Page 63 of His By Contract

CHAPTER 20

Theo pushed his red truck across the worn carpet, feeling each bump and groove beneath the plastic wheels. The morning sun made funny shapes through the dirty windows, and he drove his truck through each patch of light, pretending they were magical portals.

“Vroom,” he whispered, guiding the truck around a particularly dark stain on the floor. In his mind, it was a deep mud puddle his truck had to navigate. He’d seen trucks like his on TV, big ones that could drive through anything. His was smaller, but he liked to think it was just as strong.

The coffee machine in the back made funny noises, but Theo ignored it. He was too busy creating an adventure for his truck, complete with dangerous cliffs made from the raised edges of the carpet and treacherous rivers formed by the shadows on the floor.

The door opened with a slow creak. Theo looked up, his hands still gripping his truck. A man filled the doorway, taller than anyone Theo had seen before. His suit was black and perfect, not wrinkled like the clothes hanging in their closet at home. Theman’s shoes caught Theo’s attention. They looked like mirrors, reflecting the dim light of the office.

Theo watched the tall man from his spot on the carpet, his fingers tightening around his red truck. The stranger moved like the people in TV shows. His black suit didn’t have a single wrinkle, and Theo wondered if it felt as smooth as it looked.

The man stopped at Ms. Jenny’s desk, giving her a quick nod. His voice came out soft, too quiet for Theo to hear the words, but something about it made him sit up straighter. The man’s eyes kept finding their way back to Theo, his face getting tighter each time, like Mommy’s did when she was thinking hard about something.

Theo pulled his truck closer to his chest. Most grown-ups walked right past him when he played in the office waiting room. They stared at their phones or talked to Ms. Jenny about boring things. But this man was different. His blue eyes, the same color as the sky outside, kept coming back to Theo, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Ms. Jenny’s voice got higher, the way it did when important people came in. “Of course, sir,” she chirped, her smile bigger than usual. Her fingers tapped faster on her keyboard, the clicking sounds filling the quiet room.

Theo watched as the man stepped away from Ms. Jenny’s desk, those blue eyes finding him again. Something about the way the man looked at him made Theo’s stomach feel funny, like when he climbed too high on the playground.

The man crossed the room toward him, his feet barely making a sound on the old carpet. Theo’s fingers wrapped tighter around his red truck as the tall stranger lowered himself down, his fancysuit making a soft sound as it bent at the knees. The man didn’t smile like other grown-ups did. He just looked at Theo, his head tilted slightly to one side.

“What’s your name?” The man’s voice was quiet.

Theo swallowed hard. Mommy always said not to talk to strangers, but Ms. Jenny had been talking to him. “Theo,” he whispered, his voice coming out smaller than he wanted it to.

The man’s eyes changed then, getting sharper, more focused. Like when Mommy spotted a loose thread in her sewing that needed fixing.

“Where’s your dad?” the man asked, his words careful and slow.

“My dad’s dead.” The words came out automatically, just like Mommy had taught him. Theo had said them so many times they felt like part of his name.

The man went very still. His face changed, like a cloud passing over the sun. His jaw got tight, the way Mommy’s did when she was trying not to cry. His eyes turned darker, scarier, and Theo felt his shoulders inch back without meaning to. But the man didn’t move. He just kept staring at Theo, like he was trying to read something written too small to see.

Theo looked down at his truck, his fingers tracing the scratched red paint. The weight of the man’s stare pressed against him like a heavy blanket. His stomach twisted into knots, the same way it did when he accidentally broke Mommy’s favorite coffee mug last week.

The silence stretched between them, making the office feel smaller. Theo wished he could shrink into the carpet, disappearbetween its worn fibers. He wanted his mommy. She always knew what to say when things got scary.

“Where’s your mother?” The man’s voice came out rough, like sandpaper.

Theo pointed toward the back room where Mommy was cleaning. His arm felt shaky, and he pulled it back quickly, wrapping it around his truck again. The man rose to his full height, his shadow falling across Theo’s legs. The morning light couldn’t get past him anymore, turning Theo’s magical portals into darkness.

The man’s shoes made soft sounds against the carpet as he walked away, each step feeling like thunder in Theo’s chest. He forgot about his truck adventures, the imaginary mud puddles and cliff edges fading away. Instead, he watched the man’s back, his suit so dark it looked like a piece of night had walked into their sunny office.

Something heavy settled in Theo’s chest, like when he ate too fast and his food got stuck. He didn’t know why, but telling the man about his dad felt wrong now. Mommy always said it was the right thing to say, but the man’s face had gone all funny when he said it, like someone had hurt him.

Georgia’s knees ached against the hard floor as she scrubbed at a dark stain along the baseboard. Sweat trickled down her spine, and her shoulders burned from the repetitive motion. The bleach fumes stung her nose, but she kept working. These moments alone in the back room gave her time to think, to plan how she’d stretch this week’s groceries. The familiar calculationsran through her mind: chicken could be stretched to three meals, pasta would fill Theo’s always-hungry stomach without breaking the bank.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Ms. Jenny probably wanted to check her progress before closing. Georgia didn’t look up, focusing on a particularly stubborn mark.

The footsteps stopped.

The air changed. A familiar scent drifted to her, expensive cologne mixed with something distinctly masculine. Her heart stuttered. That scent—how could she still recognize it instantly after all this time?

She lifted her head.

Adrian filled the doorway, his tall frame blocking the fluorescent light from the hallway. His being there made the shabby storage room electric, charged with memory and meaning. His tailored suit looked alien against the peeling paint and scuffed floors. But his face—those eyes locked onto hers with the same intensity that haunted her dreams. The same eyes Theo had inherited, though on her son they held innocence instead of this piercing awareness.

Georgia couldn’t breathe. The world contracted until nothing existed except Adrian’s face, the sharp line of his jaw, the subtle flare of his nostrils. Three years dissolved like smoke. She was back in his penthouse, drowning in silk sheets and whispered words.

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