Mr. Price's contract marriage

A Deal With The Devil

Elena

I never believed in fate or the notion of a higher power. But as I sat across from the man who held my future in his wrinkled hands, I wondered if the universe had a hand in my life or if there was a higher power pulling the strings.

All I could think about was my mother, and the fact that she was laying all alone in a hospital and the cold truth that I couldn't save her.

At least, not on my own.

Thomas Price – one of the most influential men in New York – sat across from me, exuding the effortless confidence of a man who never heard the word 'no'. Expensive tailored suit clung to his wide shoulders, the deep navy fabric complimenting his eyes which never left me.

"You understand what I want from you, right?" he asked, his smooth voice making my heart stop for a minute.

I forced myself to meet his gaze. His face held the same look I had seen my whole life – the stare of a powerful man who knew they owned the room.

Owned you.

"I do." I replied, moistening my lips with my tongue.

The hospital's deadline was in three weeks. My mother needed surgery as soon as possible and I had exhausted every option I had – begging the bank for a loan, picking up several extra shifts and even considered selling our small apartment.

Nothing was enough.

And now, here I was, about to sell my soul to the devil in a designer suit.

"So, I marry your grandson." I said, forcing out the words. "In return, you erase my past and pay for my mother's surgery."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. "You are a smart woman, Elena. I was sure you'd make the right choice."

I scoffed. The right choice my foot.

There was no right choice when you were backed into a corner.

I glanced down at the document in front of me. A contract which would seal me to a man I barely knew, save for the occasional news reports on TV. A man who was far above my class and standards.

Evan Price.

Ruthless billionaire and Manhattan's most eligible bachelor. From the rumors I heard, he was a man who took orders from no one – including his own grandfather.

My heart pounded as I thought about what' he'd do to me when I met him and proclaimed I was his wife. I pushed the thought away immediately. It was best not to think that far into the future.

"Your grandson won't like this." I muttered.

Thomas chuckled. "He won't."

My stomach knotted. He said that as if it was a good thing. Heavens save me. What the hell was I getting myself into?

I had the option of walking away. I could stand up and walk out of this overpriced restaurant, let my pride win and figure out another way to sort out my mother's medical bills.

But there was no other way.

And that was not the only problem. Thomas Price had my deepest, darkest secrets in his hands. Secrets I would rather remain buried.

I took a deep breath in. "Fine." I answered. "But once the contract ends, I get to walk away, right? You'll keep your own end of the bargain?"

His smile widened. "Of course, my dear. You can trust me. After all, it's business as usual."

Business. That, at least, was a transaction I could trust.

Glancing down at the pen in my hand, I took a deep, nerve-calming breath before pressing the pen to paper and watching as the ink and my unintelligible scribble sealed my fate with that of a stranger.

"You made the right decision, Elena." He said smoothly, slipping the contract into a leather briefcase.

"I will inform my grandson about our arrangement and you have to meet him tomorrow. His secretary will communicate the time and place to you." He stood fluidly, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

"I would congratulate you on your marriage, but you may not like that. But, happy married life, Elena. I wish you the best."

Like hell.

And just like that, I was a married woman. The wife of Evan Price – Manhattan's most successful and youngest business man. Who was I? A nobody. A woman with nothing to her name and no social class. How did I even get here?

Some would say fate. I'd say it was my bad luck.

I left the restaurant first; I had to check in with my mother at the hospital and if Thomas kept his words, pay for my mother's surgery. But at what cost. My freedom? My happiness? For two whole years.

As I stepped out of the restaurant, all I could think was WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST DO?

My phone buzzed, a minute later, flashing a message on my screen.

"Your meeting with Mr. Evan Price is scheduled for 10am. Fitbyte headquarters." I read the message slowly, then read it again just to be sure. Well, that was fast. Thomas Price wasn't joking around.

Swallowing hard, I hailed a cab. What was Evan Price going to do when he found out? Did his grandfather already tell him? Would he hate me? Of course, he was. Would he like me? Did I want him to?

Tomorrow, I was going to walk into a meeting with my husband – a man I had never met before – and play wife. It felt as ridiculous as it sounded but it was my reality. My phone buzzed again and this time, it was a notification from my bank.

Thomas Price had kept his own end of the bargain – half of the agreed money was now sitting in my account – it was time for me to keep my own end of it. I just hoped I survived through it.

Morning arrived quicker than I would like, even though I barely slept through the night. My morning routine was a blur and before I knew it, I was walking into Fitbyte's impressive towering glass building.

"Mr. Price is expecting you." A crisp-looking lady announced with a tight smile on her face. "Thirty-fifth floor. Someone will meet you up there. Good luck."

I returned the smile. Although, I felt anything but lucky.

Anxiety rippled through me as I walked towards the elevator. I tried to think of things to say when I saw him, practicing my prepared speech over and over again. After cringing several times and changing the opening speech more than a thousand times, I finally settled for something less corny but still cringe-worthy.

"Hi, Mr. Price. I'm Elena Madison, your new wife." Smile.

The elevator dinged to a stop on the thirty-fifth floor and when the door opened, a young man – about my age – in well-tailoredsuit and sleeked back hair was there to meet me.

"Miss Madison?" he asked, his face was as tight as his suit pants. He would have been handsome if he smiled more.

"Yes." I answered sharply.

"This way please. Mr. Price has been expecting you."

Taking a deep breath in, I took a steady step forward. Okay, Elena, practice your lines one last time. "Hi, Mr. Price. I'm Elena Madison, your new wife." Smile.

Mr. Evan Price

Elena

My breath caught in my throat the moment I stepped into his office. All the words I had been reciting flew out of the window and for a moment, I was speechless.

Lost and speechless.

Cold air bit into my skin, and it wasn't just the air conditioning or the fact that the room was as cold as a morgue – it was the man sitting behind a sleek, black desk.

Evan Price.

His presence was as imposing as the floor to ceiling windows behind him. He did not look up immediately and when he finally did, his gaze was intense, sharp and devoid of any warmth. This same face was stamped across every financial magazine in the world, but that wasn't what made me recognize him right away.

I lowered my head. Did he recognize me too? We had met weeks ago in the hospital lobby. Then I wasn't standing in front of him as his new contract bride, I was standing in his way and he had – in many words – told me how foolish and retarded I was.

His gaze lingered a moment too long, my heart pounded as I waited for my face to register and then all hell break loose. His gaze swept over me, indifferent, maybe angry, nothing more.

Relief flooded through me so fast I felt light headed and may have swayed on my feet.

He did not recognize me. And if he did, he did not care.

Although Mr. Price didn't seem like the kind of man who would let a woman who put him in his place go just like that. After relief came the stinging realization that I was not special enough for him to remember me after just a few weeks.

I was a nobody.

"My grandfather could have better tastes in women." He muttered. The first words he said to me and it was an insult. "We'll move this conversation to the board room. Is that okay with you?"

I blinked, thrown off. "Excuse me?"

He did not bother to reply. He stood fluidly, with effortless grace and charisma which I envied.

He was tall – he had been tall that day too – not in the way that I had to tilt my chin slightly to maintain eye contact – I did have to tilt my chin slightly to maintain eye contact – but in a way that made every inch of his presence imposing and suffocating. He had the kind of height that made the room suddenly feel smaller when he moved through it.

"You are..." he looked me over. "Basic. I'd like to think you have a load of smartness to make up for that. I don't repeat myself twice but for the sake of today, I will. We will move this meeting to the boardroom. Now, come with me."

I should argue, I should tell him that I did not appreciate being spoken to in such a derogatory and demeaning tone but I said nothing. Mostly because Mr. Evan Price was too perfect from up close and I was too engrossed with checking him out to really pay any attention.

His black tailored, expensive, custom-made suit – which I was sure was worth my entire life – framed broad shoulders and athletic, powerful physique. The pure white dress shirt he wore underneath had a button undone, revealing a hint of muscles below his collarbone.

His dark hair was styled neatly and perfectly; every single strand of hair was in place except for the one rogue strand that fall across his forehead, kissing his brow. It made me want to reach out and tuck the hair behind his ears.

I slapped the thought away.

Then there were his eyes. Sharp, intense, cold.

When he looked at me, it felt as though he was stripping me down to the bones and then filed me away under 'Insignificant and unworthy'. My pride didn't like it.

My feet moved of their own accord, following him through the glass-lined corridor before my brain thought to catch up. My reflection stared back at me from the walls. I had come in here looking my best but compared to Mr. Price, I was an eye sore. An imperfection.

Damn it!

While my steps were unsure and unsteady, Mr. Price moved with the certainty and grace of a god. His long strides were unhurried, his hands tucked into his pockets as if he cared less about this situation and this was a normal day for him.

Maybe it was.

Everything about him was perfect.

His steps, his stiff posture. The way his jaw remained impossibly still, like he had perfected the act of showing no emotion. Even the faint shadow of stubble on his sharp cheekbones seemed intentional. Like that was the only imperfection he could allow, and no more.

Without warning, he stopped. My feet screeched to a halt, almost colliding into his straight, perfect back. I imagined him going home and discovering makeup on his suit. Would that snap him out of his perfect image?

What does he look like when he was angry? What does he look like when he smiled?

"Have a seat." He said, and at the same time, picked up a folder, sliding it to one of the empty chairs. I guess that was where he wanted me to sit.

"What is this?" I asked, meeting his gaze.

His lips tilted into what would have been a smirk but looked too foreign on his face.

"Rules." He drawled out. "If I am doing this thing with you, then they are rules you have to maintain. I like and enjoy my privacy and I won't let you and my grandfather ruin that for me."

He nodded at the folder. "Open it."

I exhaled slowly, pulling the folder towards myself and opened to the first page. There were about twenty rules – I glanced up at him. Really? Twenty rules? What kind of a man needed something as stupid as this?

I ignored the small voice in my head that replied, "Your husband."

Did he make this up between yesterday and today? I was curious to find out when – between the time his grandfather informed him of our contract marriage and the time I walked in here – he found the time to think and come up with something as corny as rules.

Twenty of them.

I rolled my eyes, focusing on the document in front of me. At the bottom, it read; Sign here if the terms and conditions are suitable for you. If not, was he going to end the marriage?

My eyes was immediately drawn to the last rule which read; You are not my wife, only an image of what she is supposed to be like. Never forget that.

The next two years was going to be a long time to live with Mr. Price. But it was the price I had to pay.

A Marriage Of Rules

Elena

If I need you to accompany me somewhere, you will. No complaints and no excuses. - Mr Price's Rule book, no. 7

I braced my hands against the sink, my fingers pressing into the cool porcelain. My reflection in the mirror looked nothing like me. My dark red hair was swept back into a high bun with a few rebellious strands curling around my temples. My pale blue eyes was wide - they always were when I was nervous - and my dress...

My mother's dress - a simple black, elegant gown, which hugged my curves tight, accentuating my hips and curves made me feel like I was playing dress up.

Something about this whole marriage charade felt wrong.

I felt wrong.

I was going to attend a business meeting - which I couldn't say no to - with a man I met two days ago and hadn't spoken to since then. I knew nothing about him - except that he was cold, rude and stupidly perfect. Then there was the character quality list his secretary emailed me yesterday.

Really?

That had been my reaction. I was supposed to send in mine as well, but I hadn't gotten round to listing out my qualities and emailing them to my contract husband. I sighed warily, this whole thing was superfluous and maybe a bit more than what I thought I was signing up for.

But what did I expect?

"You look dashing," Tonia smiled, coming up behind me. "I bet he won't be able to take his eyes off you the whole night."

I rolled my eyes at my bestfriend. Somehow, I was thankful I invited her to help me get ready, on the other hand, I think I may have made a mistake by telling her the whole thing. Tonia never knew when to stop joking about stuffs, no matter how serious they were.

Right now, I was both grateful and pissed at her for it.

"Give me a list of all the impossible things that will happen in this marriage." I answered, rolling my eyes again.

She settled on the toilet basin, "You know, I still find it hard to believe that you are married to Evan Price." she suddenly looked like a love-drugged high school teen. "The Evan Price."

I shook my head. "The one and only," I said, heading to my room to grab my purse. Tonia followed.

She plopped into my bed, propping her head on her hand.

"What's he like? I've seen several photos of him but nothing that will ever beat seating across from him in his office."

Again, I rolled my eyes. "He's exhausting. And, it wasn't his office, he moved us to his boardroom."

"Boardroom, office, same thing." she stood to her feet, coming to my aid with a necklace I had been struggling with. "At least you got to see him from up close."

A knock sounded on my front door, making us both freeze for a minute before Tonia squealed excitedly, then rushed out.

"Oh my god. That must be him."

I rushed after her, catching the hem of her dress just before she yanked the door open.

"Thank you, but I can take it from here." I said, pulling her away from the door. "Wish me luck. If I don't come back, it's safe to assume I died of a heart attack or too much boiling anger and rage I never got to let out."

Tonia rolled her eyes. "Call me if he's being rude. I have this magic way of straightening people out." she laughed, raising her hand.

I laughed, more like I chuckled nervously before placing a hand on the door knob and turning back to face my friend.

"How do I look?"

Tonia smiled. "Like you are about to crush it."

I inhaled sharply, pressing a hand to my stomach - as if that was going to clear the butterflies - before turning the knob. I was going to crush it. For my mother.

A man in black suit stood outside with a blank expression on his face - Mr. Price's bodyguard?

"Mr. Price is waiting in the car." He announced with a deep, baritone voice, before I could flash him my welcome smile.

I flashed him a tight smile, stepping out of my door. Of course, he couldn't come up to collect me himself. Nodding stiffly, I stepped past him, walking towards the sleek, black and expensive car sitting in front of my home.

Probably the most expensive thing my neighborhood ever saw in years. I didn't need to look back to know Tonia was probably looking at us through the kitchen windows with a proud smile on her face and thinking, 'kill it, atta girl.'

I hated to break it to her, but the only thing I was killing tonight was going to be my pride.

The man in black, bodyguard stepped up, pulling open the passenger door for me. I stopped, hesitating for a second before sliding inside.

God, help me.

The door shut with a quiet thud and that was only when I noticed the other presence in the car, who was either was too engrossed in the phone he was staring into to register my presence or simply didn't care.

I turned to him. "You didn't have to come all the way here, you know." I started, thinking a drink would be good to chase all this butterflies in my stomach away. "I could have met you there."

"We arrive together." he said coolly. Detached. "That's how it should look."

Of course, there was a method to everything. A way everything should go and how it should be. I wish my life could be half as practiced and methodical as his was. Maybe everything would be perfect.

"I didn't know you were so broke..." he said, startling me. "At first, I thought we had made a wrong turn -" he glanced at me. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

I blinked, glancing down at my dress. "What?"

His eyes swept over my features, lingering - with a distasteful expression on his face - on my dress too long than was comfortable for me. "Your dress isn't suitable for the occasion. We are not attending a meeting for the less privileged."

I blinked even more, shifting in my seat, uncomfortably. "I-I'm sorry, what did you just refer to me as?"

"We will stop at a fashion store and get you a more... appropriate outfit." he continued, ignoring me. "I guess I'll have to add change of wardrobes to the list of things you will need in this marriage."

I bristled. How long could I take this insult till I stewed over and punched him in that annoyingly perfect, little face of his?

My itching fingers said not long.

He turned his attention to the driver, not caring that I was almost killing myself beside him. "Stop at the next dressing room."

"Of course, sir." the driver answered.

I took deep breaths in, trying and failing to dissipate the rage boiling inside of me. One, two, three...deep breath in, hold. One, two, three... breathe out. For mother. I repeated in my head. For mother...