Three days after David’s bat-shit insane, totally inappropriate, and wildly insulting proposal, I decide to accept.

I’m in my tiny apartment with Julie, trying to get her ready for the morning, and I realize that I forgot to buy diapers. I end up finding some shoved in the back of a closet, thankfully, but before we can go, I end up spilling a cup of juice all over her diaper bag. I manage to get everything cleaned up, but now Julie’s upset and we’re running late and I’m basically a harried mess, and this is an average morning for me.

As I’m walking down the stairs with her, I realize what two million dollars would mean. It would mean security for us and a future for Julie. I could invest half and use the other half to buy a modest home plus a new car, and still have enough left over to pay for her future college education. That money would change our lives in so many ways, but mostly it would mean Julie’s life would get better.

As much as I want to avoid it, I need this money for my daughter. If it were just me, I’d turn this whole thing down in a heartbeat, because, holy shit, that contract is crazy. But I can’t turn it down, because I’m not thinking about only myself.

And there’s another voice in the back of my mind. It keeps whispering, over and over, that I can’t get pregnant. Sure, it happened with Julie, but my doctor was clear: it’s incredibly unlikely to ever happen again. He doubts it’s even possible. Julie wasn’t an easy pregnancy, and her birth was even harder. If I accept this contract, I’ll be entering into it knowing that it’s basically impossible for me to actually fulfill it in the end.

So why bother? If I can’t have his baby, I can’t get the money, right? Sometimes, desperation makes people do crazy things, like sign crazy contracts. And if it happened once, it could happen again, or maybe he’ll just give me the money after trying long enough. I can’t really say, because I don’t know.

I get Julie into the daycare center in our building and I head up to my desk. Sven is doing calisthenics in his big glass office, wearing an absurd gold and black tracksuit this time. He’s huffing and puffing and flips me off when I wave, which only makes me smile. I wave to Ed, an older bald guy with a lisp, and he nods back. Mel is busy typing away but she manages a smile when I pass. Monk has his legs crossed in his chair and he’s smiling like a moron up at the ceiling, which means he’s high as fuck, and Larry is trying to thread a needle. I don’t want to know about that one, so I sit down at my desk before I can get caught up in conversation.

I email David right away. I don’t want to lose my nerve. I know this is probably a mistake, since it pretty much means I’ll be his sex slave for as long as it takes to get pregnant, but maybe it won’t take that long. And besides, sex with David isn’t exactly unpleasant. It’s not like I don’t want to fuck him over and over and over again. Honestly, I can’t stop thinking about that night I had with him, and I’m practically dripping wet just thinking about getting that again and again.

It’s more Julie that I’m worried about. I don’t want him to get any inkling of who she is to him, but I won’t be able to keep them apart. He can come and go as he pleases, and there’s no way he won’t spend more time with her, even just as a byproduct of being in my life. I know I should maybe reconsider all this, but it’s too late. I type up the email, and I hover over the send button, knowing this will change my life.

David, I’m ready to sign. Emma.

I stare, stomach churning, and I click. The email sends and I lean back in my seat, wondering what I just agreed to.

David’s response is almost instant. Come to my office. That’s it, no greeting, no signature. I sigh to myself and get up.

“Where do you think you are going?”

I turn around and Sven’s standing there, arms crossed, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow.

“David wants me in his office,” I say.

Larry pokes his head out of his cube. “Yeah, he does!” he says.

I roll my eyes at him.

“What does big boss want with you?” Sven narrows his eyes at me.

“Special project,” I say.

Sven barks a laugh. “We are ‘special project’ already. Are we not special enough for you?”

“You are, it’s just—”

“Yes, yes, big boss gets whatever big boss wants.” He shoos me away with a flick of his wrist. “Go, don’t make the big boss unhappy.”

I frown a little bit but head off. Mel pokes her head from her cube, shifting her glasses. “Get him, girl!” she calls out and I flip her off with a smile.

It’s strange how quickly I found myself fitting in with this weird, ragtag group of programmers and artists. I don’t even know what we’re doing, although Sven sends me little projects to debug every day, but I like the people I’m working with at least. They’re all totally insane and weird and borderline dangerous, but that’s what I like about them, and I suspect it’s why Sven hired them all.

I don’t know why he hired me on, but I can’t complain. I suspect it has to do with my ethics training, since there’s always some kind of weird ethical dilemma involved in the emails Sven sends me, long tangled-up stories of drivers and the decisions their cars made. I do my best to give him answers, but sometimes there are no good solutions, which only pisses him off.

I get to David’s office a few minutes later. I’m nervous when I knock on the door, and his secretary gives me a kind smile. “Just go in, dear,” she says. “He’s waiting for you.”

I nod and open the door. David’s standing by the windows, a glass of champagne in his hand, a huge grin on his face. I almost want to turn around and get out of there, just to spite him, but I close the door behind me instead.

“Well, here you are,” he says. He pours me a glass from the bottle on his desk and hands it to me. I take it with a nervous little smile.

“I want to negotiate,” I say to him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Need more money?”

“No,” I say. “More freedom.”

“Ah,” he says, a knowing smile on his lips that drives me nuts. “How much more, exactly?”

“I need limits. Right now, you can basically do whatever you want with me whenever you want it.”

“And that’s not attractive to you?” He cocks his head, putting emphasis on the word “attractive.”

“No,” I say, although that’s a lie. I love the idea of him kicking in my door late at night and fucking me senseless.

“What kind of limits were you thinking, then?”

“Nothing between the hours of eight at night and six in the morning,” I say.

He laughs, shaking his head. “No way. Those are prime fucking hours.”

I wince a little. “Eleven to six,” I concede.

“One in the morning to six,” he says. “Final offer.”

“Fine.”

He nods and pulls a stack of papers from his desk. He sits down and pages through it before making a handwritten note in the margin. “Initial here,” he says.

I initial next to it, satisfied by the language.

“What else?” he asks.

“Sex is strictly for reproductive purposes only,” I say to him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that clear already?”

“No,” I say. “It’s not explicit.”

“How much more explicit can I be?”

“There won’t be any…” I hesitate. “No foreplay. No oral sex. No anal sex.” I’m blushing, but I push on. “Only missionary, and only to your completion, as quickly as possible. We have sex, but only to make a baby.”

“No,” he says. “Absolutely not.”

I clench my fists. “Why not?”

“Because I want to fuck your ass if I want,” he says, meeting my gaze. I take a short breath and I have to sit down, glass clutched in my hand.

“No,” I say.

“Yes. I want to fuck your ass, make you scream. I want to eat your pussy until you come, your whole body shivering and sweating. I want to come in your pretty little mouth and make you swallow every drop and ask politely for more. I want you on all fours, three fingers buried in your cunt, while you bite down on a pillow and I tease your clit with my other hand. Do you understand me?”

I’m staring at him, my whole body vibrating with desire, and I can barely speak.

He smiles and sips his drink, watching me. I don’t know what to say. I want all of that, but I’m afraid of it. This contract should be purely business, but I don’t want purely business. I want all the pleasure he’s promising and more, and if I push for this, I’ll negotiate it all away. Then I’ll be left with nothing but money.

That’s what I’m doing this for, I have to remind myself of that. I’m doing this for money and for Julie.

“Limits,” I say finally. “There have to be limits.”

He sighs. “Your limits aren’t any fun.”

“No anal,” I say. “At least give me that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Have you ever been fucked in the ass, Emma?”

“No,” I say.

“How do you know you won’t love it then?”

I hesitate. “Limits,” I repeat.

“Fine.” He sighs and turns a page, writing in the margin. I initial and he initials, and it’s official.

“What else?” he asks me.

“My daughter has to be left out of this.”

He watches me silently for a moment, sipping his drink. “Of course she will be,” he says.

“No contact with her, okay? She never has to know.”

“If that’s what you want.” He’s giving me an odd look but I can barely think straight. All I can imagine is what he’s going to do to me when I sign that whole contract.

“Okay,” he says, and flips to the end. He writes in a longer addendum, and we both sign. “Is there anything else?”

My heart skips a beat and I know this is the moment. “I want there to be a time limit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Time limit?”

“Six months. We try for six months, and if it doesn’t happen, the contract is over and I still get paid.”

He stares at me without saying a word for a moment. My heart’s beating and I’m starting to think he knows I can’t get pregnant, he knows that I’m lying to him. I hate myself for doing this, but I’m doing it for Julie. I’m doing it for my daughter. This whole freaking contract is crazy enough, and I’m just making it worse, but I need this. I feel almost sick lying to him, but I need it.

“Half,” he says finally. “I’ll pay you half if you’re still not pregnant after six months of really trying.” He leans toward me, eyebrows raised. “Really, really trying. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I say. “Half is fair. But my job at this company will be safe for at least two years.”

He sighs, a little exasperated, but he nods and write in another addendum. “Two years,” he repeats, and finishes what he’s doing. We both initial and sign, and I feel like I won a victory over him, which I know is going to be short lived.

“Now, are you ready?” he finally asks.

“I’m ready.” I take a deep breath, and I feel like I’m about to dive into an icy pool.

Six months of sex with this incredible, handsome man. Six months of pleasure, day after day, as much as he wants. And in the end, he’ll pay me one million dollars.

Who knows, maybe I’ll actually get pregnant. I guess crazier things have happened, like this contract for example.

He sits back and I can feel him watching as I take the pen and the contract and sign each page. I initial at the bottom, and sign at the very end. When I’m done, I feel like I just made a deal with the devil. He takes the contract from me and does the same, initialing each page and signing at the end.

When he’s finished, it’s incredibly anticlimactic. He nods to himself and slips the contract into his desk.

“Okay then,” he says, smiling. “You’re all mine now.”

I shrug a little. “I guess. Can I go back to work now?”

“Oh, no,” he says, laughing a little bit. “I need you to stand up and strip.”

I gape, a little taken aback. “What?”

“Per the contract, you’re obligated to do anything I require in order to conceive this child, timing and anal being the only limits. Since I’m not putting my cock in your ass and it’s not between one in the morning and six in the morning, I need you to stand up and take off your fucking clothes.” He leans forward and gives me this incredible frustrating and absurdly attractive smile. “Please?”

I stare, not sure what to do, before slowly getting to my feet.