “It’s… a lot.”
His lips twitch into a faint smirk, the kind that makes my stomach flip despite my better judgment. “It’s a legal document. It’s supposed to be.”
“Right.” My fingers fidget with the hem of my sweater, but I force myself to breathe.
“Was there a problem?” he asks, his voice smooth but firm. “You’re free to change anything you don’t agree with.”
I swallow hard, my fingers twitching at my sides, unsure what to do with them. “There’s a clause about no outside… romantic relationships.”
His smirk vanishes, replaced by a look I can’t quite read. He straightens, crossing his arms over his chest as his dark eyes bore into mine. “That’s correct. I thought it would be best to maintain appearances.”
I nod, my throat suddenly dry. “Right. Appearances.”
He tilts his head, like he’s dissecting my every word. “I don’t think it would send the right message if you—or I—were seen with someone else during this arrangement.”
“Of course. That… makes sense.”
But my brain isn’t cooperating, because now it’s stuck on Nicholas Blackwood—powerful, controlled, untouchable—being abstinent for three whole months. And an even more dangerous thought follows. There’s nothing in the contract about us being… involved.
My stomach twists as I gulp, trying to focus. I’m sure it’s an oversight, something I could mention to him right now, and he’d correct it with a few strokes of a pen.
But I don’t.
“And this… deal will end on August 31st?” I ask, squeezing my hands into fists as his gaze lingers on me.
“That’s correct,” he confirms with a nod, his fingers brushing his chin. “That’ll be more than enough time to secure the deal with the board.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. For him, this is all so clear-cut. So simple. For me… it feels like stepping into an active volcano.
He straightens, adjusts his tie, and steps closer. “It’s normal to feel hesitant,” he continues, his voice softening just enough to make my stomach flip. “We don’t know each other that well.”
A surprised laugh escapes me. “I know everything about you,” I counter. “I’ve been your assistant for over two years. I know your coffee order, your schedule, the way you organize your desk, your preferred brand of pen…” I trail off, because if I keep going, I’ll expose just how much I’ve noticed about him. How much I’ve paid attention.
A low sound rumbles from his chest, something between a scoff and a snarl, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “You might know those things about me,” he says, stepping even closer, his dark gaze practically pinning me in place. “But I can promise you, Amara… you don’t really know me.”
My breath catches, his words pressing against my ribs. I don’t know if he’s daring me to dig deeper or warning me not to.
His eyes flick down to my lips—so quick I might’ve imagined it—before snapping back to mine, as intense as ever. “There’s a charity gala on Saturday,” his voice cuts through the silence. “The board will be there. It’s crucial I make a strong impression. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to show them I’m serious about this deal.”
I nod as I clear my throat, looking up at his tall figure. “And you want me to find you a date?” I ask automatically, already used to his routine.
His eyes flash with something I can’t quite read as his lips curve into a slow smile. “No. You’re my date.”
I blink, thrown completely off guard. “Excuse me?”
“We’ll be announcing our engagement at this gala,” he clarifies, his words sending a shiver down my spine. “You’ll be my date to every event from now on.”
I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. His gaze lingers on mine for a moment longer before he steps back, the faintest smirk still playing on his lips.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulls out a sleek black card, holding it between his pointer and middle finger. “Buy yourself a dress. On me. Money’s no issue.”
It’s every girl’s dream to hear those words from someone who could make it happen without batting an eye. And yet, while my fingers itch to snatch the card, my pride screams louder. I’m already taking more from him than I ever thought I would.
“Mr. Blackwood, I—”
“Nicholas,” he cuts me off.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“You’re my fiancée , Amara.” His voice dips lower, the word curling around me like smoke. “I think you can start calling me by my first name.”
He says it with such ease, like it’s already a fact. It sends a shiver down my spine, one I have no business feeling.
I could correct him, remind him that this isn’t real, but the way he says fiancée has my mouth going dry, and suddenly, I’m not so sure I want to.
“Nicholas,” I say carefully, the name foreign on my tongue. His eyes darken, just for a second, and I swear I catch the flicker of a smile before it’s gone. I lick my lips, suddenly too aware of the intensity of his gaze, and continue, “While the offer is very generous, I don’t think I can—”
“I’m a billionaire, Amara.” His brow arches, and the corner of his mouth twitches, daring me to argue. “One dress won’t make a dent in my accounts.” He steps closer, holding the card out to me again. “Take it. Buy a dress, buy ten if you have to. Shoes, bag, whatever you need. It’s on me.”
I reach for it, my fingers brushing his as I take the card and slide it into my pocket.
“Any more… hesitations?”
I shake my head, and his lips tip upward in approval.
Turning back to his desk, he grabs the contract and a pen—a Montblanc, of course—and slides them across the desk toward me as I stare down at the contract.
This is it. Once my name is there, there’s no undoing it.
Flicking my hair over my shoulder, I step forward and take the pen, removing the cap.
You’re doing this for the promotion. For the money. For your future , I tell myself.
The scratch of the pen as I sign sounds louder than it should, and when I finish, I cap the pen and set it down carefully, stepping back as if distance will make this less real.
Nicholas watches me, his sharp gaze pinning me in place. He nods, tipping his chin. “That’ll be all.”
Dismissed. Just like that. As if I didn’t just sign my life away to him for the next three months.
I turn and walk out of his office, closing the door behind me. I lift my head and catch a few pairs of eyes flicking toward me. I know the moment the news of our engagement gets out, the whispers will start. People will tally up how many times I’ve been in Nicholas’s office, the long hours spent with the door closed, and I’ll be the center of every office rumor.
I square my shoulders, forcing myself to walk toward my desk without looking back. I made this choice for me—for my career, for my future. And I won’t let the whispers, or the sideways glances make me second guess it.
When I finally sit at my desk, I take a slow breath, trying to push the tension out of my body.
Bianca pops her head over the divider between our desks, her brow furrowing. “Everything okay?” Her voice is soft but probing. She knows me too well. “You were in there for a while.”
I hesitate for just a second, searching for the right words. “Yeah, just some things to sign.” It’s not a lie. Not exactly.
Bianca doesn’t press, but I catch the flicker of curiosity in her eyes as she gives me a thoughtful look but doesn’t say anything else.
I turn my attention back to my screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I try to focus on the emails in front of me, but the knot in my stomach refuses to loosen.
This is it. The decision is made. I’m committed to this deal.
But even with that certainty, I can’t shake the feeling that everything’s about to change.