Page 8 of The Billionaire's Bargain

"No." His eyes drift to the wet bills on the table, taking in the prescription bottles, the past-due notices, the general decay of our lives. Something like satisfaction flickers across his face. "But you were about to."

I want to deny it, to throw him out, to preserve some illusion of choice. But my hands are still wet from trying to save the waterlogged bills, and the truth is waterlogged too—soggy and falling apart.

"You don't know that," I whisper, but there's no conviction in it.

He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. He's not a large man in the conventional sense—he's lean, precise, contained—but his presence is massive, sucking all the oxygen from the room.

"Your mother needs the new medication. Your brother needs stability. You need to stop working yourself to death." He says it all without emotion, just listing facts. Then his voice drops lower. "And I need you, Alice."

The way he says my name—like he's tasting it—sends an electric current down my spine that has no business being there. This isn't about attraction. This is about survival.

"My boss at the diner gave me an advance," I try, one last desperate lie.

"Three hundred dollars. Two weeks ago." His mouth curves slightly. "It's already gone."

My knees nearly buckle. How does he know these things? What else does he know?

"What exactly would this arrangement involve?" I ask, hating how my voice trembles.

"Everything." The word hangs between us, weighted with implications. "You live with me. Your time is mine. Your mother gets the best medical care. Your brother gets a proper education. Your debts disappear."

"And in return?"

His eyes darken. "You belong to me."

I should feel disgusted. I should throw him out. Instead, I feel a shameful, treacherous relief washing through me—the relief of someone who's been treading water for too long finally glimpsing the shore.

"I need to think," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know I've already decided. The medical bill on the table has decided for me.

"Of course." His tone makes it clear he knows it too. He reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws a check. Places it on the countertop. I don't look at the amount, but from the casual way he sets it down, I know it's more money than I've ever seen at once.

"For immediate expenses," he says.

And then he just stands there and stares at me expectantly.

"I'm ready," I whisper. "I'm being practical."

The triumph in his eyes is almost unbearable. He doesn't smile—I'm not sure Alexander Grant knows how to smile properly—but satisfaction radiates from him like heat.

"Let’s go," he says as he reaches for me.

"But my mother—my brother?—"

"Are being taken care of as we speak." He checks his watch. "A private nurse is arriving within the hour. Your brother will find enrollment papers for Brighton Academy on his bed when he returns from school tomorrow."

Brighton Academy. The exclusive private school across town. The one with the state-of-the-art computer lab that Toby has talked about with reverent awe.

"How did you know I'd say yes today?" I ask, stunned.

Alexander's eyes flick to the medical bill on the table. "I've been monitoring your situation closely. The timing was...optimal."

The clinical way he says it makes my blood run cold, but there's no time to dwell on the implications. He's already pulling out his phone, issuing quiet commands to someone on the other end. Words like "transfer of funds" and "immediate occupancy" float through the air.

I move mechanically to my bedroom, pulling a small suitcase from under my bed. What do you pack when you're selling yourself? Clean underwear seems like a start. I add a few t-shirts, my one decent pair of jeans, the dress I wear to job interviews. Everything I own looks pathetic and childish as I fold it into the case.

I'm reaching for my toiletries when I feel him behind me. Alexander stands in my bedroom doorway, watching me with those penetrating eyes. His gaze catches on the meager pile of clothes in my suitcase, and a slight frown crosses his face.

"Leave it," he says.

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