Chapter 2 MARRY ME

BRENDA

The headlights blinded me as the car dropped right in the front of us. A middle-aged couple jumped out, rushing toward us with concern written over their faces.

"Oh my God, is she okay?" the woman asked, already dialing on her phone.

"She needs a hospital," I sobbed, still cradling Sarah's limp body. "Please help us."

What followed was a blur. The couple-Ellen and Tom-drove us to the emergency room, Sarah unconscious in my lap the whole way. They waited with me while doctors whisked her away on a gurney, disappearing behind swinging doors that felt like gates to another world.

"We'll pray for you both," Ellen said, pressing a fifty-dollar bill into my hand before they left. I was too numb to properly thank them.

Hours passed in the waiting room. My clothes dried stiffly to my skin. Nurses avoided my gaze. Finally, a doctor emerged, his face grave and cold.

"Your sister's condition is critical," he said without preamble. "Both kidneys are failing completely. We've stabilized her for now, but she needs emergency surgery and a transplant immediately."

"How much?" The question that always came first now.

He hesitated. "Given the emergency nature and complications... fifteen thousand dollars. Minimum. And that's just to start treatment."

The room spun around me. "Fifteen thousand? It was told ten before."

"Her condition has deteriorated significantly. There are additional complications, infection, and fluid in her lungs. Without surgery, in the next week, I'm afraid she won't make it."

One week. Seven days to come up with fifteen thousand dollars.

"Can I see her?" I asked, voice hollow.

Sarah lay connected to machines that beeped and whirred. Her face was gray against the white pillow, a breathing tube down her throat.

"I'll fix this," I whispered, clutching her cold hand. "I promise."

The hospital allowed her to stay overnight for observation, but made it clear they needed payment for further treatment. I spent the night in a hard chair beside her bed, mind racing through increasingly desperate options.

Morning came too quickly. A social worker visited, offering the same useless pamphlets. I couldn't focus on her words. All I heard was the clock ticking down on my sister's life.

At noon, Sarah briefly regained consciousness.

"Hey," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You look terrible."

I laughed through tears. "Look who's talking, you look like shit darling."

"Am I dying?" she asked, direct as always.

"No," I said firmly. "Absolutely not. I'm going to find the money."

Her eyes, so much like Mom's, filled with tears. "Don't do anything stupid, Bren."

"Rest," I told her, kissing her forehead. "I'll be back soon."

Outside the hospital, I stood frozen. Where to go? What to do? My mind landed on one possibility: Mike Freeman, my former boss at the high-end restaurant where I'd worked before the diner. He'd fired me after I missed shifts during Mom and Dad's funeral, but he was wealthy. Very wealthy, and I hope he will be willing to help me...

******

The restaurant, Le Château, was across town. I walked the entire way, saving what little money I had. Two hours later, I arrived sweaty and disheveled at the gleaming establishment where I'd once served champagne to people who spent on dinner what I needed for a month's rent.

"I need to see Mike," I told the hostess, a new girl who didn't recognize me.

"Mr. Freeman is busy," she said, eyeing my appearance with distaste and hate. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Tell him it's Brenda Mitchell. It's an emergency."

She disappeared into the back, returning moments later. "He can give you five minutes. In his office."

Mike hadn't changed, still short, balding, with expensive clothes and a permanent scowl. He didn't offer me a seat.

"This better be important, Mitchell. I'm in the middle of lunch service."

I swallowed my pride. "Mike, I need help. My sister is dying. She needs fifteen thousand dollars for surgery, or she won't make it past the week."

His eyebrows rose. "And you came to me because...?"

"Because you have money," I said bluntly. "I can work it off. Nights, weekends, whatever you need. I'll sign a contract."

He laughed, sharp and unpleasant. "You were a mediocre server at best. And now you want me to loan you fifteen grand? What collateral do you have?"

My silence answered for me.

"That's what I thought." He turned back to his computer. "Now, if you'll excuse me...."

"Please," I begged, humiliation burning through me. "I'll do anything. She's just a kid."

Something ugly flickered in his eyes. "Anything?"

My skin crawled at his tone. "I mean extra shifts, overtime, just anything to make my sister okay"

"Save it." He stood, coming around the desk. "Look, I might have a job for you. Off the books. Good money, fast. Some of my high-end clients are always looking for pretty girls to entertain at private parties."

I stepped back. "That's not what I meant."

"Then I can't help you." He shrugged. "Fifteen thousand is serious money, Brenda. Nobody gives that away for nothing my darling."

Tears stung my eyes. "She's going to die."

"Not my problem." He took my arm, steering me toward the door. "Now, unless you want to reconsider my offer..."

"Go to hell you bastard" I spat, yanking away. His face hardened. "Security!"

Two large men appeared instantly. Mike pointed at me. "She's harassing me. Remove her from the property right away."

"You can't do this!" I shouted as they grabbed my arms. "I just need help!"

They dragged me through the kitchen, past startled cooks and servers I once worked with. Nobody stepped forward to help. Out the back door, they pushed me into the alley. I stumbled, falling hard against the dumpster.

"Don't come back," one warned before they disappeared inside. I slid to the ground, ignoring the filth, and finally broke down completely. Deep, wrenching sobs tore through me as I hugged my knees to my chest. Sarah was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it.

"That was quite a scene...."

The deep voice startled me. I looked up, hastily wiping my tears.

A man stood at the mouth of the alley, watching me. Tall, impeccably dressed in a suit that probably cost more than six months' rent. Sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, and an expression I couldn't read, somewhere between curiosity and disdain.

"Private breakdown," I muttered, struggling to my feet. "Find your own alley."

Instead of leaving, he stepped closer. "You worked here?"

"Once. Not anymore, obviously." I turned to go, dignity in shreds.

"You need money." Not a question. "Quite a lot, from what I overheard."

I froze. "You were eavesdropping?"

He shrugged, unapologetic. "These walls are thin. Fifteen thousand dollars for your sister's surgery, correct?"

Suspicion flared. "What do you care?"

"I don't, particularly." His bluntness was almost refreshing. "But I might have a proposition for you."

"Not interested in that kind of proposition," I said, thinking of Mike's offer. Something like amusement flickered across his face. "My name is Ethan Blackwood."

The name hit me like a physical blow. Everyone in the city knew Ethan Blackwood. Billionaire. Real estate mogul. Notorious playboy with a different model on his arm at every event. His face was on business magazines and billboards across downtown.

"Good for you," I said, too exhausted and heartbroken for proper awe. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to the hospital to watch my sister die."

I brushed past him, but his next words stopped me cold.

"What if I told you I could give you the money? All of it. Today."

I turned slowly. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I need something, and you're in a position to provide it."

"I already told you"

"Not that," he cut in, looking almost offended. "I need a wife."

I barked out a laugh. "Very funny."

"I'm completely serious." His expression confirmed it. Not a hint of humor in those dark eyes. "I need to be married. Quickly. For business reasons."

"So find someone else. Someone in your tax bracket."

"I need someone who won't have expectations. Someone desperate enough to accept certain... conditions, someone like you..."

The way he said it sent chills down my spine. "What conditions?"

He glanced at his watch, platinum, probably worth more than my life. "Your sister has, what, a week? Let's not waste time. I'll give you twenty thousand dollars today. Enough for her surgery and recovery. In exchange, you marry me, live in my home, and act as my wife when required."

"That's insane," I whispered, even as desperate hope flickered to life. "You don't even know me."

"I know you're desperate," he said coldly. "I know you have no other options. And I know time is running out."

My head spun. "Why me? Why not hire an actress or something?"

"It needs to be legitimate. Legal. And someone with no connections to my social circle." His eyes raked over me. "Someone no one would suspect I'd choose."

The insult barely registered through my shock. "For how long?"

"One year. After which we divorce quietly, you receive another fifty thousand dollars, and we never see each other again."

My breath caught. "Fifty thousand? Plus the twenty?"

He nodded. "Seventy thousand total. More than enough to start over with your sister somewhere new."

It was a fortune to me. A rounding error to him.

"What's the catch?" There had to be one.

"Complete compliance with my rules. You live by my schedule, attend events I designate, and present yourself as I direct. You'll sign an extensive NDA. And-" his eyes hardened, "there will be no emotional entanglements. This is business, nothing more."

"And my sister?"

"Can recover at my estate. Private nurses. The best care."

It was too good to be true. And yet...

"I need to think," I said.

"You have thirty seconds," he replied, checking his watch again. "Then I walk away, and your sister dies."

Rage and desperation warred within me. "You're a monster."

"I'm practical. Twenty seconds."

Sarah's pale face flashed in my mind. The beeping machines. Seven days.

"Ten seconds."

"Fine!" I burst out. "Yes. I'll do it."

Something like triumph flashed in his eyes. "Excellent."

He reached into his jacket, producing a business card and a pen. He scribbled something on the back.

"My lawyer. Call this number immediately. He'll have papers ready." He handed me the card, then pulled out a thick envelope from an inner pocket. "Consider this a down payment. Five thousand. The rest comes when you sign."

I took the envelope with trembling hands. It was heavy with cash.

"One more thing," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous softness. "If you try to scam me, take this money and disappear, I will find you. And you'll wish your problems ended with a dying sister. Are we clear?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

"Good." He turned to go, then paused. "Be at this address at eight tonight. Bring only what you can carry. Your new life begins today."

As he walked away, the weight of what I'd just agreed to crashed over me. I'd just sold myself to a cold-blooded billionaire to save my sister...