Page 6 of The Billionaire’s Contract Bride

His jaw tightened. “This isn’t up for discussion.”

Aria stared at him. She had worked double shifts when his wife was sick. She had covered holidays no one else wanted and smiled while customers snapped their fingers at her.

“I need this job.” She knew he knew it, she knew she had been late too many times recently though.

“I’m sorry.”

There it was again. That useless, empty word.

Mr. Bellamy handed her a white envelope. Her final wages amounted to less than the back rent she owed.

His gaze flicked briefly toward the security camera mounted above the door. “It’s just business.”

Aria followed his glance. The tiny red light blinked steadily.

As though someone was watching.

An irrational chill passed over her skin. She emptied her locker, stuffed her spare shoes into a plastic bag, and left without saying another word. No one spoke to her anyway.

Outside, the rain had tapered off. A black sedan waited across the street with its engine idling quietly. Its tinted windows were too dark for her to see inside.

Aria turned and walked in the opposite direction.

The sedan remained parked.

She told herself not to be paranoid. Manhattan was full of black cars. Damien Blackthorne had probably forgotten her the instant she walked out of his sight. Men like him did not chase women carrying their belongings in plastic grocery bags.

Her phone rang. Unknown Number.

She answered, knowing every hospital department called from different lines. “Hello?”

“You lasted eleven minutes longer than I expected in there.”

Damien’s voice slid through her line like cold smoke.

Aria stopped beneath a flickering streetlight. “How did you get this number?”

“You wrote it on your mother’s intake paperwork.”

The answer came too easily and sent another chill down her spine.

“That information is private.”

“Privacy is a comforting illusion.”

She glanced back over her shoulder at the sedan. “Are you following me?”

“If I were, you wouldn’t have noticed.”

Her grip tightened around the phone. “What do you want?”

“To remind you that my offer expires in forty-seven hours.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything.” Aria reminded him, as though she hadn’t been thinking about the offer every second since she had left his presence.

“You lost your job six minutes ago. Your landlord filed the formal eviction paperwork at five this afternoon. The hospital requires thirty thousand dollars by Friday, and your bank rejected the emergency appeal you submitted this morning.”

Aria’s breath caught in her throat. She had submitted that appeal through a secure, private banking portal.