Chapter 3

VIVIANNE

I smooth my dress, take a steadying breath, and walk to the receptionist’s desk.

“Is Mr. Stryder in?”

Jenna’s eyes widen when she sees me, her lips parting in surprise before she leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper.

“Damn, Viv, you clean up good.” She looks me over with raised eyebrows. “That dress? That walk? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you landed a billionaire boyfriend.”

I let out an uneasy laugh, rolling my eyes.

She smirks, lowering her voice even more. “If this is how you show up on day one, I ~cannot ~wait to see the office gossip mill explode.”

I ignore the churn of my stomach and sit, crossing my legs in the same chair I sat in while waiting for my interview.

I don’t have to wait long this time. The sound of polished footsteps echoes across the marble floor before Mr. Stryder appears. Jenna looks like she’s drooling.

“Ah, Vivianne.” His smile is smooth and practiced, making my knees feel unsteady as I stand to shake his outstretched hand.

I return his smile, keeping my grip firm, and follow him out of the lobby and down a quiet hall.

We reach his office, and he lets me in first.

It’s exactly what I expected—sleek, modern, and spacious, with a large window flooding the room with natural light.

He gestures for me to sit in one of the black leather chairs across from his desk, then settles into the chair behind it.

A thick stack of papers lands on the polished wood between us.

“Thanks for coming.” He watches me closely. “So, were you able to come to a final decision?”

I think I see hope in his eyes.

I clasp my hands briefly, then release them, forcing myself to stay calm. “I have some questions.” I pull out my copy of the contract and set it on the desk.

He nods. “Go ahead.”

I meet his gaze. “First off, why do you need someone for this? Aren’t women knocking down your door for your attention? Why not a real relationship?”

A knowing look crosses his handsome features. “Honestly? I don’t want anything real.” He leans back, fingers steepled.

“There’s a lot of pressure from all around—my family, my friends, even some of the people who work for me. I don’t want the implications of a real relationship, and most people want me for what I can ~do~ for them, not for who I ~am~.

“The fact that you’re beautiful doesn’t hurt. I’m sure my father will ~love~ you, and the men around here will drool.”

I nod, fiddling with the edge of the paper. “Why so much? Seventy thousand a week is a lot of money to cough up.”

His lips quirk. “I expect someone who will drop everything and come when I call. Would you do that for only a fraction of what I’m offering?”

I hesitate. “I guess that makes sense. But when you say ‘drop everything,’ do you really mean this is a twenty-four-seven job?”

“Yes.” His tone is absolute, leaving no room for interpretation.

I swallow and glance down at my notes. “It says I get another stipend for clothes and things. I want to keep everything I acquire during my employment—clothes, accessories, whatever.”

“Done.” Humor glints in his eyes, making something twist low and electric in my stomach. “Anything else?”

“Yes.” I lift my chin. I want real dates, not just fake stuff. If we have to spend time together, I’d like to be good friends at least.”

His eyes go wide, brows lifting slightly before he schools his expression. “I don’t want anything real,” he repeats.

“I didn’t say I want a real relationship. But if we’re going to be dating, I want to actually go out together—to really get to know each other. It would look weird if we weren’t comfortable with each other, don’t you think?”

He studies me for a moment, pursing his lips. Then, with a slow nod, he says, “Done.”

The conversation flows more easily after that. We go back and forth, negotiating terms until—finally—we reach an agreement.

No dating anyone else. No lewd acts. If I’m photographed with him and then caught dancing on bars, it wouldn’t look so good.

The terms are simple, really. I have to be a trophy on his shelf for a couple of months. It’s even written in the contract: I have to look put together at all times. No sweatpants. No unbrushed hair. I have to look the part.

“It’s a deal.” I offer him a small smile. “Send me the revised contract, and I’ll return a signed copy.”

He nods, and I check my watch. Two hours have already passed. Time to go.

“Wait. Here.” He pulls a set of keys from his desk and hands them to me.

I look at him, confused.

“It’s the keys to an apartment.”

I frown, skimming through the contract again, searching for this detail—but I come up empty.

He chuckles, watching my reaction. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll add it to the contract. But since you’ll be at my beck and call, I figured you’d need a place nearby. Unless…you want to just move in.”

My eyes widen, and he laughs again. “Kidding. Here. They’re yours.” He tosses the keys, and I catch them, still reeling.

“Address is 4332 Patterson Road,” he adds.

“Thank you, Mr. Stryder.”

His gaze flicks up, and for the first time, something unreadable passes between us.

“Liam,” he corrects.

I hesitate, then nod. “Liam.”

He holds my stare a second longer before returning to his work without another word.

I make myself leave, barely registering the glee on Jenna’s face.

I exhale, glancing down at the keys in my palm.

~No turning back now.~

Before I can step toward Jenna, the door swings open behind me.

“Vivianne.”

I turn to find Liam standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

“We should make an appearance,” he whispers, nodding toward the hallway where a few employees linger.

I blink, my heart racing. Right. The ~girlfriend~ role.

~I guess we’re starting now.~

I pause, then lift my chin and straighten my posture.

He sticks out his elbow, and I grab it like a lifeline.

I glance up at him, but he’s already in character—his expression easy, like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

I can feel eyes on us as we walk through the office, whispers hidden behind coffee cups. I smile, leaning into him just enough to get tongues wagging.

As we pass the reception desk, Jenna’s mouth falls open slightly before she recovers, her eyes darting between me and Liam. Then she mouths, ~I’ll call you. Don’t leave.~

Liam squeezes my hand once—whether as reassurance or a reminder, I can’t tell.

The moment lingers, the reality of our arrangement sinking in.

And I just like that, I’m no longer Vivianne, the woman signing a contract.

I’m Vivianne—the billionaire’s girlfriend.

***

Once outside, I pull my phone from my bag and call Jenna. The line barely rings before she picks up.

“I’m coming down,” she says before I can speak. “I just took my lunch break. Stay put.”

I examine the keys in my hand, a small paper tag dangling from a ring: Apartment 601~.~

Moments later, the elevator doors slide open, and Jenna strides out, eyes immediately locking onto me.

“Well?” she demands, barely containing her excitement. “How’d it go?”

“He agreed to almost everything.” I pause, knowing this next part will get a reaction. “And there’s more.”

“Okay, so ~spill~!” I can hear the anticipation in her voice.

“He gave me keys to an apartment.”

“What?” Jenna goes silent.

“4332 Patterson Road. I’m headed there now. Want to tag along?”

“Hell yes!” she practically shouts, turning heads in the immaculate ground-floor lobby.

Jenna and I walk toward the apartment, my fingers still curled around the keys as I replay the meeting.

“Why would he just ~hand~ you an apartment?” she says, shaking her head.

“It’s part of the deal. I haven’t signed the contract yet, but here we are,” I murmur.

She huffs a quiet laugh. “So? How was he?”

I think back to the meeting—the way he barely blinked before agreeing to my terms, except for one.

“Surprisingly agreeable,” I say.

Jenna gives me a sideways glance but doesn’t push.

By the time we reach the building, my nerves are buzzing again. The elevator ride to the top floor feels both too fast and too slow.

When the doors slide open, we step into a quiet hallway with only two doors—601 and 602—identical except for the gold numbers displayed on them.

My stomach flips for the billionth time today. I turn the key in the lock, push the door open, and step inside.

Then I stop cold.

My breath catches as I take it all in—the sheer size, the luxury, the fact that this is now mine.

Jenna steps in beside me, just as speechless, her wide eyes scanning the place.

I exhale slowly, grip tightening on the keys. “What ~is~ this place?”