Page 12 of Adonis: The Cost of a Billionaire's Heart
The next hour passed in a blur of legal terminology as Adonis and I, along with a sharp-eyed attorney named Ms. Patel on the video screen, went through the contract line by line. It was even more detailed than I expected—clauses about public appearances, social media, press statements, and even the limited amount of information I was allowed to share with those closest to me.
The most extensive sections covered confidentiality. I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement that prevented me from ever discussing our arrangement, with penalties severe enough to make me sweat all over.
“Is this necessary?” I challenged, pointing to a particularly stringent clause.
“Absolutely,” Ms. Patel answered before Adonis could. “Mr. Holland’s business interests could be severely compromised if the nature of your arrangement became public.”
“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” I insisted, slightly offended.
“It’s not about trust,” Adonis replied, his eyes meeting mine. “It’s about protection. For both of us.”
There was something in his expression that made me wonder how many people had betrayed him in the past. But before I could dwell on it, we moved on to the financial terms.
Fifty thousand dollars to be paid in two installments—half now, half when the week was completed. Plus, comprehensive health insurance for Mason for a whole year, as I requested, and extra security for our protection. And a surprising addition: a glowing reference letter, professional help with updating my résumé, and introductions to three of Adonis’s contacts in fields I might’ve been interested in pursuing.
“You added the reference letter and résumé help,” I noted, looking up from the page to him.
He dipped. “It seemed practical. You’ll need new employment after this week.”
It was thoughtful in a businesslike way that seemed to characterize everything about him. He was the most intentional man I’d ever met. Unable to find the words to say other than thank you, I dipped my chin and nodded with humbling gratitude.
By the time we finished reviewing the contract, my head was swimming with clauses and subclauses. But Ms. Patel assured me it was fair, possibly even generous on Adonis’s part. I signed the dotted line with a mixture of relief and apprehension.
“Congratulations,” Adonis said dryly as I set down the pen. “We’re officially fake-engaged.”
“Lucky me,” I replied with equal dryness.
A trace of a smile graced his lips. “Ms. Patel, thank you for your assistance.”
“No problem,” she said before ending the call.
After the video call was finished, Adonis checked his watch. The black diamonds around the dial sparkled under the natural lighting. “The jeweler will be here in twenty minutes. You should change.”
I nodded slowly, suddenly nervous about what came next. Wearing a ring with no meaning and being warm and fuzzy while posing for romantic photos with a man I barely knew felt far more intimate than signing the cold, black and white legal documents.
“Second door on the left,” he directed, pointing down the hallway. “Maya is still with Mason. He’s playing with the new kids’ telescope and space race track I had delivered.”
“You bought him toys?” I quizzed, surprised.
Adonis looked almost uncomfortable. “It seemed appropriate, given the disruption to his routine.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “That was kind.”
“It was sensible,” he corrected me, but there was less conviction in his tone than usual.
I found the guest room where I’d been styled by Kimberley easily—a spacious suite with its own Jack and Jill bathroom that connected to Mason’s room, and a view of the busy city that would probably cost thousands per night in a hotel to get even a fourth of the scenery. On the bed lay a garment bag with a note attached:
“For casual photographs
– Kimberley.”
Inside was a simple but elegant cream cashmere sweater, tailored jeans, a bra, and panties that all together cost more than my monthly rent. Alongside them were delicate gold earrings and a necklace with a small diamond pendant.
I showered and changed quickly, surprised by how perfectly everything fit. The sweater was soft against my skin, the jeans hugged my curves in a flattering way, and even the simple jewelry seemed designed to enhance rather than overpower. Inside the bathroom were a flatiron, hair products, and makeup products. I took down my bun and swiped the heating tool through my long hair, adding an abundance of soft curls for some last-minute volume. Looking in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself after taking the adequate time to do my hair and makeup. I look polished, expensive, like someone who might’ve belonged on the arm of Adonis Holland.
When I returned to the living room, Adonis was at the kitchen island speaking with an older foreign man, who I assumed was the jeweler, given the subtle but noticeable bling in his ears and on his wrist. There was a velvet-lined case that was opened on top of the marble countertop, displaying a dozen rings with sparkles that danced under the pendant lighting. He looked up as I entered, and something flickered in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or adoration.
“Ah, there you are.” He greeted me, his voice slightly different than before. “Chauncey, this is Simora, my fiancée.”
