Chapter 8 My terms

When I arrived at work the next day, the lobby was barely filled up. I thrust my chest out and marched towards the elevator, ignoring my lit up nerves while staring at the shoes of the few employees walking by just to calm my nerves. But nothing worked. What if Weston fired me for slamming the door in his face?

“Miss Bailey, you have a delivery.” The receptionist from yesterday waved, snapping me out of my thoughts. She lifted a brown basket of chocolates and a large bouquet of red roses with a red envelope stuck out in the middle. Then she placed them on the sand-toned desk.

My brows knitted up. I stared left, right, then back at her before pointing at my chest. “For me?”

My question wrenched a smile out of her and she nodded.

How? Was there a mixup somewhere? I never ordered flowers. I couldn’t even afford fake flowers, and here I was suddenly receiving real roses.

Then, one name crossed my mind. Weston. It had to be him. Jesus Christ! This man was unbelievable. First, he showed up with a bunch of expensive jewelries and dresses. And now this?

Was this some kind of game to him? Wasn’t I supposed to be off-limit as his assistant?

Hesitantly, I adjusted my skirt and sauntered towards her, my heels clicking against the floor.

“Uhm. Thanks,” I muttered, carrying the basket and flower bouquet.

“You got flowers.” Pauline’s voice rang across the lobby, causing me to glance over my shoulder. She stood some feet away, her lips set into a grim line and arms crossed.

“A reminder. Reed Media has a no-romance policy, I’m sure you won’t want your probationary contract to end over a bouquet.”

I cleared my parched throat. “Thanks for the reminder, Ma’am Pauline.”

Without another word, she spun and walked away. I let out a sigh then retreated to my office. Weston’s door was slightly open and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was inside.

I shifted the papers on my desk with my elbow, then dropped the basket. Lifting the flowers, I buried my face in them, filling my nostrils with the scent before plucking out and opening the envelope.

My breath caught as I scanned through it:

I pushed too hard last night.

sorry.

My proposal still stands though.

—w

I tossed the paper on the desk, and stormed off to Weston’s office. I knocked once, then pushed the door and walked in.

“Mr. Weston, did you drop another gift at the reception?”

He shifted his attention to me, giving me a level stare. “I paid the delivery service to do that. Any problem?”

“Yes!” I seethed. He looked confused at my sudden outburst. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped sending gifts. I don’t want to get on Pauline’s bad side.”

“Pauline is like that to everyone. You don’t have to worry about her.” He paused, dusting the non-existent dust on his shirt. “Did you like the flower? I wasn’t sure which one to get.”

“No.”

The corner of his lips twitched as he squinted at me. I scoffed, gazing elsewhere. Yep, I sucked at lying.

Weston opened his mouth to argue, but his ringtone drifted through the room, interrupting him. He tapped the decline button, and his chin hardened. I arched my brow at him, wordlessly asking what happened.

His phone vibrated again. A text now. He leaned back and ran both hands through his hair, making it look messy.

“My mom. A reminder about the family dinner thing tomorrow,” he said, straightening up. His gaze suddenly went ice cold. “So here’s the deal. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 10 p.m, as my girlfriend. Or you grab your stuff and find another job. Choice is yours.”

What? My jaw dropped. I knew this time would come. In fact, I’d expected it sooner. But I’d thought if he didn’t fire me yesterday, he wouldn’t fire me again.

I plodded closer to his desk with heavy legs, about to spill the words I’d never pictured myself saying. “The contract. It’s just for three months, right?”

He rubbed his temple. “Yes.” One brow went up as if he just realized the decision I was making. “I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

He exhaled. “Yes, three months. Dad signs the company over to me, we break the contract, and I’ll pay you. We’ll pretend it never happened.”

I clasped my hands behind my back, holding strong eye contact with him. “Mr. Weston, I’d love to read the terms and know if it’s fine by me. That’s if you have it printed.”

“I do.” He gave a curt nod. His gaze flicked to the drawer and he shoved it open and brought out a black file. Unwrapping it, he pulled out a single piece of paper and slid it over to me. “Here. I had my lawyer draft it out yesterday.”

My body broke out in a light sweat. I picked up the paper, then blew out a long breath before strolling over to the couch and sitting down.

His office fell silent and he moved his attention back to whatever he was doing before I walked in. I started reading:

Fake Relationship Agreement Between Weston Reed (Party A) and Jenna Bailey (Party B)

From this point until the contract is concluded, Party A and Party B must keep this contract confidential. Hence, no third party is involved.

Party B must attend all public events, social gatherings and galas at Party A’s request.

No romantic feelings are allowed.

Party B remains Party A’s work assistant.

Exclusivity. As long as the contract exists, none of the parties are allowed to engage in a romantic relationship with someone else.

On the successful conclusion of this contract, Party B shall receive the sum of five million dollars. Non-negotiatable.

Holy shit. I batted my lashes, my mouth falling wide open. Five million dollars? Was he buying a whole country?

I was still going to negotiate anyway. I snuck him a glance, gulping. His attention was still on the file on his desk, so I cleared my throat, making him look up.

“Um. Instead of being paid off, I have a better offer.”

His eyes widened and he leaned up. “What could be better than five million dollars?”

“Acting.” I faltered, rubbing my knee. “If I play your girlfriend well, you cast me as the lead actress in one of Reed Media’s films. And you delete the text.”

He scanned me from head to toe, until his eyes stopped at my face. And for a moment, I thought he was going to disapprove. But then, he smirked. “Yes, madam.” He clasped his palm, then pressed them under his chin. “You’ll still keep the money. It’s pocket change.”

A fluttery sensation settled in my belly. It was impossible to hide my excitement. I stood and walked over to his desk, then signed on the bottom of the paper where my name was.

“Well done, Jenna.” He took the file. “If you don’t mind, you may return to your office.”

I turned, ready to leave when his voice made me halt.

“I emailed a screenplay to your work system. Trim what’s unnecessary and send it before Monday.” A pause. “Being my fake girlfriend doesn’t stop you from doing your work.”

I rolled my eyes and walked out, already picturing myself as a character in a movie.