I Married My Boss for Debt, Then He Chose Me novel · Chapter 1 of 1
Chapter 1: Blue Hour
Ava signs a one-year marriage contract in Damien's office at Kastar Tower as the sky turns blue. Separate rooms, no feelings, the debt voided at year's end.
The pen in my hand is cheap plastic. The contract under it is heavy cream paper.
Damien Kastar has been watching me read for eleven minutes.
I know, because I keep checking the clock on his desk.
Outside the window, the sky over midtown is turning from gold to blue.
"Page six," he says. "That's the one you keep skipping."
"I'm not skipping it. I'm reading it twice."
"Read it a third time. Lawyers bill by the hour, and I'd like to finish before dinner."
I don't look up.
Clause four. Separate bedrooms. Each party keeps a private suite, and neither party enters the other's room.
Clause seven. The $1.9 million note secured on Sinclair Auto Body in Ridgewood, and on the Sinclair family house, is voided on the first anniversary of this marriage.
My father's name is painted across that shop sign.
He borrowed the money to rebuild the lift bays after the flood. My sister and I signed beside him because the bank asked us to.
Then the bank sold the note.
It sold to Kastar Holdings, and the man across from me owns Kastar Holdings.
Dad hasn't slept properly since August. Last night he sat at the kitchen table with the bank letter face down, too proud to read it aloud.
"You're doing the math on the shop," Damien says. "I can see it in your jaw."
"I'm doing the math on you."
"And?"
"It doesn't add up."
He doesn't smile. He never seems to waste one.
Clause eleven. Each party retains full authority over her own decisions, in writing, for the full term.
I read that line twice, because it's the only one I would have written myself.
"You put that in," I say.
"Everything you'll be promised is on that page. I don't say things I can't back."
"And if you break it?"
"Then you'll have the page, and every lawyer I own will hate me for it."
He leans back in his chair. The city glows behind him, one window at a time.
"Here's the rest, so you don't have to guess. There are no feelings in this marriage. None on either side."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. It comes out sounding like a cough.
"That's a strange thing to put in a wedding."
"It isn't a wedding. It's a contract with a guest room in it."
"You're serious."
"I'm always serious. It saves time."
I look at the signature line. Two blank lines, one for me and one for him.
I think about the shop floor, the smell of primer and the radio that only gets one station.
I think about Dad's hands, shaking when he reaches for his coffee.
"Nine a.m., the marriage bureau on Worth Street," Damien says. "Don't be late."
"I've never been late to anything in my life. I work nights in an ER."
"Then this should be easy for you."
I pick up the pen.
Ava Sinclair. The S comes out shaky, and I let it stay that way.
He signs beneath me without reading his own name back. The stroke is hard and black and quick.
He slides a second copy across the desk to me.
I fold my copy in half, then in half again, and tuck it into my bag.
Damien watches my hands the whole time, the way a man watches a stock price.
"You'll move into the penthouse tonight," he says. "Rafe will bring your things from the car."
"I didn't agree to tonight."
"You agreed to the term. The term starts at dinner."
I stand up. My knees are steady, which surprises me.
The ink on my name is still wet.
Damien turns his head toward the window, the way a man turns when he hears his name.
A bullet shatters the office window and glass sprays across the wet ink.
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