Chapter 6 Ghostwriter

"Mr. Sterling?" I said, keeping my voice steady.

Adrian's head snapped up. His emerald eyes, still as striking and unnervingly sharp as ever, locked onto mine. For a second, his expression froze, like he'd seen a ghost.

"You."

That one word. He hadn't changed. Short. Curt. Dismissive.

"Yes, me," I replied, sliding into the chair opposite him. "Don't look so thrilled. I'm just here to work. We are nothing but strangers."

He shut his laptop slowly, his gaze lingering on me, scanning me in a way that made my skin crawl. I kept my face blank, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much this moment affected me.

"When you were recommended for me, I didn't expect that it would be you." His eyes raked over me once more, I crossed my right leg over the other. "You look... good."

I stared at him, unimpressed. "Save the compliments, Adrian. What exactly do you need a ghostwriter for?"

His lips twitched into something resembling a smirk. "A book."

"Obviously," I replied, leaning back. "What kind of book?"

"A memoir."

I raised an eyebrow. "A memoir? About what? Your dazzling life as a billionaire?"

Adrian leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. "It's more than that. I want it to be personal. Raw. Someone like you could make that happen."

Someone like me? I bristled but kept my tone calm. "Right. So, you want me to write about your life, your business empire, and... what else?"

"I want you to shadow me."

I blinked, sure I'd misheard him. "Shadow you?"

"Yes."

A short, clipped answer. Of course.

He leaned back, crossing his arms, looking every inch the arrogant man I remembered. "You'll be my assistant. Observe my day-to-day life. That's the only way this works."

I laughed before I could stop myself. It wasn't a polite laugh either. It was the kind of laugh that made people uncomfortable. "Me? Working around you? Over my dead body."

Adrian didn't flinch. He reached for a folder on the table, slid it across to me, and said, "Take a look."

I hesitated but opened the folder. The figure at the top of the contract made my breath catch. My eyes widened despite my best efforts.

"That's the pay," he said, his tone as cold as ever.

I snapped the folder shut, placing it back on the table. "You're insane if you think money will make me say yes."

"Is that so?" His tone was almost mocking.

I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. "I'll write the damn book, but I'm not going to be your personal assistant, Adrian."

"It's part of the job," he replied without missing a beat.

"No, it's not," I shot back.

His gaze darkened, and for a moment, silence stretched between us. Then he said, "You're the one who wanted this gig."

"I wanted a ghostwriting job," I corrected. "Not to babysit you while you parade around with your billionaire problems."

"Are you finished?"

I clenched my jaw. "Are you?"

Adrian leaned forward again, his voice dropping to something almost dangerous. "I don't have time for games, Lyra. If you don't want the job, say so now."

I stared at him, considering my options. This job could mean more than just money-it could mean access to the man who had destroyed my life, a chance to uncover his secrets. Still, the thought of being around him daily was almost unbearable.

"Fine," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll shadow you. But don't expect me to fetch your coffee or cater to your whims."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, his expression unreadable.

As he slid the folder back toward me, a thought nagged at the back of my mind. Why me? Why, out of all the writers he could afford, would Adrian Sterling pick me?

"Why did you hire me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Adrian's lips curved into that infuriating smirk again. "Because you're the best."

Liar.

Yet you put me in a fucking prison.

Before I could respond, he stood, towering over me. "We start tomorrow. My driver will pick you up at seven sharp."

"Seven?"

"Don't be late," he said, ignoring my protest. Then, as if dismissing me, he turned and walked away, leaving me staring at the empty chair across from me.

Tomorrow. Seven sharp. Working for Adrian Sterling.

What the hell had I just agreed to?

****

The next morning, I stood outside my apartment building, arms crossed, glaring at the sleek black car parked at the curb. Seven sharp, just like he said. Of course Adrian Sterling would have a driver. God forbid he lower himself to driving like the rest of us mortals.

The tinted window rolled down, and the driver, an older man with a sharp suit and a no-nonsense expression, gave me a curt nod. "Miss Quinn?"

"That's me," I said, my tone clipped. I had already regretted this arrangement, but I wasn't going to back out. Not yet.

"Mr. Sterling is expecting you," the driver said, stepping out to open the door.

"Lucky him," I muttered under my breath as I slid into the leather interior.

The ride was quiet. The kind of quiet that gets under your skin, crawling around until you're forced to think about things you'd rather not. Like why I agreed to this insanity. The pay, sure, but the real reason? Revenge. Closure. Answers.

The car stopped in front of a towering glass building downtown. Adrian's empire, gleaming in the early morning light like a monument to his arrogance.

"Top floor," the driver said as I stepped out.

I entered the building, greeted by the sterile hum of air conditioning and the clacking of heels on polished floors. The receptionist barely glanced at me before motioning to the elevators.

The ride up felt endless, each floor number lighting up like a countdown to my doom. When the doors finally slid open, Adrian was already waiting.

He was dressed in a tailored gray suit, his posture stiff, his expression as unreadable as ever. "You're late," he said, glancing at his watch.

"It's 7:03," I replied. "If three minutes ruins your day, maybe you need to reevaluate your priorities."

He raised an eyebrow but didn't respond. Instead, he turned and walked away, expecting me to follow.

We entered a sprawling office, all glass and chrome, with a view that screamed power. Adrian gestured to a chair near his desk. "Sit."

I didn't move right away, crossing my arms instead. "I'm not a dog, Adrian. Try asking like a normal person."

His lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't argue. "Please, sit."

I took my time settling into the chair, making sure he knew I was here on my terms, not his.

"Let's get one thing straight," I said, meeting his gaze. "I'm here to write. Nothing more."

"And shadow me," he added.

I scoffed. "Right, shadow you. Take notes while you glare at people and brood over spreadsheets. Fascinating."

His eyes narrowed. "You agreed to the terms."

"Reluctantly," I shot back. "So, what's the first order of business? Should I follow you to a board meeting and document your stunning ability to intimidate people into submission?"

Adrian's jaw tightened. "I don't intimidate people."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? Could've fooled me."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low. "Do you always talk this much?"

"Only when I'm annoyed," I replied, smiling sweetly.

Adrian didn't smile back. Of course, he didn't. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. "I have meetings all morning. You'll sit in and observe."

"Thrilling," I said, pulling out my notebook.

He ignored me, standing and straightening his suit. "Try to keep up."

I followed him out of the office and down a long corridor lined with portraits of men in suits. Probably past CEOs or people Adrian crushed on his way to the top.

The meeting room was as over-the-top as the rest of the building, with a massive table and a wall of screens displaying charts and numbers I had no interest in deciphering.

Executives filed in, their chatter dying the moment Adrian entered. He didn't greet them. He didn't need to. His mere presence was enough to command attention.

The meeting started, and I pretended to take notes, scribbling nonsense while Adrian's voice droned on about market shares and quarterly projections. Every so often, I caught him glancing at me, his expression unreadable.

When the meeting ended, Adrian strode past me without a word, expecting me to follow. I did, mostly because I wanted answers.

Back in his office, I dropped my notebook on his desk. "So, this is what you do all day? Boss people around and talk about money?"

"Do you have a problem with that?" he asked, his tone cool.

"Not a problem," I replied. "Just trying to figure out why anyone would want to read a book about it."

He studied me for a moment, then said, "The book isn't just about business. It's about the choices I've made. The sacrifices."

"Sacrifices," I repeated, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "Must be hard sacrificing from the penthouse."

His eyes darkened. "You know nothing about what I've lost."

"And whose fault is that?" I shot back.

Silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable. For a moment, I thought I saw something in his expression-something almost human-but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Adrian walked to the window, his back to me. "If you're not up for this, say so now."

I stood, my hands gripping the edge of the desk. "I'm up for it. But don't expect me to sugarcoat your story."

He turned, his gaze piercing. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Before I could respond, his assistant knocked and entered, holding a tablet. "Mr. Sterling, there's an urgent matter requiring your attention."

Adrian took the tablet, his expression unreadable as he scanned the screen. Then, without a word, he handed it to me.

I glanced at the screen, my heart skipping a beat. It was a photo of me, walking into the cafe yesterday, with the caption: "Sterling's New Mystery Woman?"

"Care to explain?" Adrian asked, his voice cold.

I stared at the screen, my mind racing. "You've got to be kidding me."