Love Deal, Family Loss

The sound of Paislee's Louboutin heels against Carter's marble floor echoed through his penthouse office like gunshots. I wasn't there to witness it, but I heard about it later—how she stormed in like a hurricane, her perfectly styled blonde hair whipping around her face as she hurled the legal documents across his mahogany desk.

"I don't need your pity money!" Her voice had reportedly cracked on the last word, though knowing Paislee, she'd probably practiced that vulnerable tremor in the mirror. The papers scattered like autumn leaves—inheritance documents, legal briefs, all the proof that her father's illegitimate daughter had claimed what Paislee had always believed was rightfully hers.

Carter had tried to reason with her, offering his investment, his connections, his wealth. But Paislee's pride was a living thing, wounded and vicious. She'd swept the documents off his desk with one dramatic gesture, her emerald eyes blazing with the kind of fury that only comes from losing everything you've never had to earn.

"I'm leaving for London," she'd declared, her chin lifted in that defiant way I remembered from childhood. "I'll prove I don't need anyone. Not you, not my father's money, not anyone."

The door had slammed behind her with enough force to rattle the floor-to-ceiling windows, leaving Carter alone with the scattered papers and the echo of her declaration.

Three months later, I found myself in a different kind of hell entirely.

The hospital waiting room smelled of disinfectant and despair. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow that made the crumpled medical bills in my lap look even more devastating. Eight hundred thousand dollars. The numbers blurred together as I stared at them for the hundredth time, my fingers trembling as I smoothed out the wrinkled edges.

Mom was in surgery—her third this month. The doctors spoke in careful, measured tones about complications and additional procedures, but what they really meant was more money. Money I didn't have. Dad's cancer treatments had already drained our savings, and now this emergency surgery had pushed us over the edge into a financial abyss I couldn't see the bottom of.

I pressed my back against the uncomfortable plastic chair and closed my eyes, trying to block out the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. My phone felt like it weighed a thousand pounds in my purse. Carter's number was still there, unchanged after all these years. I'd deleted it and re-added it so many times I'd memorized it by accident.

Pride was a luxury I could no longer afford.

My fingers shook as I dialed, each number feeling like a small death. The phone rang once, twice—

"Sierra?" His voice was exactly the same, warm and familiar, tinged with surprise. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you."

"Carter." My voice came out smaller than I'd intended. "I need to see you. It's... it's important."

The upscale restaurant he'd chosen felt like a mockery. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across white tablecloths while I sat there with my world crumbling around me. Carter looked exactly the same—sharp suit, perfectly styled dark hair, that easy confidence that came from never having to worry about money. He'd already ordered wine, something expensive that I couldn't even pronounce.

"You look tired," he said, and I hated how his observation felt like pity.

"My parents are dying, Carter." The words tumbled out before I could stop them, raw and desperate. "Mom's in surgery right now, and Dad's cancer is spreading. The treatments, the surgeries—we're drowning in medical bills."

I pulled out the crumpled papers, spreading them across the pristine tablecloth like evidence of my failure. "Eight hundred thousand. That's just what we owe right now. There will be more."

Carter's expression didn't change, but something shifted behind his eyes. He picked up one of the bills, scanning it with the detached interest of someone reviewing a business proposal.

"I can help," he said finally, setting the paper down with deliberate care.

Relief flooded through me so suddenly I felt dizzy. "Thank you. I know it's a lot to ask, but I'll pay you back. I'll work extra hours, take on more clients—"

"There's a condition."

The words hit me like ice water. Carter leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him in a gesture I recognized from countless business meetings I'd observed from the periphery of our social circle.

"Paislee left," he continued, his voice taking on that cold, calculating tone I'd never heard him use with me before. "She's in London, proving her independence or whatever. But I have obligations—charity galas, business dinners, social events. I need someone to fill that role."

I stared at him, not understanding. "You want me to help you find a date?"

"No, Sierra." His smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "I want you to be my date. To everything. You'll be Paislee's substitute in my life until she comes back."

The restaurant suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. "You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?"

"I want you to be whatever Paislee was to me." He reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine. "Think of it as an investment in your family's future. Your parents get the medical care they need, and I get the companionship I require. Everyone wins."

I pulled my hand away, my skin burning where he'd touched it. This wasn't the Carter I'd loved in secret for so many years. This was a stranger wearing his face, offering me salvation with strings attached that felt more like chains.

But Mom was in surgery, and Dad was dying, and eight hundred thousand dollars might as well have been eight million for all my ability to pay it.

"How long?" I whispered.

"Until Paislee comes back. However long that takes."

I looked down at the medical bills scattered between us like broken dreams, then back at Carter's expectant face. He knew he had me. We both knew it.

"Okay," I said, the word tasting like ashes in my mouth. "I'll do it."