CHAPTER SIX
CLARA
I'd texted Nash my number as requested, keeping the message simple.
CLARA: It's Clara. Here's my number.
His response had been equally as brief.
NASH: Noted. Still thinking if part time will work for me.
That was it. Nothing else. No follow-up, no timeline, no indication of whether he was leaning toward yes or no. Just radio silence while I sat there checking my phone every five minutes like a lovesick teenager.
Time trudged by like rubber boots in quick sand. I tried to push it out of my mind and focus on reality. This arrangement with Nash might not pan out, which meant I couldn't afford to sit around waiting for a pipe dream. I needed to act. I needed to keep looking for a damn job.
So I spent every free moment job hunting, applying for anything that might pay better than minimum wage. Data entry. Administrative assistant positions. Retail management. Most were entry level and required hours that wouldn't work with Mia's schedule, but I kept trying.
By the second day, reality had fully set in.
After zero response from Nash, I realized the sad truth: I'd probably talked myself out of a million dollar deal.
Imagine that. A handsome, single billionaire shows up in my life, all but begging to give me any amount of money I wanted, and I somehow found a way to tank it.
I was probably the only idiot on the face of the planet who could manage that.
Doubts crowded my mind as I dropped Mia off at daycare the second morning after my meeting with Nash, watching her skip happily into her room. She made it onto the colorful rug, turned to me, and said, “Mommy! Wait!”
I watched from the doorway, where a half door was shut to prevent the little ones from escaping. “What is it, honey?”
“I made you something.” She skipped toward the wooden cubbies near the door as one of the daycare aides came over.
“Oh, Mia meant to take that home yesterday,” the aide said with a grin. “She was so excited to show you.”
Mia handed me a piece of pink construction paper. She’d drawn in green, red, and purple scribbles something resembling a house.
“This you. This me.” She pointed out each shapeless scribble area, then her finger drifted to the largest scribble on the page. “And this the castle we live in.”
My gaze washed over the drawing, emotion tightening in my chest. I loved this chapter of her childhood so much.
The first picture she’d drawn for me still hung on our fridge, and each picture since was tucked away with care.
They were all too precious—how could I throw any away?
She’d graduate from high school with a mountain of saved drawings from her childhood, but I didn’t care.
“I love it so much. Thank you honey.” I kissed the top of her head before she skipped off again to join her classmates.
Once I was back on the sidewalk outside, I looked at the drawing again, feeling a surge of conviction.
When it came to Nash, I'd drawn the right line in the sand.
Whatever financial struggles we faced, I wasn't going to put my daughter in questionable situations just for money. Even nearly-free money that came with bizarre stipulations. Mia was my priority, and I wasn’t going to expose her to any more heartbreak in this life than I already had.
After another full day of job hunting, praying, and occasionally cussing myself out for driving away the only good opportunity to show up at my former employer’s doorstep, my phone buzzed.
NASH: Email?
CLARA: Uh…yes?
I ducked into the nearest business on my walk to Mia’s daycare so I could compose myself. Nash appearing in my messages sent my heart racing, and I needed to take a moment to handle this. As I wandered into a trendy coffee shop, my phone buzzed again.
NASH: What is it?
CLARA:
NASH: Buttons?
CLARA: It was a fake last name from childhood.
NASH: Another fake name, huh?
CLARA: I was seven.
I didn’t add that it had been a nickname my late mother had given me.
Keeping that nickname alive was one of the ways I kept her sweet memory with me.
I missed my angelic mother so much to this day, and hated that Mia never got a chance to meet her.
But diving into all those details seemed too intimate for what Nash and I were embarking upon here.
NASH: It started young then. Thought maybe it was another new identity I needed to get acquainted with. Check email soon.
I smiled wryly, trying to tamp down the odd surge of satisfaction that coursed through me. I liked when he ribbed me about the past. I liked even more that the past didn’t seem to deter him when it came to whatever this was.
My fingers danced over the phone to open my email. Right at the top was a new email from Nash@. My heart jumped into my throat as I opened it.
Clara - Please review the attached contract and suggest any changes. We can discuss terms later if you're available. - N
Below that was an encrypted link that required a password. The password was in a separate text: Scarlett24.
If the past few days were any indicator, Nash intended to rib me plenty about the past. I grinned, looking around to see if anyone had noticed what I was doing.
As though random strangers could somehow tell that I was considering a contract to marry a handsome billionaire.
Nobody was paying attention to me—who paid attention to anyone in New York?
—but still, I felt like I needed more privacy.
It seemed wrong to open my first ever NDA-protected agreement in the middle of a coffee shop.
Nash Nightingale would expect better from his future wife.
There weren’t too many private options here. I headed for the bathroom, locking myself in a stall before I clicked the link. A PDF opened on my phone screen, and I had to zoom in to read the tiny text.
MARRIAGE AGREEMENT
The title alone made my breath evaporate. Holy shit. The conversation in Nash’s Architectural Digest-inspired corner office wasn’t a fever dream. He actually needed a fucking wife and for some bewildering reason, chose me.
Was this real life?
I swallowed a squeal and returned my focus to the contract. I needed to pore over this thing. Every last letter and line would be inhaled, analyzed, and pondered. I was playing in the big leagues now. Yes, even from inside this bathroom stall, I was a real professional.
I made my way through the opening paragraphs—legal jargon about parties and considerations—until I got to the meat of it. By this time, my legs were already going numb from sitting on the toilet seat for so long. The terms were laid out in stark, businesslike language:
Duration: Effective upon signing until Jan 1st of the following year.
Compensation: $500,000 USD paid in equal, once-monthly portions throughout the duration of the agreement. Additional $500,000 to be delivered upon successful outcome of committee meeting.
Additional benefits: Medical insurance, housing allowance, childcare expenses, wardrobe budget
Living arrangements: Separate residences permitted provided both parties maintain credible public appearance of cohabitation
Certain phrases echoed in my head so loudly I could barely read further. Medical insurance? Wardrobe budget? Credible public appearance? I drew a few deep breaths.
He'd found a way to make it work. The part-time arrangement I'd insisted on was right there in black and white.
I pumped my fist in the air. Hell yes, I’d negotiated with a billionaire.
Never mind he’d had to remind me to add a zero to my payout.
I kept reading, my heart pounding.
This agreement is strictly for the purpose of satisfying inheritance requirements.
Under no circumstances is either party required or expected to develop genuine romantic feelings.
Any public indication that this arrangement is not based on authentic love will void all terms and result in forfeiture of all future remuneration.
Public appearances required: Minimum twice weekly, including but not limited to dinners, social events, charity functions
Physical intimacy: Not required but may be necessary on a limited basis for maintaining public appearance
Termination: Automatic divorce filing on Jan 1st of following year. All compensation and benefits transferred to Party B (Clara Whitehall) throughout the duration of the marriage will remain in her possession despite the outcome of the inheritance.
The clinical language should have been reassuring—this was business, nothing more.
But something about seeing it spelled out so clearly made my chest tight.
Despite the energy that crackled between Nash and me and the way his gaze made my core clench, there was no fooling myself.
This wasn't some romantic fairy tale. In fact, it was the opposite.
This was an elaborate con job that I was agreeing to be part of.
For five hundred thousand dollars.
I scrolled to the end of the document, where Nash had added a personal note:
Clara - I've arranged for a modification to my penthouse that would give you and Mia a private suite if you change your mind about living arrangements. The choice is entirely yours. I meant what I said about not wanting to disrupt your daughter's life. This can work however you need it to. - Nash
Tears pricked at my eyes. The thoughtfulness of that addition, the fact that he'd listened to my concerns and found a way to accommodate them, hit me harder than I'd expected. Had I received that much consideration from Preston in Mia’s short life? All I could think of was when he’d visited me during Mia’s pregnancy and said that I looked way too fat for a pregnant lady.
Preston was the opposite of accommodating.