Page 4 of His By Contract
“We regret to inform you…”
“Unfortunately, at this time…”
“While your portfolio is impressive…”
She clicked through her contacts. Former clients. Design houses. Even small boutiques where she’d done alterations. Few had answered her calls. The ones who did gave excuses that rang hollow, the awkward pauses in their voices betraying the real reason—they’d heard what happened.
“Sorry, we’re fully staffed.”
“Our budget’s tight right now.”
“Maybe check back in a few months.”
Georgia pulled up the local pawn shop’s website. Her sewing machine. The vintage dress her mother gave her. The silk she’d been saving for her first collection. She calculated the value. Barely a fraction of what she needed. Each item represented a dream, a promise to herself, and now they might become just transactions, converted to cash that would disappear into the hospital’s coffers without making a dent.
She could beg Martha, her first employer, for cash work. But Martha’s boutique relied on the same elite circles that hadjust cut Georgia off. One whisper from Celeste, and Martha’s business would suffer too. Georgia couldn’t bear to drag someone else down with her.
A credit card? Her score was shot from the previous hospital bills.
Illegal moneylenders? The thought made her skin crawl, images of threats and broken fingers flashing through her mind.
A sharp knock at her door cut through the silence. Three firm raps that echoed through her tiny apartment.
She stared at the door, her heart pounding against her ribs. The knock came again, more insistent this time. No one ever visited her here, especially not now, when the world was turning its back on her.
The air felt heavy, charged with something she couldn’t name. Whoever stood on the other side wasn’t going away.
Georgia pulled open the door, and everything in her stilled.
The man who filled her doorframe didn’t match the peeling paint and flickering hallway lights of her building. He commanded the space like he owned it. Which, for all she knew, he might.
Adrian Adler.
Dark suit, crisp white shirt. His presence was jarring against the backdrop of her shabby building, like a diamond tossed in the gutter.
His eyes swept over her, taking in her wrinkled blouse and the mess of papers visible behind her. There was a flicker ofsomething at his mouth, more habit than warmth, the kind of look reserved for people beneath him.
“Ms. Phillips.”
His voice carried the weight of old money and absolute authority. She’d seen him in financial magazines, heard whispers of his name in elite circles. Adrian Adler didn’t just run Adler Capital—he ruled it, along with half the city’s wealth.
“Adrian Adler?” Georgia’s fingers tightened on the doorframe. What could possibly bring someone like him to her door? Nothing good, her instincts screamed.
He glanced past her shoulder at her apartment. “May I come in?”
It wasn’t really a question. Men like Adrian Adler didn’t ask permission; they took what they wanted. The hallway felt smaller with him in it, like the air itself bent to his will.
Georgia’s instincts screamed at her to shut the door, to keep this predator out of her space. But something in his stance told her he wouldn’t leave until he got what he came for. And what could she do, call security? In this building? The thought was almost laughable.
She stepped back, letting him enter her world. His presence transformed her tiny apartment into something less. Every crack in the walls, every cheap piece of furniture stood out in stark relief against his perfectly tailored suit and polished shoes. She’d never been ashamed of her modest home before, but now she saw it through his eyes: small, shabby, desperate.
She stood frozen as Adrian moved through her apartment with casual ownership, his presence making the space feel smaller.Her worn furniture and secondhand decor screamed poverty against his pristine appearance. Even the air felt different—thicker, charged with something that made her pulse quicken.
She crossed her arms, too aware of the coffee stain on her sleeve and the loose thread hanging from the hem. Her fingers itched to fix it, to present some illusion of control, but she forced them still. She’d spent her life making things beautiful, yet here she stood, unable to polish the tarnish from her own circumstances.
Adrian’s gaze swept over her makeshift workspace, the fabric samples spread across her floor, the stack of unpaid bills she hadn’t thought to hide. He stopped at her desk where her mother’s medical records lay exposed. Her most private struggles laid bare for his inspection.
His mouth curved slightly, though the smile didn’t reach his icy eyes. “Quite a contrast from last night’s gala.” His words flowed with calculated smoothness, a cold dissection beneath the neutral tone as his eyes continued their slow sweep of her space.
