Chapter 1 - The Counter-Offer
“Problem?” Mara repeated, the word lingering in the penthouse air like gunpowder.
Adrian turned from the panoramic window, his tailored jacket hanging sharp and imposing against the dusk skyline of Raleigh. He looked at Mara’s thirty-two-dollar secondhand green dress, her sensible rubber-soled flats, and the fiery defiance behind her hazel eyes. Most people who stood inside this suite stammered or lowered their gaze. Mara Bennett stood with her feet planted as if ready to weather a hurricane.
“The problem,” Adrian said quietly, “is that Derek intends to take my grandfather’s foundation by force on Monday morning at the board meeting. He thinks I am distracted, unstable, and emotionally detached. He brought an international auditor to prove our accounts are bleeding. And Nonna… Nonna believes family harmony can be restored over birthday cake.”
Adrian walked back to the glass table, ignoring the white envelope containing the ten thousand dollars. He leaned over the table, placing two large, calloused palms on the glass. The sheer magnetism of his presence pushed the air from Mara’s chest, but she didn’t take a single step backward.
“I don’t need a supermodel to pose for photographs,” Adrian continued, his deep voice carrying a rough edge. “I need someone who understands ledgers. Someone who won’t flinch when Derek’s high-priced forensic accountants try to bury me under shell company transactions. Lindsey was supposed to be a decorative shield. You, Miss Bennett… you are an unexpected weapon.”
“I’m an accountant, Mr. Moretti, not a mercenary for hire,” Mara shot back, crossing her arms firmly. “And I definitely don’t rent myself out as arm candy to arrogant real estate magnates.”
“Fifty thousand dollars,” Adrian said without blinking.
Mara’s breath hitched. In her mind, the red numbers on the Briar Glen Memory Care invoice flashed violently. Fifty thousand dollars wasn’t just money; it was a full year of specialized memory therapy for her mother, Diane. It was safety. It was her mother having fresh flowers on her nightstand and twenty-four-hour nursing staff instead of the understaffed county ward threatening eviction.
“Fifty thousand for three days,” Adrian repeated, reading the flicker of vulnerability across her face. “You attend dinner tonight at Il Mulino. You attend Nonna’s gala tomorrow night at the country club. And Sunday brunch. You pretend to be an independent forensic analyst I met through business who captured my attention. You protect my grandmother’s peace, you watch Derek’s accountants, and you keep your mouth shut about how this arrangement began.”
“And if I refuse?” Mara challenged.
“Then Gus hands you that envelope, you walk out that door, and by midnight, Dawson Talent Management faces legal proceedings for breach of contract and fraudulent misappropriation of retainer funds,” Adrian replied cleanly.
“You son of a—”
“I’m a businessman, Miss Bennett. Do we have a deal, or do I call my legal counsel?”
Mara looked at Gus, who stood like an unmoving granite pillar by the double doors, though his eyes betrayed an unexpected flash of sympathy. She looked down at the envelope. Claire’s agency would crumble, dragging Claire into financial ruin. Her own savings would vanish. Her mother would be moved to the state facility by the end of the month.
She exhaled slowly, unclasping her hands. “Seventy-five thousand. In an escrow account under my name by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. Plus a signed release statement absolving Dawson Talent of all civil and criminal liabilities.”
Adrian’s mouth curved into a faint, predatory smirk. For the first time, a spark of genuine intrigue lit his cold dark eyes. “You drive a hard bargain for a woman in secondhand polyester.”
“Polyester washes out easily,” Mara retorted coldly. “Sleazy contracts don’t. Deal or no deal?”
May you like
Adrian reached out his hand. His fingers were long, his palm warm and firm as he enclosed her hand. A sudden shockwave traveled up Mara’s arm, making her pulse leap.
“Deal,” Adrian murmured. “Now let’s get you out of that bargain-bin dress. We have a family wolf pack to feed in exactly ninety minutes.”
