Page 41 of The Owner's Temptation

But still… we’re the ones being chosen.

It’s all starting to feel painfully real now.

What if no one bids on me?

Does someone… pity-pick the leftovers?

Is there a consolation sponsor for the girls who aren’t anyone’s first choice?

Or worse—do they cut you loose?

Toss you out of the Ledger and wish you luck?

The thought tightens around my lungs.

I’ve been applying for jobs outside of this, submitting resumes, sitting through interviews that all blend together. Nothing’s landed yet. And if this doesn’t work out…

I don’t let myself finish the thought.

I adjust the hem of my dress and glance around for someone to ask. Maybe one of the assistants. But before I can move, a familiar voice rings out.

“Ladies,” Eve says, stepping through the door in a tailored black suit and stiletto heels that could draw blood. Her dark hair is swept back in a sleek knot, and her signature red lipstick looks like war paint.

All conversation stops.

Every stylist freezes mid-sweep. Every girl lifts her chin.

Eve smiles, and it’s sharp enough to cut glass.

“Showtime.”

* * *

The rooftop patio glows under the fading warmth of sunset, the sky painted in brushstrokes of lavender and gold. Delicate strings of lights crisscross above us like constellations, twinkling against the evening sky.

Sculpted hedges and glass railings line the edges of the terrace, framing a panoramic view of the skyline below. But no one’s looking out.

All eyes are on us.

The recruits.

I grip my champagne glass a little tighter, the chilled flute dampening my fingertips as I force a breath past the tension building in my chest. The patio is overflowing with power. You can feel it pressing against your skin like static.

Suits that cost more than my rent. Smiles that don’t reach their eyes. Watches that gleam beneath cufflinks and perfectly tailored sleeves.

They’re not all men. A handful of women linger in the mix too—sharp, composed, commanding. Ledger Companions and prospective clients alike.

I spot two of the senior Companions weaving through the space—effortless, radiant, magnetic. They greet sponsors with kisses on cheeks and sly smirks, pausing to speak to the girls and subtly steer conversations.

They’re not here for contracts tonight.

They’re here to help us.

Thank God.

I’ve made it through my first three conversations without spilling a drink or saying anything humiliating. I’m counting that as a win.

The first was with a man who runs a global logistics empire. Kind, in a calculating way. He asked me what I thought of theLedger’s mission.I said something about confidence, trust, curated companionship—at least I hope I did. My mouth was dry and my mind was racing but he nodded, intrigued.

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