"I know her," Adrien told the security guards. Leaving no room for question.

     Without hesitation, they disappeared into the elevator. As soon as the doors clicked shut and they heard the familiar whoosh of it descending, Adrien and Muse both spoke.

     "What are you―"

     "I wanted to―"

     Muse knew how bad this looked. She hadn't seen Adrien since that day in the restaurant when Julien had fired her. But showing up without warning to Emmaline Enterprises―Adrien's company―on a floor that nobody was allowed on, was not even the worst part.

     "Come here," Adrien said, motioning with two fingers.

     The sheer command in those words . . . This was a woman used to being listened to, obeyed. Muse walked slowly, carefully, hyper-aware of the way Adrien's eyes lazily surveyed her from head to toe. Unexpectedly, she was grinning―cocky and sure of herself.

     That familiar fire sparked inside of Muse.

     From up close, she could see the suit Adrien wore, the straightened lapels and sharp edges, a black so dark it seemed to consume even the afternoon light from beyond the glass that surrounded them.

     Adrien didn't offer Muse a seat. They merely stared at each other.

    Even in the clean light of day, Adrien was beautiful. She radiated power with each blink of her long, oil-black lashes. With one hand, she tucked her glasses on her head and . . . waited.

    You're here for a reason, Muse reminded herself. Not just to stare.

    Her body seemed to forget that, especially as she said, "Your security is really good. I was here for barely any time at all."

    "There's a thermal detector on this floor. The presence of your heat signature, especially unannounced and unapproved by my security, would have triggered the alarm."

    "Good stuff," Muse said weakly. "You're well-protected. Lots of people want to kill you, I guess?"

    "Only a couple murder attempts a year," Adrien said, and smirked.

    "Tough life, being a billionaire."

     The New York skyline all around them seemed to disappear as Adrien leaned in, her lips almost brushing Muse's cheek. "What are you doing here?"

     Muse blushed. Thrown completely off guard. Stammering, "So. Um. What I wanted to―"

     "Talk about?"

     "Yes, I have a, um―"

     "What do you have for me, Muse?" Adrien said softly, almost like a dare.

     Muse wondered what those lips would taste like―if, like Adrien's scent, Muse would catch a hint of peppermint on her tongue. Muse's heart rate ratcheted up, so loud it drowned out everything.

     She had nearly just been shot for intruding. Why was she more nervous now than when her life had been at stake?

     Adrien Vitale was just a woman. A very tall woman, with broad shoulders and the face of a Roman god. And enough money to buy an entire country. Or two. Or all of them.

    "Here," said Muse suddenly. She fumbled for her purse, reaching in and thrusting a contract at Adrien's chest.

     It would have been unbelievable to Muse less than two weeks ago, but it was an idea. She'd drafted it last night, with no experience and no knowledge of law whatsoever. Really, it was amazing the kind of information the internet could provide for her. It had taken her until seven a.m., but at least it was thorough.

     The eviction notice had been posted on her door just yesterday. This was Muse's only option now.

     Blackmail a billionaire or move out of the city.

     And Muse loved New York more than she loved anything―some days, more than she even loved herself. It had been there for her when nothing else had. Through her teenage years, and her adult years, when every person who loved her had died. It had been enough, on days when she couldn't forget, to walk outside. To count the cracks in the sidewalk. To feel people bumping, brushing, jostling into her. She should have been annoyed. Instead, she was grateful for the reminder she was alive. That she existed. Even if only so she could squint up at the setting sun or feel the cold metal of her shoelaces against her fingertips, or breathe in the damp scent of hot summer rain on asphalt.

      After finishing the contract, Adrien's eyes lifted from the edge of the paper―ever so slowly―to Muse. Clouds drifted past the window, pressing against the glass. The air conditioning hummed. Muse shifted, the too-high pumps uncomfortable. Even with them on, Adrien still towered over her.

     The inside of Muse's mouth felt thick and venomous with everything she wanted to say, everything she wouldn't say.

     Maybe this had been a huge mistake.

     But, just as slowly, the slash of Adrien's lips grew into a smirk. A soft, insufferable, teasing smirk and . . . why was she looking at her like that?

    "What?" said Muse.

     "You want to get married?"

      "That was the entire point of the contract, you see."

     "And you don't mind pretending to be in love? In front of my father, in front of my family, everyone"

     Muse lifted her chin. There were far worse things than pretending to be in love with someone like Adrien. "Not if you don't."

     "And when there is no more use for the marriage, at the end of the five months, you have no moral qualms with getting divorced?"

     "I'm hardly religious. I don't mind."

     The side of Adrien's mouth twisted into another smirk. "Okay."

     "O-okay?" Muse stammered out. "Do you mean . . ."

     "It's a good business deal. Do you have a pen?"

     "A . . . pen?"

     Adrien lifted an eyebrow. "To sign."

     "I . . . actually didn't think that far." She rummaged in her purse quickly, knowing she didn't have a pen and somehow still hoping one would appear anyway.

     "You drafted this contract yourself, made an appointment with one of my financial advisors, climbed thirty flights of stairs, and you don't have a pen for me to sign it?"

     "You're going to sign it?" she asked. Stalling.

     "Well, I do need to get married."

     "But I asked for―" A million dollars.

     Adrien only shrugged.

      Muse gave up on looking for an imaginary pen and just stared. "That's nothing to you?" Of course it was. Adrien was a billionaire, after all. But still. That kind of money could change a normal person's life, and the wealthy just . . . let that sit in their bank accounts. Incredible.

      Adrien shrugged again, this time looking faintly apologetic.

     "I don't have a pen," Muse blurted out.

     "Should I prick my finger and write my name in blood?"

     Muse narrowed her eyes, though she wanted to laugh. "Stop fucking with me. This is your office. I'm sure you have a pen somewhere."

     Adrien sighed and slipped a pen into her fingers from behind her ear. Muse hadn't even noticed it.

     "Why'd you ask if you already―?"

     "I wanted to see what you write with. Says a lot about a person, you know. Their choice of writing utensil."

     "Oh, yeah? What does your pen say about you?"

      It was shiny, sleek, black. Understated but elegant. Definitely expensive enough to put a dent in Muse's bank account. "You'll just have to figure that one out for yourself," Adrien told her.

      "You're infuriating."

      "Is that a psychoanalysis already?"

      "Why, thinking of therapy?"

       Adrien winked. "Only if you're interested in being my therapist."

      "I'm really not interested in fulfilling that whole sleep with your therapist trope."

     "Am I too irresistible?"

     Muse scoffed. "Hardly. I'd rather sleep with anyone else in the world first."

      "Even if we were the last two women on earth? And sleeping together would mean saving the human race?"

       "Are you forgetting about the laws of procreation, Adrien?"

        With a fancy flourish of ink, Adrien scrawled her name onto the contract and handed it back to Muse. Muse only skimmed over it―she'd written it herself; she knew what it said.

       For ADRIEN VITALE, heretofore written by MUSE GARDNER. In its simplest terms, this legal binding denotes mutual agreement of both parties: a falsified marriage in exchange for a finite sum . . .

       "I'm going to remember that."

       "What?"

      "I'd rather sleep with anyone else in the world first."

       Muse felt heat spreading up her arms. Her heart was pounding again, and she didn't quite know why. "I'm not taking it back, if that's what you want."

      "I don't want you to. In fact"―the tip of Adrien's pink tongue peeked out, licking her lower lip―"I want you to regret it."

      Muse crossed her arms. "Serial killer territory much?"

      "Well, I guess serial killers and I have something in common."

      "What, a mutual love for women?"

      "No." Adrien's black eyes glittered. "I like making people beg."

       For a second, Muse's mouth opened. And wouldn't close. She could only stare at Adrien, at that devastating, heartbreaking smirk of hers.

       Pull yourself together.

      It took effort, but Muse schooled her face into an expression of pure disdain.

      "Well," she said, "you're just going to have to find someone else. Fuck another woman for all I care―we have a wedding to plan."