Tied to You

He stands at the back of the room watching her, his impassive expression belying the intrigue he feels when he is near her. Olivia Walker is nervously fiddling with the auction brochure turning it over and over in her hands as she waits for the next lot to come up. He can sense the desperation rolling off her; her posture is stooped as if she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

He runs his eyes over her whole body, taking in the messy brown hair that seems to have a life of its own, the face bare of makeup, the large brown eyes that are the same shade as Oreo cookies and seem to show every emotion she feels. Her petite frame is clad in clothes that have clearly seen better days. Today her eyes are haunted; the usual warmth that he has seen in their depths is entirely absent.

For months now he has watched her patiently, waiting for the opportunity to present itself. And today is the day. His cock twitches in his pants and he takes a deep, calming breath, reminding himself that there will be none of that with this girl, this woman. Despite her age, she is clearly more innocent than most, and from the research that he has done on her, he knows that she is definitely not into his kind of lifestyle. He may be attracted to her-shit, from the first day he noticed her, something about her has called to him-but he is thinking about the bigger picture, and that means keeping things purely platonic.

In all his life, he has never felt a need like this. He knows that to most people he comes off as a complete control freak, affable and business-like, but cross him and he will be your enemy for life. At heart, he is a family man; his parents and siblings are the only ones, though, who know just how generous, thoughtful and even protective he can be. To anyone looking at the situation, he would appear crazy, stalkerish even, but she calls out to every protective instinct he possesses. Never before has he felt a stirring to take a relationship with a woman beyond sex, and here he is, stepping into the abyss and doing something he knows is completely bizarre and out of character. Just like the wolf-kid in those vampire movies his niece, Kayla, insisted on making him watch...all he wants is to be there for her, be whomever she needs him to be, do anything for her. She is magnetic, pulling him into her gravitational field, and she doesn't even know it.

But what she needs most of all is a friend, he thinks to himself. Through his observations of her, he has noticed how independent she is and how there is no one in her life taking care of her. Not a lover, a partner, or even a best friend. She truly is all alone. Working three different jobs just to make ends meet, at night she returns to a shitty little flat in the worst part of Stratford, just so that she can support her mother. All he wants to do is wrap his arms around her and tell her everything is going to be okay. And that scares the fucking life out of him; he doesn't do feelings and that other shit with anyone other than his family.

So today he is going to make his move, and he is going to have to do it in a way that she thinks she is making the decision in all of this. She will be his, in whatever way she finds acceptable, and he will be fine with that. He has to be because there's no way she would ever understand the darkness that resides in him. He knows that he shouldn't make assumptions, but he has studied her enough that if she was in any way alternative, she wouldn't be able to hide it.

The auction is about to start, so with a deep breath, he steps forward, taking his place off to the side of Olivia. He knows that after today, nothing will ever be the same but he refuses to doubt himself, or his plan.

The pace of the auction is fast and furious, as I surreptitiously check out my main competition. The bids start to slow, but we remain engaged in a battle of wills; this is a fight I cannot afford to lose. Charles Ridings made it abundantly clear that my job was on the line if I did not deliver.

I have no idea why this particular 12th-Century manuscript is so important to him, but this is the first time since I started working for Charles twelve months ago that money has been no object. When I first applied for the position, the job description was particularly vague, and the only thing that stood out was the need for a background in rare books. Well, that fits me to a tee. I had just spent the last ten years working as a curator of rare books at the London Museum and, well, circumstances meant that I needed the money this new role was offering. It broke my heart to think about leaving my little cubicle and all the colleagues I had made over the last decade, but the opportunity was too important to pass up.

When I was interviewed for the role, which was never given a formal title, I discovered that it was a rather obscure one. The Ridings, it turned out, were an old family dating back to Anglo-Saxon times and, in the ensuing centuries, had accumulated an enormous amount of wealth and status. But it would seem that, in the last hundred years, luck was not on their side, and much of their wealth dwindled as a result of bad investments and sheer stupidity, as Charles told me in a long-winded monologue about his family's less than illustrious past. To maintain their livelihood and to remain in their family ancestral pile, Charles's ancestors began selling off the contents of the family's library. And essentially that is now my role: to track down and buy back those lost titles, all marked up in detail in beautiful script in an old-fashioned leather-bound ledger, making sure that they are authenticated originals. So, in essence, I am a glorified bounty hunter for books.

This is why I am now standing in the Christie's auction room, battling it out against some guy who seems as intent as I am on winning. For a moment, I think the guy is going to fold, but then he suddenly ups his bid by an amount that makes the room gasp collectively and I am forced to respond in kind. I glance in his direction, and I can see the muscles working in his jaw as he maintains his concentration. Just then, I feel the soft vibration of my phone in my pocket. There is only one reason that my phone would be ringing at a time like this and my stomach drops. The world spins as I try to catch my breath, my vision tunnelling as I attempt to pull out my phone with shaking fingers. I glance at the screen, only to see that the call has been dropped, though the number is one that I instantly recognise. I let out a small sigh, dreading whatever message will be currently filling my voicemail. All it takes is that momentary loss of concentration for the gavel to come down and the auctioneer to declare the other guy the winner.

I feel myself going pale, the blood draining from my face as I stare across at the man standing there with a smug smirk. The next lot is about to start and I see him glance at me before heading out of his nearest exit. Great, I think to myself as I try to push through the crowd. I finally make it into the corridor to see the man walking away with purpose, and I rush to catch up, trying to smooth down my flyaway locks with my hand as nerves take hold of my body.

"Excuse me, sir?" I call out. The man whips his head around and pierces me with a laser-like glance, and for the first time, I take a proper look at the man I am about to plead my case to. The first thing that strikes me is his height; at five-five I am pretty much always towered over, but this guy is well over six foot. His broad shoulders are encased in a beautifully tailored charcoal suit that seems to be moulded to his body, but the messy, just-too-long-for-corporate hair makes me think he would be just as comfortable in a pair of jeans. But what really grabs me are his eyes; the flint grey colour gives his expression a dark, inscrutable countenance that gives little away.

I keep walking towards him as he waits for me to catch up, his eyes roaming across my body. "Excuse me, sir, I repeat, and at the word "sir," a strange expression crosses his face. But as soon as I blink, it is gone, only to be replaced by a completely neutral expression.

"Yes?" His tone is abrupt, and a little harsh, as he runs a hand through his hair.

"S...s...sorry," I stutter. I wring my hands, desperately trying to summon up the courage I need. I am not a confrontational person in the slightest, nor a particularly forward one, so I am completely out of my comfort zone. I have always been one to fade into the background, waiting for opportunities to present themselves rather than grabbing what I want with both hands. I have heard myself described as passive, but my back is against the wall, and it is now time to sink or swim. "Is there any chance you would be willing to sell the manuscript? My employer, well, money is no object, so I can offer you more than what you just paid."

"No," comes the reply. "If you had been paying attention, then perhaps you would have won, but the auction room is no place for amateurs." I pick up a faint Aussie accent, but the delivery is as cold as ice, and I feel like I am five years old, being told off by my mum. Still, I get the weirdest feeling that his reluctance is a ploy, that there is something else going on, like there is a joke somewhere in all of this and I am the last one to be let in on it.

"Please," I implore, dignity going straight out the window. "My job is on the line. I need that manuscript..." I trail off, my mind spinning as I try to school my thoughts into a persuasive argument that will let me obtain the document and preserve my job.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you started playing with your phone in the middle of the auction." I feel like I have been slapped. I have never been talked to like this and part of me wants to tell this arrogant arsehole to go fuck himself, but the saner part of me realises that that would get me nowhere. I have too much riding on this to mess it up.

"Please, I'll do whatever it takes." Okay, maybe that wasn't the best thing to say, but I suddenly see a slight shift in his expression as he reaches into his pocket and draws out a small card. He quickly writes something out on it and then hands it across to me. "Meet me at the address on the back at seven tomorrow evening and we'll discuss this further." With that, he turns on his heel and stalks off before I can say anything more.

I stare down at the stark white card with the name Alexander Davenport embossed in dark grey. I turn it over and see '1 Lombard Street' written in bold script. Hmm, the address rings a bell and I guess that it is somewhere in the City.

I take a deep breath before picking up my phone and clicking on the voicemail icon to retrieve the message that is waiting for me. When the voice informs me that they are calling from Ravenscroft care home, my heart starts to pound rapidly, imagining the worst. Well, the news is almost as bad...my payment didn't go through and now they are requesting that I pay it straight away. I close my eyes knowing that there is no way I can pay the bill, and since I have not managed to secure the manuscript, there won't be any more money coming in until next month. I had been banking on my finder's fee from Charles to pay the bill, and now the only way I can see myself getting out of this mess is to persuade Alexander Davenport somehow to sell me the manuscript before Charles returns from his business trip to Singapore. Hopefully, I can persuade the accounts people to give me a couple of extra days to pull the funds together, so for the second time today, I take a deep breath and mentally prepare myself to plead my case.

I am trembling as I walk into 1 Lombard Street, a restaurant that is located in the heart of the City of London. I have a vague idea of the man with whom I am about to come face-to-face. My go-to reaction when faced with something, or someone, I am unsure about is to do my research. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say, and the Internet is a marvellous invention.

It took a few Google searches to narrow down my Alexander Davenport, but when I finally tracked down the website for Davenport Wines, I was able to confirm that the person I had met was the same guy in the picture on the page of company directors.

From his short biography, I learnt that he is thirty-six and originally from Western Australia. His family own a couple of vineyards and exports their vintages globally. Interestingly enough, there is very little about his personal life documented online, which I found a little odd. He is clearly wealthy and from a prestigious family, so I would have thought he would have had some sort of presence online, but apart from pictures at the corporate events that his company sponsors, there is nothing. Obviously, a man who keeps his private life just that.

I try to smooth down my wind-tousled bob, very much aware that, despite my efforts at dressing to impress, under my camel-coloured trench coat my black wrap dress has seen better days, and my heels are scuffed. Thank heavens I managed to find a pair of stockings with no holes. I am not sure exactly where I need to go, so I make my way over to the hostess and let her know that I am here to see Mr Davenport.

With a smile, she leads me across to a partially hidden door, informing me that he is waiting for me in the private dining room. I'm not sure what this all means, but when she opens the door and leads me in, announcing my arrival, I can't help but be impressed by my surroundings. Before I can take in much of anything, though, I see Alexander standing expectantly, apparently waiting for me to make my way across to the table. I reach the table and take off my coat, which is swiftly whisked away by the hostess, and Alexander motions me to take a seat. I smile nervously, feeling thoroughly intimidated by the surroundings and the man sitting across from me.

"Thank you for meeting me, Ms Walker." Alexander's voice is smooth but deep, and weirdly, I feel instantly at ease in his company. I have no idea how he knows my name, but I guess he is the kind of guy who is always in control and so, of course, would have found out my name somehow.

"Mr Davenport," I begin before he interrupts me.

"Alex, please. I always look around for my father when I hear someone say 'Mr Davenport'."Alex smiles at me, and immediately his face is transformed, giving me a glimpse of the man beneath the suit.

"Alex, thank you for seeing me. If we are being informal, then please call me Olivia. As I said yesterday, I need that manuscript."

"Yes, I understand that, Olivia. You have been very insistent about that. I have a proposition for you," Alex says, his voice returning to the carefully controlled tone he used when I first walked in. Yet again, I get the impression that there is something going on that I am not privy to.

"Okay..." I say, nervously playing with my hair. "I am all ears." My heart is thumping in my chest, but I am desperately trying to appear calm. A proposition, he said. Well, at this point I am plain out of options so have no choice but to hear him out. I have five days before my mother becomes homeless and that is just not something I can allow.

"Before we go into the details, I need you to be aware that what I am about to tell you is private, so I want your assurance that the details will not leave this room." I nod and wait for him to continue. "I have something you want and I am willing to give it to you, but in return, I am going to need something from you."

Okay, I feel slightly on edge at the sound of this, but I am not really in any position to argue. "I understand that." My voice is almost a whisper and I am really starting to wish that I was one of those take-charge kinds of people.

"A bit of background on me then. I was born and raised in Perth in Western Australia. My family owns several wineries in Western Australia, as well as various investments throughout Australasia. Basically, we are very wealthy." Okay, nothing I didn't know, or guess, already, but I don't want to give away that I have looked into Alex, so I just nod and stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

"For years, my mother and grandmother have been trying to set me up with the various daughters of their friends, and for the most part, I have managed to avoid it. But now there is real pressure with regards to one particular girl, as both families seem to have gone all nineteenth century. They own the vineyard next to ours and bringing them together would have a huge financial impact on both families."

I raise my eyebrows but stay silent, wondering how this all affects me. "The difficulty, though, is that I partake in a, shall we say, alternative lifestyle, and this means that the marriage is not a possibility. Where I come from, well, let's just say this is not something I could keep under wraps, which in turn could cause problems for the family business, and besides, I could never go into a marriage without being honest about who I am. Plus there is some history there..." Alex trails off, looking uncomfortable for the first time.

"And what does this have to do with me?" I ask curiously, my mind already latching on to this mysterious 'lifestyle' and spinning out in a thousand directions.

"Well, if I were already married, then I could avoid having to deal with any of this. At the moment, it is innuendo and whispers, but I am due to go to Perth in a couple of weeks and I know the pressure is going to be piled on me when I get there."

My mind is racing. "I am guessing that when you say 'already married', you mean me?" I can hear the tremble in my voice. Okay, this was the last thing I was expecting.

"You have got it in one," Alex replies, the smirk that he seems to have been holding back sliding into place.

"Oh...so you are suggesting that, for me to get the manuscript, I have to marry you?" I say, and I can't help the disbelief that has seeped into my voice. What the hell? Has my life suddenly turned into a Harlequin romance novel?

"Correct. I know just how much you need this manuscript, Olivia. Your payment to the care home for your mother has just bounced, and you have a total of a hundred pounds in your account. Your rent is due next week, and without this manuscript, your boss, Charles Ridings, will fire you and then both you and your mother will be homeless," Alex states in a voice completely devoid of emotion.

I feel like I have been punched in the gut. "How the hell do you know my business?" I exclaim, my voice rising as the anger over this violation of privacy comes to the surface.

"I make it my business to know everything about the person I am dealing with," Alex says, remaining completely calm. Touché. Okay, so I did my homework too, but I certainly did not go into this level of scrutiny. How the hell did he access my bank account? How does he know about my mother?

I fight to calm my emotions, and take a deep breath, knowing that I can't let this situation spin out of control because I am too chickenshit to do what needs to be done. "Okay, so you know why I need the manuscript so much," I mutter, knowing that my anger has turned my face red, and I can feel my heart beating rapidly.

Alex continues in his maddeningly calm manner as if my outburst hadn't even occurred. "I am proposing that we get married, which will solve a major headache for me, and in return, you will get your manuscript. Plus I will pay for your mother's care and settle your debts."

"Okay, I get the manuscript, but why would you want to pay for my mother's care? And my debts are nothing to do with you," I say quietly, my mind spinning as to why a perfect stranger would want to do this for me.

"Look, I am not a complete arsehole. You would have to commit to being married to me for a year; it would need to be that long to make sure that my parents believe that we married for love..." Alex fidgets in his seat, and I can see that he is not as cool as he is trying to make out he is.

"What do you mean, love?" I ask, seriously quite confused at this statement. Clearly what we are talking about is nothing to do with emotions and everything about a business transaction.

Alex lets out a deep sigh and pushes his hand through his hair in a gesture that I am quickly getting used to. "My parents met when they were seventeen and have been together ever since, sickeningly in love. And all they want for me and my siblings is to find what they have. They may try and match-make the hell out of me, but they mean well and would never try and force a marriage of convenience on any of us, even for money. Which is why they would have to believe that this is real," Alex replies.

!If you have such a great relationship with your parents, then why don't you tell them the truth? I mean, your 'alternative lifestyle' can't be that bad, can it?" I say, doing my best to keep the bitterness out of my mouth. Suddenly something strikes me. "It's not illegal, is it? I mean, please don't tell me you torture small animals or things like that. Or are you gay?"

"No, I am not gay." Alex lets out a loud laugh, a genuine smile stretching across his face and transforming his features. "And it is nothing illegal. It...it's just not something that they would understand. Look, I don't even expect you to get it, and it's not something I feel comfortable sharing with you at this time anyway.

"So for the next year, you would be required to live with me." Seeing my look of confusion, as I am certainly not in any position to move to Australia, he clarifies, "I have a house in London, so you can stay there and still be able to visit your mother and carry on your job. I travel a lot for business, so I wouldn't be around that much, meaning you would have the run of the place. And for the year that we are together, I will make sure that you are looked after, your bills are paid and your mother is taken care of."

My face must display my unease at his words. "As my wife, you will be expected to attend certain functions. You will be mixing with people who are, shall we say, quite snobby, so you will be expected to dress and act the part. It is only fair that you are compensated for it. If you are to agree to our arrangement, I will get a prenuptial agreement drawn up and we can go from there," Alex finishes, an expectant look on his face. I can tell from the kind of person that he is, he's probably used to people jumping at his command, agreeing with him instantly, but I need a moment to gather my thoughts.

"So let me get this straight," I say seriously. "If I agree to marry you for one year, then you will let me buy the manuscript and you will pay my expenses during the course of the year?" In my mind's eye, I see a giant grandfather clock going tick-tock, tick-tock, a countdown as I consider my future.

"In a nutshell..." Alex trails off as I stare at the tablecloth, my mind whirring with everything Alex has just said.

"Look, Olivia, I know this is a lot to take in, but I think for both of us, time is of the essence. I have ordered us some food, so let's just forget about everything for the moment and enjoy our meal, and then perhaps you can go away and have a think about my proposal," Alex suggests placidly as if we have been discussing a simple business deal and not friggin' marriage.

Alex gets up and presses a button on the wall. A couple of minutes later a waiter walks in, carrying two plates. As he sets them down in front of us, I can see a fillet of beef Wellington, green beans, sautéed potato and creamy mushrooms. My stomach suddenly rumbles and I realise that I am ravenous, especially because I haven't eaten since breakfast. Without asking, Alex pours me a glass of red wine and puts it in front of me.

"Um, thanks, but I don't really drink. I'll just have water if you don't mind," I say, not sure that I want to start going into the reasons why I don't drink. That is a whole can of worms for another day.

Alex gives me a quizzical look but doesn't question me, simply taking away the glass and giving me the choice of still or sparkling water instead. We both dig into our food and the silence is a welcome relief to the conversation that we have just been having. I go through everything Alex has told me and I know realistically that I don't have any other choice; I cannot risk my mother becoming homeless. I would love to scream and wail about how life is so unfair...blah, blah, blah, but the reality is that Alex's offer is actually the light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel and I just can't see any other way out of the current mess that is my life.

As I reflect on the situation, it strikes me a little like that film Indecent Proposal, but Alex is certainly way hotter than Robert Redford and I am certainly no Demi Moore. "Do you expect me to have sex with you?" I suddenly blurt out, the filter on my brain failing to kick in before my mouth takes off, as I feel the blush creep across my face.

Alex looks at me with a strangely soft expression. "No, Olivia. That is not part of this deal. Believe me when I say that I think you are far too innocent to deal with what I offer." His statement confuses the hell out of me. Innocent? At thirty-three, I would hardly think that I am some innocent virgin. I have had two long-term relationships, a couple of short, torrid affairs and a series of one-night stands, so no, I don't think so. But I am not about to start discussing my sex life with Alex. I am merely relieved that there are no expectations on his part.

I find myself pushing the remains of my meal around my plate, my stomach suddenly too full for me to take another mouthful. The food was delicious, but I don't feel like I have fully done it justice in my current distracted state. I glance over at Alex, and as ever through this strange meeting, he seems to have remained completely calm-impassive almost. I study him under my lashes and while I certainly am attracted to him-well, what normal girl wouldn't be attracted to a gorgeous hunk with a dreamy accent?-what strikes me most is how calm I feel in his presence. I would have thought I would be a bundle of nerves, but actually, with the sex issue clarified, I feel surprisingly safe, a strange feeling for me as I have essentially been looking after myself since I was twenty.

"Okay, I'll do it," I say softly. Alex looks at me, surprise written across his expression. I don't think he thought I would make a decision so quickly.

He wipes his mouth with the pristine white cloth napkin. "Good. I'll get the papers drawn up and sent across to you first thing." Alex looks me in the eye, almost daring me to retract my acceptance of his proposal, but I look at him steadfastly.

"If you don't mind, I think I am going to head home," I say, knowing that I need to leave before I change my mind. "I think I have a migraine coming and need to take some tablets," I lie smoothly. I think Alex realises my lie when I see a shadow cross his expression, but thankfully he doesn't call me on it. Ever the gentleman, he insists on collecting my coat, helping me into it with practised ease, walking me out and putting me in his car, with strict instructions to the driver to deliver me home. I look out the window at Alex standing on the pavement, hands stuffed in his pockets, his expression strangely triumphant, as the car pulls away, and I am instantly swamped with the overwhelming sensation that life is never going to be the same.

The journey home is mercifully quick, the London traffic surprisingly light for a Wednesday evening, and when the car pulls up in front of my building, I scramble for the door handle. When I try to pay for my ride, the driver insists that it is on Mr Davenport's account. I thank him and wish him a good evening before heading inside to begin my night of contemplation over the strange situation I find myself in.