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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.