Page 45 of Bitter Beats

“And here.”Aiden taps the next page.

While I started signing the contract with hesitation, I’ve now read through many pages and multiple clauses that I’m scrawling my name with abandon. The nerves that bundled in the pit of my stomach when I entered the law firm have diffused. Instead, time has taken on a more surreal hue, as if I’m watching myself agree to this contract. It’s an out-of-body experience.

I lean over the table and sign my name with a flourish.

“One more initial,” Aiden advises. I scrawl out my initials. “And you’re done.” Aiden straightens. He grasps the papers and taps them against the table until they form a neat stack.

“Thanks, Aiden.” I lean back in my chair and glance around the small conference room at his law firm. I let out a shaky exhale as my shoulders drop. Signing papers here feels more official, instead of at the brownstone.

It weighs on me heavily, like a massive mistake.

Now that the pen is no longer in my hand, instead resting on the gleaming tabletop, those nerves rush back full force. They surge through my body as my stomach reties itself in knots.

Did I make the right decision for my future? Or sign a deal with the devil?

“Mav’s decent,” Aiden tosses out as if sensing my growing alarm.

I gesture toward the folder he tucked under his right arm. It contains the agreement I signed. The contract formally establishes my fake relationship with Maverick Tate in exchange for room, board, tuition, and other incidentals.

Bile coats the back of my throat. “I just agreed to become a kept woman.”

Aiden clucks his tongue. “Hardly. You made a solid business decision to help you finish law school.”

I arch an eyebrow. “And if I was your sister?”

Aiden sighs, his mouth thinning. He takes the seat next to mine. “This is a phase in your life, Mckenna. This isn’t going to define you. You’ll finish law school, get a job you love, and blaze forward. This handful of months with Maverick Tate andThe Burnt Cloverswill one day be a funny story in your rearview.”

“Doesn’t feel very funny,” I choke out. The backs of my eyelids burn at Aiden’s kindness. The fact that someone—anyone—acknowledges what I’m conceding eases my mounting panic.

Jess called the arrangement “too good to be true.”Sitting in the silent conference room, nothing about it feels good.

Allegra thinks it’s a great idea. The guys in the band feel the arrangement is fair.

Mav is indifferent, cool, and aloof.He’s not flipping me his usual snark, but this version is even worse—it’s as if hecouldbe my friend. Hecouldcare. Wecouldbe partners in crime.

And then, where would that leave me when the contract is void and our fake relationship is over?

Alone.

Other than the small cluster of people who think this is a fine idea, I can’t confide in anyone else. That would break the termsof the contract. I close my eyes and pull in a cleansing inhale. Exhale. Try to relax my shoulders.

Aiden reaches over and wraps an arm around my back. One hand rests on my shoulder, and he squeezes gently. “You’re going to be okay, Kenny. It’s just a few months. It’s a great opportunity for you to focus on your classes, on job applications and the interviewing process, and have financial security.”

“Right,” I agree, pulling in a deep breath and dragging my hand across my eyes.

Aiden pulls me a bit closer. We sit in silence, the folder with all the papers bearing my signature, my acceptance, on the table between us. It taunts me.

You sold out.

You agreed to become Maverick Tate’s plaything to pay for classes.

How will you successfully advise others on their lives and decision-making while making a mess of your own?

You’re going to be a shitty lawyer.

Another inhale. A shaky exhale.

Aiden flexes his fingers and draws small, soothing circles along my shoulder. He gifts me his understanding silence.

---