Chapter 5
POV: Camille ?
The subway ride home felt endless, as if the tunnels themselves stretched into eternity just to give me more time to replay Michael Vanderbilt’s words inside my head on a constant unending loop.
“Six months. Compensation that would resolve certain financial burdens, no games and no hidden terms.”
They looped through me like a haunting melody, threading themselves into every anxious thought until I couldn’t separate the sound of his voice from the clatter of New York.
By the time I stumbled into my apartment, I felt wrung out, like someone had twisted me dry.
My little studio apartment greeted me with its usual bleak charm—peeling paint along the windowsill, a persistent drip from the bathroom faucet and the thin, worn mattress that sagged in the middle.
I dropped my tote bag on the countertop and yanked out my laptop.
I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Bank account balance: $131.56.
The number mocked me, even though I’d been obsessively refreshing since last night.
Rent was due in 2 weeks time and my credit card minimum payment was already late. And the student loan autopay? Well, that was scheduled to hit in just 3 days time.
Shit.
I pressed my hands to my face, sucking in a sharp breath. You can’t do this alone forever, Camille.
But I couldn’t make a decision this big without telling someone—without saying it out loud.
There was only one person I trusted enough to tell this big of a secret to.
Jenna.
We met in law school. She was my best friend here.
She with her quick wit and me with my color-coded outlines and desperate need for a study partner.
Where I was cautious, Jenna was bold. Where I worried, she laughed.
Somehow, she had become my lifeline—she was the one person who could cut through my spiraling thoughts with a single blunt observation.
And somehow we landed up in the same place: New York.
So I texted her.
Me: Emergency wine night?
Her reply came within seconds.
Jenna: Be there in 20 minutes. Pick red or white.
By the time she arrived, balancing a bottle of cheap merlot and a bag of takeout Thai, I’d managed to clean the two mugs in my cupboard and shove my unpaid bills under a stack of worn out law school casebooks.
“Okay, spill.” Jenna plopped onto my couch. “You look like you either saw a ghost or slept with your boss.”
I snorted, though the sound came out more strained than amused. “Neither.”
But the thought lingered in my mind…yet.
Her green eyes narrowed. “Then what’s with the weird expression? Don’t tell me it’s another late notice. I’ll fight your landlord myself!!”
I sank into the couch beside her, curling my legs under me and trying to not think of it..yet I couldn’t help myself.
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
The words wouldn’t come out at first. But Jenna had patience or at least the stubbornness to keep staring at me until I cracked.
“I found something at work.”
“Like, illegal something?” she asked.
“Not exactly, just more like a contract.”
“Uh-huh.” She sipped a long swig of wine.
“A personal contract between Michael Vanderbilt and women.”
Jenna blinked. “Women?”
“Yes.”
Her lips twitched. “Please tell me you mean, like, women he hires for consulting. Or PR. Or—”
“No,” I cut in, heat rushing to my cheeks from the thought of the paperwork and his offer. “Women he…dates.”
There was a moment of silence before Jenna burst out laughing uncontrollably.
“Wait, wait, hold up. Like you mean ‘the Michael Vanderbilt’? The billionaire with the skyscraper office? That Michael Vanderbilt?”
“Yes!” I said, shoving her shoulder. “Keep your voice down.”
“And what, he’s too busy to swipe right on Tinder? He has contracts for this?” She asked in shock.
“It’s real, Jenna. It’s not a joke. Six months signed with discretion and exclusivity and in exchange the woman gets money, like a lot of money.”
The laughter faded from her face. She studied me now, seriously. “And how do you know this, Cam?”
“Because I found the contract. And then—” My throat tightened as I said the words out loud now. “He asked me to consider it.”
Jenna stared at me for a long moment, silently. “He asked you?”
“Yes.”
“Camille—”
“I didn’t say yes!” The words rushed out now. “I told him I needed time to think about it.”
“Good, because you can’t say yes.”
The finality in her tone made my stomach twist.
“You don’t understand, Jen. I checked my account today and I can barely make rent. I’m already behind on my credit card, and the loans…”
She cut me off. “Cam.” She leaned forward, sincerity in every ounce of her eyes. “Every law grad in this city is drowning in loans, basically every law grad in America. Do you really think that signing yourself over to some billionaire’s escort service is the solution?”
“It’s not an escort service,” I muttered, but I didn’t know if I even believed that.
She scoffed. “It sounds like one.”
I shook my head, trying to make her see what I saw. A solution, even if it was a messy one.
“It’s 6 months, Jenna, 6 months and I could be free and then there would be no more debt and no more anxiety every time I open my email then I could finally breathe,” I babbled out.
She took my hand in hers. “Or you could lose yourself, Cam. What happens after 6 months? Do you think you’ll just walk away, and it’ll be easy? Guys like him don’t play fair and even if he does and what about you? Do you really think you can spend half a year pretending to be someone you’re not,
just for money?”
“Maybe it wouldn’t be pretending,” I told her, but even as I said the words I wasn’t convinced I could handle it myself.
Jenna’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’re actually attracted to him.”
I flushed red, everything inside my burned hot. “I’m not—I mean, he’s…he’s Michael Vanderbilt, okay? He’s intimidating and yes, he’s attractive but that’s not the point.”
“The hell it isn’t.” She squeezed my hand harder this time.
“Camille, listen to me. You’ve worked too hard to get here. You’re smart, you’re capable, and you don’t need to sell yourself to some control freak with a God complex just because your bank account sucks. There are other ways to succeed and earn a decent living.”
“Like what?” My voice cracked. “You know I can’t pick up another job. I barely survive the hours I have now and loans don’t disappear because I, “work hard.”
Jenna’s gaze softened a bit but not entirely. “I know but this, well this isn’t the answer, Cam.”
We sat in silence for a while, the weight of the conversation pressing down on us.
But when Jenna finally left, hugging me tightly at the door and reminding me, don’t you dare sign anything, I felt more torn than ever about the contract.
Because her words made sense. They were logical.
But my bank account wasn’t logical.
That night as I lay awake staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help thinking.
Images collided in my head. My pitiful bank account. Jenna’s stern warning. Michael’s dark eyes across that massive desk. Even the way his voice had sounded when he said—I’m offering you a solution.
It was temptation distilled into its purest form.
And I couldn’t yet tell if I would give in.