Chapter 4

June

If I ever wondered what a baby deer feels like when it’s facing down a hungry bobcat—this is it.

“June Johnson.” Carter Abraham glances down at my resume, then tosses it on his desk like he’s never going to look at it again. “Cute resume.”

“Thanks,” I say back, a little uncertain. I’m pretty sure he didn’t even read the freaking thing. “Actually, if you look at it, you’ll see that I’m highly qualified—”

I feel him slide his eyes up and down my body.

He doesn’t even try to hide it. His gaze lingers at the buttons of my button-down just over my breasts and the curves of my pencil skirt at my hips. He stares at my mouth so hard, I can’t even finish my sentence.

I’m used to men looking at me. I mean, most women are, right?

But I’ve never had a man look at me like that before.

Is that the way things work here? It’s just so brazen.

I clear my throat.

“So, as you can see,” I continue, “my resume speaks for itself.”

My words seem to float right through him. It’s like I didn’t say a thing.

Honestly, I’m not too thrilled with the way they sound. They were meant to say Stop looking at me and read my resume! Or at least pretend to read it!

However, they came out sounding…different. Not how I intended them at all.

Either way, he didn’t take the hint. His eyes are busy taking another grand tour.

“I’ll say,” he responds, finally.

At least he’s listening…I think.

“My resume’s down there,” I say, pointing to his desk, “and my eyes are up here.” I don’t bother pointing to my eyes. He’s not looking, anyway.

“Sure,” he says, now looking off in the distance, disinterested.

Those words didn’t seem to have the intended effect, either. He’s probably heard it all.

Just jaded as all get out.

I sigh.

I’m just going to have to rely on myself to navigate this new universe. I’ve done it before—heck, I’ve made my way into what seems like a high-powered job interview. I should focus on how far I’ve come instead of dwelling on potential failure.

Of course, it’s hard to focus on the positive when there’s a giant hole in my purse and my stomach by now is growling from hunger pain.

Briefly, I’m reminded of those darn tampons that just robbed me of what could have been lunch.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

It’s for a secretary position, but just getting my foot in the door of a place like this would be a solid start.

Just take each moment as it comes, and keep relying on those instincts, I tell myself.

“Is that resume from a template, or…”

“A template? I typed that out myself, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t base it on anything.”

“Hmm, you don’t say. It’s refreshing, seeing someone like you in here.”

It sounds like something he’s just saying, with no meaning behind it. So, I push a little.

“What does that mean exactly?”

Maybe he’s jaded, but this seems to give him a little jolt of genuine surprise. With slightly raised eyebrows, and some eye contact for once, he throws that challenge right back at me.

“Do you expect me to believe that you don’t know what you have to offer?” Carter’s eyes take another quick roundtrip. “What even brought you here today?”

“I’d like to think I know a good opportunity when I see one.”

There are my instincts, saving my butt once again. Carter’s understanding nod, peppered with a touch of relief, confirms that that was the right thing to say.

“As do I, Ms. Johnson.”

He’s returning the compliment, but that seems like a strange thing to say to a job applicant. It’s like when a waitress tells you to enjoy your lunch, and you unthinkingly say you, too.

Not that I do stuff like that. I try to choose my words carefully—although with this unexpected job interview, I’m flying by the seat of my skirt a bit more than usual.

“It works for you,” says Carter, pointing vaguely in my direction.

“You mean my resume?”

“Forget the…okay, yes, your resume. It’s a bit unpolished, it could use a good ironing, but that just makes it all the sexier.”

Using the word sexy to describe everything—that’s a city thing I’ve heard about. But, why is he talking about ironing?

“I apologize for the creases, Mr. Abraham, but that’s my only copy, and I carry it in my purse. You’ll have to forgive me for not wanting to lug a briefcase with me everywhere.”

A storm of confusion passes over Carter’s face. It’s clear we’re speaking two different languages, but if I’m going to be a secretary here, I’m sure I can learn.

Oh, crap. He’s talking about my clothes, isn’t he?

A flushing in my cheeks begins—much worse than what I felt at that weird little store across the street. It should come as no surprise, the way he’s been looking at me, but I’m not sure if this would be a good environment to work as a secretary.

“Being my only copy,” I continue, “I would like that resume back, Mr. Abraham. Unless you have any more questions.”

An immediate sense of regret swings through me when I invite Carter to ask more questions. However, I’m still not positive what this is all about, and I’m not ready to leave until I’m sure.

“Please, take it back.” Carter hands me the resume. Quickly and silently, I refold the paper and put it in my purse.

“Will that be all, then?” I ask, ready to stand up.

Why am I not just leaving at this point?

“I do have a couple more questions, Ms. Johnson.”

“Okay. What?” I stop just short of telling him to make it quick.

“What’s your cycle like?”

“Excuse me? I’m sorry, you saw on my resume where I’m from, right? I’m not up on all the newest lingo, so if you can please be...”

“When do you ovulate, Ms. Johnson?”

Okay, all that weird stuff going on in the other room? And Carter’s comments?

And now this question?

“Mr. Abraham, this is not an interview for a secretary position, is it?”

Now Carter’s blushing. And laughing.

“Goddamn,” he says to himself before addressing me. “I’m almost certain that you’re serious, Ms. Johnson.”

“I’m completely certain that I’m serious. Please, call me June, and explain to me what this is really about.”

Carter sighs and pats his desk.

“Alright, June. First of all, please call me Carter. Second of all, I’m looking for somebody to sign a contract…”

“A contract position?”

“Technically, yes. This would be a contract to be the mother of my child.”

I blink a couple of times and suddenly feel the need for a stiff drink…even though I don’t even drink.

“Sorry,” I mumble trying to maintain my composure. “I think I must have misheard. I thought you said something about me being the mother of your child and contract in the same sentence?”

The smile on my face is forced. My hands clutch onto my purse. I’m desperate for him to label me as a little slow and clear up this silly misunderstanding.

My prayers are not answered. Carter nods.

“You did not mishear.”

“You want me to…bear your child?”

“If you were to sign the contract, yes. And if and when you do become pregnant, we would get married.”

“Let me just get this straight, because I want to be sure I heard you correctly…”

“This would only be until the death of my father,” he shrugs. “Then we would end the marriage.”

I frown slightly and nod. A job is a job, isn’t it?

“So…it’s for appearances.”

“Except for the pregnancy, you could say. But yes, exactly that, Ms. Johns...June. Hence the contract. In most senses, this would be a business arrangement.”

I mull his words over in my head. Should I be shocked? Because the only thing I’m shocked by now is how much I’m not shocked.

Listening to Carter explain it, it makes perfect sense.

I mean, maybe I should be a little appalled. Or, at least, I should have more questions about why he’s doing this. But then again, does it matter why he’s doing it?

I do have one question, though.

“What would I get out of the contract?”

“Once fulfilled, your compensation would be ten million dollars.”

Oh.

Well.

When I told Carter I know a good opportunity when I see one, I was telling the truth. My instincts have served me fairly well during this interview, and right now, my instincts are telling me—practically screaming at me—to see where this goes.

Wait, did he say ten million dollars?

No wonder my instincts are screaming.

“And I’m in the running for this contract?”

“Yes, you’re very much a contender.”

Carter is making distinct eye contact now. The message in his eyes is also distinct: I’m not just a contender—that contract is mine if I want it. I see the leverage I have in Carter’s eyes, and I’m going to use it.

“If I’m to sign this contract, Carter, I have a few additional conditions.”

“Okay,” Carter says slowly. “You did hear me when I said ten million, right?”

I’m glad to have that number repeated.

“I heard you. I could also use a job in the meantime. Working as a secretary here would suit me, with the standard wages you’d pay for that. Additionally, I’d require an advance on my wages—enough to get me by for the time being.”

Watching Carter carefully, I see no change in his expression. That means I still have leverage, I think.

But he’s not saying anything. Maybe my instincts aren’t so…

“Okay.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said okay, June. I agree to your conditions.” He shrugs again. “The contract is yours, if you want it.”

Oh.

That was easy.

“Thank you, Mr. Abraham. I’ll start the secretary job today, I think.”

I’m slipping back into calling him Mr. Abraham, but that’s at least partially out of shock.

My instincts are doing a fine job, after all.

“And the contract? You’ll sign it?”

Now I don’t even have to force my smile.

“I’ll think about it.”