The Husband Contract (The Billionaire Contracts #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Willow

The train ride into Manhattan from Whispering Haven is exactly one hour and ten minutes.

From what I know, the Magnolia Club, my new place of employment, is a fifteen-minute walk from Grand Central Station.

That means I’ll be traveling over three hours a day just to get to my second job, but my cousin Charlotte said the extra money would be worth it.

“Going to do some shopping on Fifth Avenue?” The elderly lady sitting next to me asks, as she looks up from the shopping list she’s been writing.

I didn’t intend to be nosy, but when I saw her writing condoms and then eggs, I was intrigued by her list. She looks to be at least seventy, with her short white hair and large purple glasses, and I have a feeling she noticed me staring at her notepad.

“No, I wish.” I shake my head and think about the meager funds in my bank account.

I’m not even sure why she assumes I’ve got money for Fifth Avenue, considering I’m wearing a pair of worn black slacks, a button-up white shirt with oversized sleeves, and have my long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail.

I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m dressed in a service uniform of some sort.

I certainly don’t look like some casually dressed but loaded young professional, off to charge her black American Express card up at Hermès, Chanel, or Louis Vuitton.

In fact, my $500 limit credit card would laugh if I even stepped foot into any one of those stores. “I’m on my way to work.”

“Work?” The lady looks at her watch. It’s large, pink, and has a scary cat with its tongue out on the face. Real classy. “At this time?”

“Yes.” I press my lips together. How does she think it’s too late to go to work, but early enough to go shopping? “My cousin, whom I sometimes refer to as my pseudo-evil step-sister, actually got me the job.”

“Your cousin is your stepsister?” The lady turns to me eagerly, her blue eyes lighting up.

“This sounds juicy.” I can hear the anticipation in her tone.

She’s practically rubbing her palms together in glee.

She’s about to be sorely disappointed. I bet she’s already planning the conversation she’s going to have with her old-lady gossip crew, which by the looks of the salivation on her face, she definitely has.

“No, she’s not,” I correct her quickly. The disappointment on her face is laughable.

Was she really expecting a Jerry Springer moment on the train?

“Charlotte is my cousin. My real cousin. Her mother and my mom were half-sisters. But my parents died when I was young, and I’ve lived with her since I was five, so she’s almost like a sister.

Though, she’s never been nice to me, so my friends like to say I’m the modern-day Cinderella, and she’s my evil stepsister.

” I pause as I suddenly feel guilty at telling this stranger such negative things about Charlotte.

“But she’s not all bad...” I add quickly.

“She lets me work at her hotel, and she knows I’ve been trying to make additional money, so she actually helped me get this job.

Her friend has a contact there, and apparently, they need someone, and they pay well.

..” My voice trails off as I realize I’m giving this woman far too much information.

“So anyway, today is my first day, and I’m hoping the pay is going to be as good as I’ve been led to believe it will be. ”

“I hope so, as well.” The lady takes out a bright red cough drop from her oversized black bag and pops it into her mouth.

I watch as she drops the wrapper on the ground and debate making a comment.

I decide against it. I have no doubt she knows exactly what she did.

“Where did you say you were working again?”

“The Magnolia Club. It’s a —”

“I know it.” Her eyes widen. “It’s the most exclusive club in Manhattan. Presidents lunch there. The annual membership is over a hundred grand.”

“It is?” My jaw drops. “No way.”

“Yes, I know this because I used to work for a doctor on Long Island, and he wanted membership, but he couldn’t afford it.” She sniffs. “You have to have a lot of money to become a member at The Magnolia Club.” Her eyes narrow as she looks me over. “And that’s what you’re wearing?”

“Sorry, what?” I frown as I look down at my attire. “I was told to wear black slacks and a white shirt.”

“You’re not going to catch a man in that getup, dearie. You look like the dog’s dinner, after he’s eaten the good bits.” She sniffs. “Men don’t look at women in shirts that button up to their necks.”

“I’m going for a job,” I say stiffly. “Not to get a man.”

“Sure,” she says, as she studies my face. “You’re pretty. I’ll give you that. Nice bone structure. Bright blue eyes. Blonde hair. It’s a nice color. Bottle or…?”

“It’s natural.” I run my fingers through my ponytail, suddenly self-conscious. How has this conversation gone south so quickly? Now I’m beginning to wonder if her question about shopping was more of a hint.

“Pretty figure, too.” She nods. “Even hidden under those clothes.”

“Umm, I don’t mean to be rude, but your comments are making me uncomfortable.”

“Oh, don’t mind me, dear. I used to be a matchmaker.” She grins as if that makes it all okay. “Only had seven divorces so far.”

“Out of how many matches?” I ask, wondering if I should sign up for her services, as I am desperately single. I wonder if she would take monthly payments, Small monthly payments, at that.

“Eight.” She sniffles and gives me a look. “But it’s not my fault that they ended. I did my part.”

“Seven out of eight ended in divorce?” I try not to laugh. Maybe I wouldn’t blow my meager funds on her service, after all.

“Well, anyway. I’m just saying if you hope to make some money and make a match, that outfit is not the way.”

“I’m actually already close to being in a relationship.” I hold my phone up to her. I’m not going to tell her that I’ve never actually met the man in question in real life yet. Though we have been speaking online for two months already and have plans to go on our first date in a couple of days.

“Oh.” She looks down at my ring finger and sniffs. “That’s good, dearie.”

“He’s nice. He’s in insurance sales.”

“The men at the Magnolia Club own the insurance companies, darling. Why settle for fool’s gold, when you can have the mine?”

“Yeah.” I have nothing to say to that. She’s starting to get on my nerves.

I look back down at my phone and see that there’s a text message from my best friend Katherine in our group chat, and I quickly unlock my phone.

“Sorry, I have to respond to these.” I smile at the old lady and then look back at my phone.

Katherine and Brielle, my two best friends in the world, have both sent me good luck texts, and I smile at their messages.

Katherine: Where are you, Willow? Made it to the club yet?

Brielle: She won’t be there until 5 p.m, remember?

Katherine: Oh, yeah... Well, have a safe journey. Best of luck on your first day.

Brielle: Yes, make that money!

Katherine: I deposited the money into our joint account today for our business. This time next year, we might finally be able to buy our own building to start our own bed and breakfast.

Brielle: Yay, how much do we have?

Katherine: $75, hahaha. The $25 we all put in.

Brielle: I was hoping someone won the lottery and was going to surprise me.

Katherine: HAHAHAHA!

Willow: If someone says they’ve won the lotto, I will get off this train now and leave my gossipy new friend to ride the train alone.

Katherine: Ooh, do tell. Is your new friend hot?

Willow: My new friend is your grandma’s age.

Brielle: Is he rich?

Willow: He is a she, and she doesn’t seem impressed by my outfit. She says I won’t attract any of the men at my new job with my dowdy clothes. Ha ha.

Katherine: Did you tell her you're a coat collector and not likely to be hobnobbing with the members?

Willow: I didn’t want to burst her bubble.

Brielle: Pity, I wouldn’t mind. Karens get on my nerves.

Katherine: Same. Though I do feel bad for the nice Karens in the world. I wonder if any parents would name their babies Karen now?

Willow: Huh?

Katherine: I mean, would you name your new baby Karen, knowing what everyone thinks of the name?

Brielle: I never thought about that. But no way. But I also would never name my kid or dog Spottyetta.

Willow: What? Oh, you’re talking about Mrs. Kubica’s dog? Ha ha.

I burst out laughing at Brielle’s text. Spottyetta was a naughty terrier dog that accompanied one of our guests every time she stayed at the hotel.

“Something funny, dear?” The worst matchmaker in the world gazes at me, and I wonder what she would think about the name Spottyetta. She’d probably say it wasn’t a name that would attract a billionaire.

“No... just getting myself ready for my new job.” I smile politely at her. “You never know who I may end up meeting. Tonight could be the first night of the rest of my life.”

She looks me up and down and then pats my knee gently. “If you say so, dear. If you say so.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I have a quick call to make.” I hold up my phone and smile as I search my Clark Kent’s number and call him. He answers on the second ring.

“Willow. I’ve been sitting by the phone for eight minutes and thirty-two seconds waiting for your call.”