Chapter 3: This Is Just Business
Aria's POV
"I'm leaving." I wrap the sheet tighter around myself and stand up.
"Sit down, Aria." Dante finally looks up from his tablet. "We need to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about. You—"
"Ethan Cross owes me three million dollars." He cuts me off. "Plus the Brooklyn deal he screwed up cost me another five million. He sent you over as... let's call it a down payment."
I freeze.
"A down payment?"
Dante picks up a piece of paper from the desk and reads. "'Aria Bennett. Co-founder of CrossBennett Ventures. MBA. Investment genius. She can help you make that money back, and...' " He pauses. " 'Make the process enjoyable.' "
I'm going to be sick.
Not from the hangover.
From the fact that Ethan actually sold me like merchandise.
With a goddamn product description.
"So last night..." My voice comes out small. "You thought I came willingly?"
Something shifts in Dante's expression. Just for a moment, I catch what might be guilt.
"At first, yeah." He admits. "You were pretty... enthusiastic."
My face burns hot again.
"That was the drug!"
"I know." He says. "I figured it out after. The look in your eyes... that wasn't a willing woman."
We sit in silence for a long minute.
"So what now?" I finally ask. "You gonna sell me to cover his debt? Or just kill me to send Ethan a message?"
He laughs quietly.
"You watch too many movies." He stands and walks toward me. "I have a proposal."
"Three months." Dante says it like he's discussing hiring an assistant. "You stay with me for three months as Ethan's 'payment.' "
"Doing what?" I ask warily.
"Be my companion. Show up at social events, business dinners, occasional family gatherings. I need someone by my side who looks... right."
"Why not get an actual girlfriend?"
"Because actual girlfriends have expectations." He says. "They want commitment, want a future, want love." The way he says that last word drips with sarcasm. "You and I both know this is just business."
"Of course you know it's business." I snap. "But why the hell should I agree?"
"Because you don't have a choice." His tone goes cold. "Your bank accounts are frozen. Ethan used your funds to pay off debts. You're broke."
What?
My phone. I need—
"Here." Dante hands me my phone.
My hands shake as I unlock it.
Open the banking app.
Balance: $47.23.
My two million dollars in savings.
All fucking gone.
"That bastard," I whisper. "That goddamn bastard."
"So." Dante continues. "Three months. I provide housing, living expenses, plus a generous salary. One million dollars. After three months, you walk away free with the money and start over."
One million.
Enough to get back on my feet.
Enough to leave New York, leave Ethan, leave all of this behind.
"What are the terms?" I ask. "Besides playing your arm candy, what else do you expect?"
His gaze deepens.
"Let's be clear," he says. "Last night was an accident. But if you're willing... that arrangement can continue. I won't force you. But I'm not going to pretend there isn't chemistry between us."
Chemistry.
That's one way to put it.
"So you want a fuck buddy plus a fake girlfriend," I summarize.
"If that's how you want to phrase it." He shrugs. "But let's both be honest. You enjoyed last night too. The drug was just a catalyst."
I hate that he's right.
"I'm not going to fall for you," I say.
"Good," he replies. "Because I'm not falling for you either. This is a transaction, Aria. A three-month business arrangement."
I study him.
This dangerous, arrogant, ridiculously attractive man.
Three months.
I can handle three months without complications.
"Fine," I say. "Deal."
Dante's penthouse is in the Upper East Side. Of course it is.
The entire top floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. The decor screams quiet wealth. Dark wood, Italian marble, artwork hanging on the walls like it's worthless even though I know each piece costs six figures.
"Your room." He opens a door.
A private suite. King-size bed, walk-in closet, bathroom bigger than my entire old apartment.
"Clothes are already here," he says. "I had someone order things in your size. If anything doesn't fit—"
"How do you know my size?"
His eyes rake over my body.
"I measured you myself last night."
My face heats up again.
"I don't need you buying me clothes—"
"Work wardrobe," he interrupts. "You're attending events as my companion. You need to look appropriate. It's a business expense."
Business expense.
Right.
This is just business.
That night, we don't have sex.
I thought we would. After all, he made it pretty clear he's interested in that kind of arrangement.
But he just says goodnight and goes to his own room.
Leaves me alone in that massive bed, thinking about last night.
Thinking about his hands, his mouth, his—
I roll over and bury my face in the pillow.
Three months.
I can make it three months without screwing this up.
Definitely.
The next morning, my phone rings.
Ethan.
I answer.
"Aria!" His voice floods with relief. "Thank god. Are you okay? Did Valentino hurt you—"
"You've got some nerve asking me that."
Silence.
"Aria, I—"
"You drugged me, delivered me to a mafia boss like a gift basket, and stole my savings." My voice comes out eerily calm. "And now you're asking if I'm okay?"
"I didn't have a choice!" His voice turns desperate. "He was going to destroy the company, destroy me—"
"So you destroyed me instead."
"No! I thought you could handle him, you're always so smart—"
"Ethan." I cut him off. "Listen carefully. We're done. Completely done. Don't call me again."
"Aria, wait—"
I hang up.
Then I notice Dante leaning against the doorframe, coffee in hand.
"Your ex?"
"Ex-ex-ex," I emphasize.
The corner of his mouth lifts.
"Good. Because we have a dinner tonight. I need you in that red dress." He pauses. "And Aria?"
"What?"
"I didn't come to you last night. Not because I didn't want to." His gaze goes dark. "But because when we do this again, I want you choosing it sober. Not because of drugs or desperation."
Then he walks away.
Leaving me standing there with my heart pounding so hard it might break through my ribcage.
