Chapter 2 Action

Elara

The elevator in my Chinatown apartment building smelled like sesame oil and industrial cleaner, a stark difference from the lilies and expensive perfume of the Pierre hotel.

I leaned my head against the scratched metal wall, watching the numbers crawl toward the twelfth floor.

I looked like a disaster.

My midnight-blue gown was wadded up in a plastic trash bag I'd begged off a kitchen worker, and I was currently wearing a pair of oversized, "I Heart Boston" grey sweatpants and a stained hoodie I'd bought from a tourist shop for twenty dollars.

When the door to 12B groaned open, the smell of burnt Palo Santo and cheap tequila hit me.

"Elara?! Did you get mugged? Or did Caspian finally try to sacrifice you to the gods of old money?"

Sofia was sprawled on our velvet thrift-store sofa, her feet propped up on a coffee table cluttered with half-empty makeup palettes and empty takeout containers.

She was still in her "work" uniform, a red bandage dress that hugged every curve of her Afro-Latina frame. Her dark curls were pinned up in a messy pile, and she was currently nursing a glass of wine while scrolling through her phone.

She froze mid-sip, her eyes widening as she took in my frizzy hair and the smudge of dirt I'd missed on my jawline.

"I didn't get mugged..." I sighed, tossing the bag with my ruined dress onto the floor. "I went digging for gold. Literally."

Sofia stood up, her heels clicking on the hardwood as she rushed over. She'd been my best friend for four years, the only person who knew exactly how much interest my mother's "business partners" were charging this month.

We'd met at a casting call for a high-end agency, two girls trying to survive a city that wanted to eat us alive. We'd been each other's security ever since.

"The dress, Elara! That was the vintage Chanel! Tell me you didn't ruin the Chanel for a Beaumont."

My face scrunched in disgust. "The Beaumont is a pig." I said, collapsing into the armchair. "I ditched him. I found something better. Arthur Sterling."

Her jaw actually dropped.

She didn't sit back down, she hovered. "Arthur Sterling? The guy who looks like he's made of ice and surgical steel? Elara, that man is a ghost.

"I've been on three jobs for his board members, and I've never even seen him smile. How did you get close enough to him to get... whatever this is on your face?"

"His son." I said, closing my eyes and seeing Julian's wide, curious face. "He ran off into the garden. I followed him. We found a worm."

"A worm." Sofia stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "You're telling me you're trying to land the biggest whale in the biomedical industry by playing in the dirt?"

"He seems to have a sprinkle of spectrum, Sof. I could see it". I smirked, like I just figured out what exactly, Arthur needed.

"The noise, the lights, the way people were crowding him... the kid is just like him". A small emotion tugged at my heart.

I shrugged. "Arthur doesn't need a trophy on his arm. He needs someone who can gently be with him."

Sofia's expression softened from shock to a grim, calculating interest. She sat on the edge of the sofa, leaning toward me. "And the debt? Did the sharks call again today?"

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the Boston night air. "Yeah. They sent a picture of my mother at the grocery store. No message. Just the photo."

Sofia cursed under her breath in Spanish, her hand reaching out to squeeze my knee. "Two million, Elara. We're good at what we do, but we're not 'that' good. Unless you get a contract."

"That's the plan." I said, my voice hardening. "I'm not going to be an escort for him. I'm going to be a necessity."

My plan was already running through my head. "He's a widower, his board is breathing down his neck for stability, and he's losing nannies faster than he can hire them."

Sofia sends me a look, like she knew what I was hinting at.

"If I can convince him that I'm the only person who can keep his son happy and his reputation intact, he'll pay whatever I ask." I left out the other part where I thought he looked drop dead sexy to pass by.

"But he saw you like this." Sofia pointed at my sweatpants. "He likes everything proper. To him, you're just a messy escort who was with a Beaumont."

"Which is why the next time he sees me, I'm going to be his dream come true." I said with determination.

The next forty-eight hours were a blur of caffeine and deep-web digging. While Sofia handled her regular clients, keeping our rent paid, I spent every second on my laptop.

I didn't just need to know Arthur's schedule, I needed to know his life.

I learned that he took the same route through the Public Garden every Sunday morning at 8:30 AM. He didn't go to the parts of the park where the tourists flocked to the Swan Boats.

He went to the quietest corner, near the statues, where the trees were thickest.

I learned that Sterling Bioworks was facing a 'character' crisis. The Russian merger with L'vov Medical was stalling because the L'vov family were staunch traditionalists.

They didn't trust a man who lived like a hermit. They wanted to see a family man.

I also found the most important piece of the puzzle. It was a blog post from a former nanny. She'd complained that Arthur was "impossible" because he demanded a strict sensory environment. No perfumes, no loud jewelry, no bright, primary colors. He needed a house that ran like a Swiss watch.

I scoffed into the empty room as the sun began to rise on Sunday morning. "He's impossible..."

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in our tiny bathroom. Sofia was still asleep, snoring lightly from her late Saturday night gig.

I dressed with purpose, wearing a tailored, cream-colored wool coat over a simple charcoal turtleneck and trousers. No perfume. My curls were gelled back into a low, neat bun. My makeup was "no-makeup", just enough to make my skin look clean.

I looked soft, capable, and infinitely calm.

"Looking good, Elara..." Sofia's sleepy voice came from the doorway. She was leaning against the frame, rubbing her eyes. "You look like a woman who's never seen a loan shark in her life."

She chuckled.

I snorted a laugh. "That's the goal." I said, checking my bag.

Inside was a small, vintage pair of reading glasses and a book on New England soil life. "I don't want him to want me. I want him to need me."

"Be careful, though..." Sofia warned, her voice losing its playful edge.

"Men like Arthur Sterling... they don't just own companies. They own people. If you get into a contract with him, make sure you have an exit."

"The two million is my exit." I sing song, kissing her cheek. "Wish me luck."

The Boston Public Garden was draped in a thin layer of morning mist. The air was crisp, smelling of damp earth and the coming winter. I found a bench near the statue and waited.

I didn't look at my phone, didn't fidget. I knew Arthur would notice movement.

At 8:32 AM, I saw them.

Arthur was walking with long strides, the same attractive walk that seemed to immerse the few people in the garden. He was wearing a dark navy overcoat, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

He looked exhausted.

Striking eyes were scanning the perimeter as if he were looking for threats, but I knew he was just looking for a way to manage the space.

Julian was lagging behind, his little boots dragging in the fallen leaves. He looked miserable in a stiff, itchy-looking wool coat.

I waited until they were twenty feet away. I didn't look at Arthur. I didn't even acknowledge he existed.

Instead, I leaned forward, looking at the base of a nearby oak tree. I pulled the reading glasses from my bag and peered at the bark.

"You know-" I started, my voice projected just loud enough to carry in the quiet morning air. "If you look closely at the north side of the trunk, you can see where the moss is starting to prepare for the frost. It's like a tiny green blanket."

Julian stopped dead. He looked at me, then at the tree.

Arthur stopped, too. His entire body went still, his eyes snapping to me. I could feel the heat of his gaze, the recognition clicking in his brain. He remembered the "messy" escort.

He remembered the worm.

"You." he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

My heart raced, anxiety trying to claw its way up, but my years of experience wouldn't let it. Finally, I looked up, letting a slow, surprised smile spread across my face.

Action.