Page 144 of The Plus One Contract

When our eyes meet, I see it.

Fear.

Not the casual, calculated fear of a man making risky deals in boardrooms. This is deeper. This is the fear of standing in front of the one person who could break you or put you back together.

Something sharp twists in my chest. Around us, the office hums in the distance, but all I hear is my pulse hammering in my ears.

I open my mouth, desperate for words, but nothing comes.

“I meant every word,” he finally says.

The letter. The podcast. The confession.

I cross my arms over my chest, grounding myself. “Took you long enough.”

His jaw tics, a muscle in his cheek flexing. “I know.” He takes a careful step forward. “I should’ve told you back then. I should’ve said it before I left, but I was a coward.”

God.

I close my eyes for half a second, fighting the lump in my throat, the pull of emotions that threaten to drown me.

“You don’t get to do this,” I say quietly. When I meet his gaze again, my voice is stronger. “You don’t get to show up, drop some grand declaration, and expect me to just—” I gesture between us, my throat tight. “What? Forget everything? Forget how it felt when you walked away?”

Nathan’s breath stutters. “No. I don’t expect that.”

“Good,” I snap. “Because I won’t.”

My voice shakes now, but I don’t stop. I let it pour out—the ache, the anger, the hope I tried to kill.

“Do you even know what it was like for me?” My chest heaves, my nails digging into my arms. “You left me, Nathan. You left. And I told myself it was fine, that I knew what I was signing up for, that it was just one week. But then I had to go back to my life and pretend like I didn’t fall for you in the process.”

His face twists. “Sienna—”

“And now you’re here?” I let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “Why? Because you finally decided you were ready? Because you got bored? What changed?”

He steps forward, something desperate in his expression. “You. You changed everything.”

I shake my head, looking away. “I can’t do this.”

He reaches into his pocket. I hear the faint crinkle of paper before he unfolds the napkin contract.

The exact one from our flight. Creased, slightly worn, but intact. He smooths it out, his fingers skimming over the words like they mean something more than ink and paper.

My throat tightens. “You still have that?”

His gaze meets mine, unwavering. “Of course I do.”

His voice drops, thick with emotion as he reads, “Rule number one: No actual feelings.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Fucked that one up on day two.”

My chest constricts.

“Rule number two: No unnecessary PDA.” His fingers tighten around the napkin. “We both know how that went.Rule number three: This deal ends after both events. I fucking hate that one most of all.”

The air in the room crackles with something heavy, something unspoken.

He looks at me, and everything else disappears.

“Rule number four: No falling in love.”

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