Chapter 2: The Perfect Candidate
Andy POV
The fountain pen weighs more than it should in my hand. Grandpa's pen, carved from silver and mahogany, was filled with the same ink he used to sign the contracts that built our empire. My knuckles have gone white from gripping it too tight, but I can't seem to let go.
The inheritance clause stares back at me from the legal document spread across my desk. Black letters on cream paper, simple words that might as well be a death sentence:
The heir must be legally married before his thirtieth birthday or forfeit all rights to Hayes Industries. Said rights will then pass to the next eligible family member.
Marcus. My uncle's name isn't written there, but it might as well be. I can practically smell his cologne from here, expensive but trying too hard, like everything else about him.
Twenty-eight years old. Eighteen months until I turn thirty. Eighteen months to find a wife or watch everything my grandfather built slip through my fingers.
The city spreads out below my office windows like a game board. Forty floors down, people move like ants, following patterns I used to think I understood. Get up, go to work, come home to someone who loves you. Simple. Normal.
But love isn't simple. Love is a weapon disguised as a gift.
I taste blood and realize I've been biting my lip. The metallic tang brings back memories I try to keep buried.
"You're pathetic, Caroline! You hear me? Pathetic!"
Dad's voice echoes in my head, sharp and cruel. I was eight years old, hiding behind the kitchen door, watching him grab Mom's wrist so hard her tennis bracelet cut into her skin.
The sound of breaking glass. Always breaking glass in our house. Crystal champagne flutes against marble walls. The good China Mom loved, smashed to pieces because Dad came home drunk and angry.
Mom's perfume, Chanel No. 5, mixed with the smell of fear and spilled wine. She'd clean up the mess by shaking hands, making excuses to the staff, pretending her marriage wasn't killing her one fight at a time.
"Love makes you weak," Dad told me once, after Mom left for a week and came back with hollow eyes and a new bruise on her shoulder. "Remember that, son. "Love makes you weak, and weakness gets you destroyed."
He was right. Their marriage was beautiful from the outside charity galas and society pages, the perfect power couple. But behind closed doors, it was war.
And in war, somebody always loses.
The private investigator's report sits heavily in my hands. Forty pages about Laura Castillo, bound in manila folders that smell like toner and secrets.
Professional bride. Seventeen documented marriages. Average contract length: six months. No criminal record. No drug use. Maintains strict professional boundaries.
But it's her photo that stops me cold.
She's beautiful. That's obvious from the professional headshot clipped to page one. Dark hair, olive skin, the kind of face that would make men stupid. But it's her eyes that catch me. They're careful. Guarded. Like she's looking at a world that's hurt her too many times.
I know that look. I see it in my own mirror every morning.
Father deceased. Mother has a history of addiction and poor judgment regarding romantic partners. The subject appears to be financially supporting her mother's lifestyle.
The report goes on, clinical and cold, reducing her life to bullet points and bank statements. But between the lines, I see something else. A woman who's learned to survive by controlling every variable, just like me.
Perfect.
My phone buzzes. Text from Marcus: Board meeting moved to Thursday. Hope you're making progress in your... situation.
The threat is subtle but clear. He knows about the marriage clause. Probably have lawyers working overtime to make sure I can't find any loopholes. Marcus has been waiting thirty years for his chance to run Hayes Industries, and he's not going to let his nephew's bachelor status stop him.
I deleted the message and picked up Laura's photo again.
She's exactly what I need. Professional, discreet, motivated by money instead of romance. No risk of messy emotions or unrealistic expectations. A clean business transaction.
So why is my chest tightening just looking at her?
I shake my head and reached for my phone. This is business. Nothing more.
My hands are steadier than they should be as I type the email. I've negotiated billion-dollar deals, but somehow this feels bigger. More dangerous.
Ms. Castillo,
I require your professional services for a six-month arrangement. Complete discretion expected. Cohabitation required. Compensation: $500,000.
If interested, please respond within 24 hours.
A. Hayes
I read it three times before hitting send. The words look cold on the screen, like everything else in my life. But cold is safe. Cold doesn't break your heart or leave you bleeding on Italian marble floors.
The email disappears into cyberspace, carrying with it eighteen months of anxiety and a lifetime of trust issues.
Now I wait.
The scotch burns going down, but I welcome the pain. It's real, unlike most things in my world. The Macallan 25 Grandpas favorite sits in a crystal decanter that somehow survived all of Dad's rages. Mom hid it in the safe, along with her jewelry and the bruises no one was supposed to see.
My office feels like a tomb at midnight. Just me and the ghost of a man who built an empire but couldn't build a family that didn't destroy itself.
"Find yourself a good woman, Andrew. Someone strong enough to stand up to you, smart enough to keep you honest."
Grandpa's advice from his deathbed, whispered through tubes and machines while his body gave up fighting. He never knew about the inheritance clause his lawyers added that after he died, probably at Marcus's suggestion. A final trap designed to control me from beyond the grave.
But maybe he was right about finding someone strong. Laura Castillo has survived seventeen marriages without losing herself completely. That takes strength. I'm not sure if I have.
My phone rings. The caller ID shows a number I don't recognize.
I almost let it go to voicemail. It's past midnight, and I'm not in the mood for reporters or gold-diggers who somehow got my private number.
But something makes me answer.
"Hayes."
"Mr. Hayes?" The voice is soft, hesitant, with just a hint of accent. "This is Laura Castillo. I... I got your email."
My heart does something strange in my chest. Skips, maybe. Or stop. I set down my scotch with hands that are suddenly unsteady.
"Ms. Castillo." I try to keep my voice level, professional. "Thank you for calling."
There's a long pause. I can hear her breathing, can almost feel her nervousness through the phone line. When she speaks again, her voice is barely a whisper.
"Five hundred thousand dollars. That's... that's a lot of money."
"It's a lot of work," I reply, though we both know that's not entirely true. Six months of complete commitment. Living together, attending events, convincing everyone we're madly in love. Can you handle that?"
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Mr. Hayes," she says finally, and there's something in her voice that makes my pulse quicken. "What aren't you telling me?"
Smart. I like that she's smart.
"There's a board meeting on Thursday," I hear myself saying. My uncle is trying to force me out of the company. This marriage... it's not just about appearances. It's about survival."
The honesty surprises me. I don't usually show weakness to strangers. But something about her voice, about the careful way she asks questions, makes me want to tell the truth.
"And if I say no?"
"Then we both lose," I admit. "You need the money." I need a wife. Simple as that."
"Nothing about this sounds simple."
She's right. But simplicity is a luxury neither of us can afford.
"I lean back in my leather chair, watching the city lights blur through the windows, "Ms. Castillo, I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."
"Okay."
"Have you ever been in love? Real love, not the contractual kind."
The question hangs between us like a challenge. I don't know why I asked. I don't know why her answer matters.
"No," she whispers, and something in that single word makes my chest ache. "Have you?"
"No." The admission tastes like failure. "Maybe that's why this could work."
"Or maybe that's why it's dangerous."
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Because she's right, and we both know it. Two people who've never been in love, pretending to be married, living in the same house for six months. What could go wrong?
Everything.
"We need to meet," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. "Tonight."
"Tonight? It's almost one in the morning."
"I know what time it is." I'm already reaching for my keys, already planning the drive to her apartment. "This can't wait. If we're going to do this, we do it right."
"Mr. Hayes.."
"Andy," I interrupt. "If you're going to be my wife, you should probably use my first name."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with possibilities and dangers neither of us wants to name.
"Okay," she says finally. "Andy. But I'm not agreeing to anything yet."
"I know."
"And I have conditions."
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
I hear her take a shaky breath, and suddenly I'm standing up, pacing behind my desk like a caged animal. Something about this woman has gotten under my skin, and I haven't even met her yet.
"My address is......"
"I know where you live," I say, then realize how that sounds. The investigator's report. I'm not stalking you."
"Right." She doesn't sound entirely convinced. "How long until you get here?"
I'm already walking toward the elevator, my footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. The security guard at the front desk looks up in surprise as I pass, but I don't stop to explain.
"Twenty minutes," I told her, stepping into the elevator. "Maybe fifteen."
"I'll be waiting."
The line goes dead, leaving me alone with the sound of my own heartbeat and the terrible feeling that I'm about to make the biggest mistake of my life.
Or maybe the best decision I've ever made.
The elevator doors close, and my reflection stares back at me from the polished steel. I look like my father, the same dark hair, the same sharp jaw, same cold eyes that have learned not to trust anyone.
But as the elevator plummets toward the first floor, carrying me toward a woman I've never met but somehow can't stop thinking about, I wonder if maybe it's time to learn something new.
Even if it destroys me.