Chapter 2: "Get Used to It"
Harper's POV
Three days later, a black car pulls up outside my apartment building. The driver helps me load two suitcases into the trunk. That's everything I own worth taking.
We drive for forty minutes, leaving the city behind. The landscape shifts to rolling hills and dense trees. Then the car slows, turning onto a private road marked by towering iron gates that swing open automatically.
My jaw drops.
This isn't a house. This is a freaking estate.
The driveway stretches on forever, lined with manicured lawns and ancient oak trees. At the end sits the main building, all gray stone and turrets, like something out of a French château. I count at least three wings branching off from the central structure.
"Holy shit," I whisper.
The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Welcome home, Miss Quinn."
Home. The word feels strange in my mouth.
The car stops at the front entrance where Adrian is already waiting, flanked by three staff members in crisp uniforms. He's wearing a charcoal suit that probably costs more than my rent.
"You made it." His tone is neutral as always. "The staff will help you settle in. Your room is..." He pauses, jaw tightening slightly. "Follow me."
I trail behind him through the entrance hall. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, a grand staircase that curves upward like something from a movie set. Every surface gleams. Every detail screams money.
We climb to the second floor and walk down a long corridor hung with oil paintings. He stops at a set of double doors and pushes them open.
The master bedroom is massive. A four-poster bed dominates the center, draped in deep blue silk. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook manicured gardens. There's a fireplace, two sofas arranged near it, and what looks like a walk-in closet the size of my old bedroom.
And one very large bed.
My stomach twists. "Just the one bed?"
"We're sharing." He says it like he's commenting on the weather. "My grandfather does random checks. If he finds out we're sleeping separately, this whole thing falls apart."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I could take the couch."
He shrugs. "Do what you want. Left side of the closet is yours, right side is mine. Family dinner at seven. Dress formally."
Then he's gone.
I stand in the enormous room, suddenly feeling very small. One million dollars might not be enough for this.
At seven sharp, I'm wearing my best black dress, the one I bought last month for a client's wedding. It's the most decent thing in my wardrobe. When I come downstairs, Adrian is waiting in the foyer, now in a dark gray suit that makes him look like he should be on a magazine cover.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Honestly? Not even close."
Something flickers in his eyes, too quick to read. "Just follow my lead."
The dining room holds about eight people ranging from their twenties to seventies, all dressed to the nines. Jewelry glitters under the chandelier light. I feel underdressed immediately.
At the head of the table sits an elderly man with white hair and eyes sharp as a hawk's.
George Blackwell.
"Adrian." His voice booms across the room. "So this is your girlfriend?"
"Yes, Grandfather." Adrian pulls out the chair beside his. "This is Harper Quinn."
Every pair of eyes turns to me. I feel like I'm under a microscope.
"Quinn." George repeats my name slowly. "Irish?"
"Um, on my grandmother's side."
"Event planner, I hear. Damian mentioned you." He leans back in his chair, studying me. "How did you two meet?"
My mouth opens but nothing comes out. What did we agree on again?
Adrian's hand suddenly covers mine on the table. The warmth of it jolts through me.
"She planned my friend's wedding," he says, and his voice goes soft in a way that almost sounds real. "I saw her across the room and just knew. She was the one."
My heart stutters. Not because of what he's saying, but because his hand feels so steady on mine, anchoring me.
George's eyes narrow. "Love at first sight?"
"Yes."
"Then kiss her. Right now."
The air freezes.
I turn to Adrian, eyes wide, but he's already looking at me. Those gray-blue eyes hold no hesitation whatsoever.
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with surprising gentleness.
Then his mouth is on mine.
Technically, this isn't my first kiss. There was that truth-or-dare disaster in high school. But this one actually counts.
His lips are soft, tasting faintly of mint. The kiss isn't deep, but it's thorough enough to convince anyone watching. My brain short-circuits completely.
When he pulls back, I'm still frozen in place, my thoughts scattered like dropped cards.
George chuckles, satisfied. "Good. Sit down and eat."
The dinner drags on for two hours. I field question after question about our supposed relationship, stumbling through answers while Adrian smoothly fills in the gaps whenever I falter. By the time dessert arrives, my face hurts from forcing smiles.
Back in the bedroom, I finally let loose.
"You can't just kiss me like that!"
Adrian is loosening his tie, looking completely unbothered. "The contract specified intimate acts."
"When necessary! Not whenever you feel like it!"
"That was necessary." He cuts me off. "My grandfather was testing us. If I'd hesitated even a second, he would've known it was fake."
I bite my lip hard, because damn it, he's right.
"Get used to it," he says, heading for the bathroom. "This is just the beginning."
The door closes behind him.
I stand there touching my lips without meaning to. I can still feel the ghost of his mouth on mine, still taste mint.
Shit. I didn't tell him the worst part: I wasn't actually angry.
At one in the morning, I'm still on the couch, wide awake. My back is killing me. The sofa looks fancy but it's definitely not built for sleeping. I shift positions for the hundredth time, trying to find a comfortable angle that doesn't exist.
Across the room, Adrian is in bed. His back is to me, breathing even and steady. Asleep, probably.
Moonlight slips through the curtains, outlining the shape of his shoulders. I'll admit it. He's gorgeous. Stupidly gorgeous, in that cold, untouchable way. Like there's a wall between him and the rest of the world that nobody gets past.
I sigh and close my eyes.
"The bed's big enough for both of us."
His voice cuts through the darkness. I jolt upright.
"What?"
"You keep moving around. I can't sleep." He's still facing away from me. "I won't touch you."
I chew on my lip. My pride says I should refuse. My aching spine says please, for the love of God, accept.
My spine wins.
I climb into bed, keeping to the very edge, putting at least three feet between us. The silk sheets feel cool and impossibly smooth against my skin. Heaven.
"Night," I murmur.
Silence stretches for a few seconds.
"Goodnight, Harper."
It's the first time he's used my first name. My heart does this stupid, irregular thing in my chest, beating so loud I'm convinced he can hear it.
Stop it. Stop beating like that.
This is just business.
