Contract Of Hearts

The final notice of foreclosure felt like a physical blow. Eleanor Wright clutched the edge of her father's-no, her desk now-as the words blurred before her eyes. Six months. Six months since his heart had given out right here in this office, and now Wright Publishing was about to follow him into the grave.

"Ellie?" Jane, their elderly receptionist, hovered in the doorway. "Your mother's doctor is on line one."

Of course, he was. Because when it rained, it bloody well poured.

Ellie squared her shoulders and picked up the phone, forcing brightness into her voice. "Dr. "Mercer, how are you?"

Five minutes later, she set the receiver down with trembling fingers. Specialized treatment. Experimental protocol. Words that translated to money they didn't have, for the only parent she had left.

Outside her window, London's gray skies perfectly matched her mood. Wright Publishing had weathered many storms in its seventy-year history, but this perfect combination of her father's unexpected death, three canceled bestselling authors, and the overall publishing decline had created a tsunami no small press could survive.

She couldn't lose her mother either.

Ellie pulled out the list she'd compiled over sleepless nights. Every bank, every investor, every publishing group that might consider a bailout. All crossed off now except one name at the bottom, scrawled in desperate capitals and underlined three times: BLACKWOOD MEDIA GROUP.

The vultures who'd been circling Wright Publishing for years, waiting for exactly this moment of weakness.

"Jane," she called, grabbing her coat, "I'll be out for the afternoon."

"But the staff meeting-"

"Reschedule it." Ellie paused at the door. "And Jane? Don't tell anyone where I've gone."

Rain pelted her as she navigated the crowded streets, her mind racing faster than her feet. Everyone knew Alexander Blackwood's reputation: brilliant, ruthless, cold as the steel and glass tower bearing his name. A man who acquired struggling media companies for breakfast and dismantled them by lunch.

But they also said he was fair in his own way. Made clean kills, at least.

The Blackwood Media headquarters loomed over Canary Wharf, a gleaming monolith of power and wealth. Ellie's reflection in the polished lobby doors looked pathetically out of place-rain-bedraggled, clutching a worn leather portfolio that had once been her father's, wearing her only good suit which had seen better days.

"I'm here to see Mr. Ellis in acquisitions," she told the perfectly coiffed receptionist, using the name from the form letter they'd sent monthly since her father's death.

The woman barely glanced up. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but-"

"Mr. Ellis is fully booked today. You can leave your information and-"

"It's about Wright Publishing," Ellie interrupted, hating the desperation in her voice. Please. Five minutes."

Something in her tone must have registered because the receptionist actually looked at her, then picked up her phone and murmured something Ellie couldn't hear.

"Have a seat, Ms. Wright. Someone will be with you shortly."

Twenty excruciating minutes later, a sleek young man in an expensive suit appeared. "Ms. Wright? I'm Daniel Keating, Mr. Ellis's assistant. If you'll follow me?"

She was led not to some mid-level office but into an express elevator that required a key card. Her stomach dropped as they ascended past floor after floor of Blackwood's empire.

"Mr. "Ellis is unavailable," Daniel explained as the elevator slowed, "but given the nature of your visit, Mr. Blackwood himself would like a word."

Ellie froze. "Alexander Blackwood? The CEO?"

Daniel's professional smile didn't reach his eyes. "Indeed. You're quite fortunate. He rarely has unscheduled meetings."

Fortunate wasn't the word Ellie would have chosen. Terrified was more accurate. She'd prepared to negotiate with some acquisition manager, not the predator himself.

The elevator opened directly into a reception area where another impeccable assistant sat before massive double doors.

"Ms. Wright for Mr. "Blackwood," Daniel announced, then abandoned her with a nod.

Ellie smoothed her damp hair, wishing desperately for a mirror. For different clothes. For any scenario other than begging Alexander Blackwood for help.

"Go right in," the assistant said, opening one of the heavy doors.

The office beyond was as imposing as the man it belonged to. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased London spread out like a kingdom below. Minimalist furniture in black and steel occupied the vast space strategically, focusing attention on the massive desk where he stood reviewing documents.

Alexander Blackwood looked up, and Ellie's breath caught.

The photos she'd seen hadn't captured his presence-the sheer force of will that seemed to radiate from him. Tall and broad-shouldered in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, he moved with controlled precision as he set down his papers. His face might have been carved from marble-all sharp angles and cold perfection, framed by dark hair with just a touch of silver at the temples. But it was his eyes that held her-glacial blue and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Ms. Wright." His voice was deep, cultured, more accustomed to command than conversation. "An unexpected pleasure."

Ellie swallowed hard. The practiced pitch she'd rehearsed evaporated under that arctic gaze.

"Mr. Blackwood. Thank you for seeing me."

He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Your father was a stubborn man. He rejected my offers to acquire Wright Publishing five times over the past seven years."

Ellie clutched her portfolio tighter. "My father believed in independence."

"And now you believe in...survival?" The slight quirk of his eyebrow held no humor, only assessment.

"I believe in Wright Publishing," she countered, finding her voice. "We've hit a temporary financial setback, but our catalog and reputation-"

"Your catalog is outdated, your advances uncompetitive, and your digital strategy nonexistent," he slid a folder across the desk. This includes our standard acquisition offer. Forty percent of market value, retention of selected staff at our discretion, full intellectual property transfer."

Ellie didn't touch it. "That's barely enough to cover our debts."

"That's business." He leaned back slightly. "Your father's poor management isn't my concern."

Anger flashed, cutting through her fear. "My father built that company from nothing. He published authors no one else would touch, books that changed lives."

"And now it's changing hands." His expression remained impassive. "Unless you have another option?"

The truth must have shown on her face because something shifted in his gaze-not softening, exactly, but a flicker of increased interest.

"How desperate are you, Ms. Wright?"

The question hung in the air between them, dangerous and weighted. Ellie thought of her mother's medical bills, the thirty loyal employees who'd be jobless by month's end, her father's legacy crumbling to dust.

"What exactly are you asking?"

Alexander stood, buttoning his suit jacket in a smooth motion before walking to the window. "I require a wife."

Ellie blinked, certain she'd misheard. "I-excuse me?"

"Temporarily. One year, to be precise." He spoke as if discussing the weather, not a bombshell proposal. "I'm finalizing a merger with Harrington Media next quarter. Old James Harrington is tediously traditional-values family connections, stability, appropriate social appearances."

Understanding dawned with horrifying clarity. "And you think I should...what? Pretend to be your wife?"

"Not pretend. Be. "Legally, contractually, publicly." He turned to face her, expression calculating. "In exchange, I'll cover Wright Publishing's debts, maintain its separate operation under the Blackwood umbrella, and retain your current staff. Plus a generous stipend for your personal needs."

Ellie stood so abruptly that her chair wobbled. "That's insane. You're insane."

"I'm practical. "You need money. "I need a suitable wife from a respectable family. "The Wright name still carries weight in certain circles, despite his financial troubles.

"Find someone else," she snapped, gathering her things.

"Your mother's multiple sclerosis treatment at Wellington Clinic costs approximately twenty thousand pounds per month," he said quietly. The new protocol Dr. Mercer recommends would triple that."

Ellie froze. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Information is currency," Ms. Wright. "I make it my business to know everything about potential business partners." He returned to his desk, removing a business card from a silver case. "This arrangement would fully cover your mother's medical expenses. Indefinitely."

Her hand shook as she accepted the card, his words hitting their target with precision. "Why me? There must be countless women who'd jump at the chance to be Mrs. Blackwood, even temporarily."

Something darkened in his eyes. "I need someone with no social media footprint, no questionable history, and no previous connection to me or my competitors. Someone intelligent enough to navigate my world believably, but with sufficient motivation to accept my terms without emotional complications."

"Emotional complications," she repeated flatly.

"This would be a business arrangement," Ms. Wright. "Nothing more." He checked his watch. Think it over. Call that number by five tomorrow if you're interested. After that, my standard offer for Wright Publishing stands."

Dismissed. Just like that.

Ellie walked woodenly to the elevator, clutching his card, so tightly its edges cut into her palm. Only when the doors closed did she allow herself to breathe, to tremble, to acknowledge the impossible choice before her.

Her phone rang as she reached the lobby-her mother's care facility. With numb fingers, she answered and listened to the nurse describe another fall, another setback, another reason why specialized care was desperately needed.

Outside, the rain had stopped, but Ellie barely noticed. The weight of Alexander Blackwood's proposal pressed down on her shoulders with each step toward the Tube station.

Sell her life for one year to save everything that mattered. Became a possession of the most feared man in the British media.

How desperate was she?

By the time she reached home, she knew the answer.

Very.