Renting The Billionaire's Heart

There was a full-blown battle of two voices going on inside my head. The first whispered and said, "Don't sign the contract. You're surrendering your soul to the devil."

The other voice was loud and fierce, "Sign the contract and save your broke ass from poverty. Three million dollars is more than enough to upgrade your wretched life!"

Dizzy and sweating, I pinched my eyes shut, almost choking on my breath. Three million to act as a stranger's fake girlfriend in exchange for my freedom?

The client sent a lawyer to finalize the first lap of this contract. The lawyer's face was colder than the grave as he tapped his watch.

"You have five minutes to sign the contract, or else the offer will be withdrawn. Trust me, there are better-looking women willing to-"

"Sir, please stop throwing childish tantrums," I said with a controlled tone. "It's not making things any easier."

He glared at me with disgust, like I was a money launderer, which I was, to be honest.

"I need to speak to Danielle."

Dani, my best friend, introduced me to this weird contract. We bonded in middle and high school in Alaska but she moved to LA shortly afterward to chase her acting dreams.

Unfortunately, it wasn't happening and she was stuck waitressing part-time for now.

On Valentine's day, after I caught my boyfriend mounting a woman old enough to be my grandmother, I called Dani, bawling my eyes out.

"Oh thank god," she heaved a relieved sigh. "Mimi, that sorry excuse for a man is a cunt lapping hustler and is up to no good. Now suck it up because I have good news."

I listened to her rambling about a secret gig where a billionaire required a contract girlfriend in exchange for three million dollars.

Chuckling nastily, I wished her good luck because I could never risk my life by getting involved with a stranger.

Dani was disqualified for her edgy looks, tattoos and piercings. She recommended me and that's how I found myself here.

"Speakerphone," the lawyer snapped as I dialed her number with shaky hands.

I was so close to getting away from poverty forever, And yet, I couldn't help feeling terrified.

"Miracle, we've come too far for you to change your mind," Dani shouted into the phone when I said I couldn't sign.

She continued rambling. "The economy is worsening. If I had your looks, I'd be smiling my way to the bank. You'd be a fool to throw this golden opportunity out the fence."

"Dani, this feels shady. What if something goes wrong during the duration of the contract, and I get thrown into prison? What if this client is a blood-sucking demon? Also, I have to pretend to be pregnant. How will I pull that off?"

"See why I nicknamed you a worry wart with an empty account balance? Sign the contract and get your rusty ass to Beverly Hills in two days or I will never speak to you again."

She paused, then added in a milder tone," Don't worry babe, you'll be fine. You'll have me by your side."

"Time up," the lawyer tapped his watch while giving me the stink eye. "Get to signing."

"Just sign it, please." Dani pleaded and I sighed in defeat.

"Fine, but I swear on my mom's grave that if anything happens to me, my ghost will haunt you forever."

"Crush me with a car, stab me with a knife, do whatever you like, just sign."

Struggling not to tremble, I signed my name across the line that marked me as an unknown client's fake girlfriend.

The lawyer passed me my plane ticket, a form, along with two thousand dollars as advance payment.

Two days later, I found myself at the baggage claim area at LAX airport, dragging my new suitcase, lost like a fish out of water.

"Looking for me?" A familiar voice whistled behind me. I made a quick turn. Dani, who was nearly twice my height, lifted me like a feather and my poor hip bones threatened to pop right out.

Her smile was replaced with a groan and her eyes bore holes into my jean pants. "Seriously, who wears a woolen sweater and mom jeans in Los fucking Angeles?"

"Dani, I'm not a stripper."

She rolled her eyes dragging me into a waiting Mercedes which drove out, giving me a view of the stark difference between crowded LA and mountainous Alaska.

"You need a total makeover," she said, her hippy mood returning."Your life is about to shift from broke-ass to wealthy."

I nudged her. "Have you seen this client before? What does he look like?"

She shook her head. "Nope. He wants the deal to remain hush-hush from his family and friends."

"Now I'm scared. I had to lie to my aunt Suzanne about getting a job at Amazon."

Dani rolled her eyes "You're twenty-two years old, Miracle. A full-fledged adult. You're about to be a millionaire. Forget your aunt and enjoy this opportunity while it lasts."

____________

After a tiring makeup session, I looked like a dolled-up mannequin splattered with eyeshadow, coats of foundation, highlighter, and hairspray.

I hated every minute I spent on the process. Afterward, my skin felt tight beneath a black mini-dress.

"Must I dress half-naked, Danielle? I bet this client is old and has sagging balls."

Dani winked with mischief. "What if he's not?"

We headed to Beverly Hills and I gasped at the sight of the mega-mansions, each one bigger and better than the last.

My jaw hit the floor when the car pulled into the circular driveway of a sleek, all-white duplex whose driveway was lined with luxury cars. Never in my wildest dreams would I have pictured myself staring face-to-face at wealth.

My knees buckled as I gawked at the building. "Now I'm super jealous of you," Dani nudged me.

"Ah, there you are," a tall, strikingly handsome man with an Irish accent approached us, smiling a little too brightly. "I'm guessing you're Miracle Anne Holmes?"

My heart thudded in my ears. Dani responded, bobbing her head like a bobcat. Was he the client?

"I'm sorry, miss but you need to leave," he said to Dani while steering me inside.

"But she's my guarantor," I started protesting. Dani blew me a kiss, promising to call me while the young man tried his best to put me at ease.

My body felt as if a thousand needles pricked me repeatedly at once, like a sheep led to slaughter.

"The client will be with you shortly," he said after he successfully dragged me into the waiting room. "I'm Calvin, by the way, his assistant."

Restless, my eyes bounced around and I couldn't stop wondering what the client looked like.

Calvin sat opposite me, running a hand over his perfectly styled hair. "The main contract has been drafted. You know the drill. It's non-disclosure, and you must abide by the rules."

He leaned forward, "I must warn you though, my client isn't a big fan of this, so he might be a bit harsh with his words. All in all, don't forget the money at stake."

"Is he some kind of demon? And why is he being forced to do this?" I asked warily. Calvin laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"He's no demon but can be a bit...demanding at times. Keep that in mind and remember that you have me to back you up,"

"Thanks for the reassuring words, "I said flatly, and he winked, checking his smartwatch.

"He's ready to see you now. Come with me."

I panicked, thanks to my wobbly feet and racing heart. This couldn't be so difficult.

Reaching the top of the stairs, a tall, ash-blonde-haired man in a navy blue jacket backed me. At least he wasn't old, judging from his hair, but my damn knees couldn't stop buckling.

What if he gets displeased that I'm a wallflower and needs someone more polished? I hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling very small.

Then he turned around, his eyes meeting mine, and my poor heart skipped a thousand beats.

Shoot me!