Chapter 3 The Proposition

Sharon's POV

As I scribbled frantically, desperate to complete my chores before the approaching deadline, the office buzz filled the air. However, fragments of discussions drifted around me, making it difficult to concentrate.

One voice said from behind the partition, "Did you see Rebecca yesterday?" The tension between her and Mr. Grant was off the charts.

"I heard she broke off their engagement. Rumour has it she's back to reclaim her spot," another responded.

On the keyboard, my fingers became cold. Had Donald and Rebecca been engaged?

A third voice, almost heard, said, "Poor Sharon, She doesn't stand a chance if Rebecca wants her gone."

I gulped and gazed at the screen, the words blending into one another. I wasn't supposed to be here for just this reason. These folks understood their way around this world, were polished, and exuded confidence. I was simply an outsider pretending to be someone else.

But why did I appear to threaten Rebecca so much? I was simply a secretary trying to maintain my position, and I was nothing.

I shook my head and tried to concentrate. I couldn't live here by focusing on workplace gossip.

"My office, Sharon." Donald's voice pierced the atmosphere like a whip now.

I sprung, snatched up my notes, and hurried to his office. There had been no space for uncertainty in his tone.

Donald was inside, standing stiffly at the window. His piercing eyes fixed on me as he turned to face me.

"Do you have a dress for the evening?" he asked abruptly.

I was taken aback and blinked. "Well... No?"

He rubbed his temples and moaned. "You don't, of course. Emily is going to set one up for you. Tonight, you will join me for a dinner meeting."

My mouth fell open. "Me? Why?"

With a sharp tone, he stated, "Because I need someone I can trust."

Have faith? Whatever this was, that didn't seem like the appropriate word.

He narrowed his gaze and said, "And one more thing-you must pretend to be my fiancée."

"What?" I let out a gasp. "Why would I act in that way?"

His face remained unwavering. "Because it is essential. I don't have the patience to answer questions about my personal life. For the evening, you will act as though you are my fiancée. It's simple."

Simple? This didn't sound easy at all. But before I could object, he handed me a credit card.

"Emily will handle the details. Be ready by seven," he said dismissively.

I went out of his office in a trance, gripping the card like it may burn a hole in my hand. What had I just agreed to?

Emily's dress was stunning; it was deep emerald, green, had a modest neckline, and had just the right amount of sparkle to make me feel like I belonged. In the mirror, I hardly recognized myself.

Donald was waiting for me at the location, looking incredibly put together in a fitted suit. I briefly believed I glimpsed approbation as his gaze swept over me.

He offered his arm and remarked, "You clean up well."

I mumbled, feeling out of my element, "Thanks, I guess."

Rich elites filled the room, their talk and laughing mixing into a sophisticated symphony. To avoid tripping over my heels, I stayed close to Donald.

As the evening went on, I came to understand that my job was more than just playing the part. I had to grin, speak, and dodge inquisitive queries.

"How did the two of you meet, then?" one woman asked, her diamonds glittering under the chandelier.

I froze, unsure how to answer.

Donald stepped in nicely. "We met at a charity event. Sharon was arranging it, and I was instantly struck by her dedication."

"Oh, how romantic!" The woman cooed.

With perspiration on my palms, I faked a grin.

Later, I was cornered by an older man who seemed overly curious about my background while Donald excused himself to talk to a business partner.

"My dear, what is the occupation of your family?" His tone was brimming with condescension as he asked.

"I-uh-" I stumbled, my cheeks getting hot.

Donald's voice interrupted, firm and protective, "She doesn't need to answer that." He came up beside me, his hand lightly on my back.

Muttering something to himself, the older man retreated.

As we went outside to get some fresh air, Donald remarked, "You handled yourself well."

I gave a headshake. "I thought I was going to drown."

With a rare tenderness in his face, he grinned. "Sharon, you took me by surprise. I didn't believe you were capable of it.

The tension between us briefly changed as an unsaid force moved through the room. However, he turned aside as fast, ending the moment.

With the evening's burden pressing down on me, the trip home was quiet. I tried to take in all that had transpired as I gazed out the window.

When we reached my apartment, Donald surprised me by stepping out of the car.

"We need to talk," he continued, his tone serious.

I fumbled with my keys, letting us inside.

"What's this about?" I asked, nervous under his intense gaze.

He plopped down on my worn-out couch, appearing entirely out of place in my modest living room.

"I realized something tonight," he said in a measured tone. "You can manage more than I thought you could. Additionally, you are uniquely positioned to assist me."

"Assist you?" I repeated, confused.

"I need a wife, Sharon," he remarked plainly.

My heart stopped beating. "Excuse me?"

"Not a real one," he stressed, leaning forward. "A contract marriage. It would benefit both parties. I would receive financial stability, and you would receive... Let's just say that it would help me with a few issues.

My thoughts were racing as I gazed at him. A marriage under contract? This isn't possible.

He got to his feet and said, "Give it some thought." "Don't take too long, though."

He then left, leaving me on my own with a ton of questions and no answers.