Contract Marriage To The Billionaire Playboy

~ Hailey ~

One of the security personnel reaches for my arm.

"Don't touch me!"

My sharp response makes him pause, his hand stopping inches from my elbow.

I lift my chin, refusing to let him see how badly my nerves are getting the better of me. Everyone I trusted has turned against me, and strangers seem determined to make a sport of my downfall.

But I won't let a member of security treat me like a criminal simply because I no longer look like the woman who once walked into buildings like this without being questioned.

"Miss, don't make this difficult," he warns.

"I'm not the one making it difficult. All I'm asking is to speak with Callum Fitzgerald."

"And I've explained that you can't."

"Then get someone who can."

His jaw tightens.

Behind him, the receptionist gives my cheap clothes a pointed once-over. Several employees have gathered nearby, their phones raised, eager to capture my face.

Of course.

The media has been hunting for me since I disappeared after my father's funeral. These people are probably dying to get a picture of the disgraced Hailey Lincoln at her lowest point.

Let them record every second of my humiliation if they want. I'm tired of caring what strangers think of me.

What matters is that I need to meet Callum.

But what if he refuses to see me? What if I swallow my pride and endure this humiliation only to walk out with nothing?

My stomach twists. Callum is my last hope. He has the money and influence I need, and he has a reason to work with me.

I hate depending on him, but pride won't restore my inheritance or give my mother and me a secure place to live.

More security personnel begin closing in, preparing to escort me out whether I cooperate or not.

Then a soft chime sounds from the private VIP elevator at the far end of the lobby.

The doors slide open.

Callum steps out.

He's wearing a perfectly tailored white tuxedo jacket and matching bow tie over a navy-blue dress shirt and dark trousers. It's an absurdly extravagant outfit for a Monday morning, but Callum Farrell Fitzgerald has never been one to blend into a crowd.

Then again, this is the American Wet Dream himself—one of the most photographed men in the country.

Subtlety has never been his thing.

Two personal escorts in pristine black suits follow close behind him, and the lobby falls silent.

Callum surveys the room, a faint crease forming between his dark brows. The security personnel who were preparing to escort me out immediately step aside.

Then his electric-blue eyes land on me.

My heart performs an infuriating somersault.

Oh, for God's sake! Of all the times for my body to betray me, it chooses now. I haven't seen this man in weeks, and my heart still reacts as though it's been waiting for him.

Surprise flickers acrossCallum’sface before melting into amusement. His gaze travels from my plain T-shirt to my jeans and sneakers, then returns to my face.

His familiar smirk grows as he approaches, completely unhurried, like a man who knows exactly what he wants and has never had to beg for it.

When he stops a couple of feet away, his cologne reaches me.

Woody cinnamon and bergamot.

My throat goes dry.

Fantastic.

"Well, well." His deep voice carries that smooth Irish lilt that always seems to get under my skin. "If it isn't the almighty Hailey Lincoln, fallen heiress and public enemy number one."

I stare at him.

"Good morning to you too, Callum."

His mouth curves into a wider smile.

"And on a Monday morning, no less. I must say, sweetheart, you do know how to make an entrance."

"I didn't come here to entertain you."

"No? That's a shame." He tilts his head, studying me with open amusement. "Now, what could possibly bring you to my humble establishment?"

I want to tell him that his establishment looks anything but humble.

Instead, I take a breath.

"We need to talk. Somewhere private."

His eyebrows lift.

"Do we now?"

"Yes, Callum. We do."

"Should I be worried, eh?"

"That depends. Do you have something to hide?"

A low laugh escapes him.

"Are you accusing me of something already? And here I thought you came because you missed me."

I nearly choke on my own breath.

"Please. I'd rather spend the day listening to a broken fire alarm."

"Touché, sweetheart."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.The manhas a gift for turning even the simplest conversation into a battle of words, and the worst part is that he genuinely enjoys it.

But I don't have time for this. My future might depend on how this conversation goes.

"Callum, I'm serious. Please."

The word feels strange on my tongue. Asking Callum for a favor feels like handing him a weapon and trusting him not to use it against me.

He studies my face, and I wonder what he sees: the woman who once walked into any room with her head held high, or the exhausted stranger who's spent the last two weeks trying to survive a nightmare she never saw coming?

His smile softens, though the amusement in his eyes remains.

"Well, since you've asked so nicely, how could I possibly refuse, my lady?"

He gives me a mocking little bow.

I sigh with reliefandfollow Callum to his office.

Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the Manhattan skyline, while sleek oak panels, black leather furniture, and a broad mahogany desk give the room an air of understated luxury. A bar occupies one corner.

Callum unbuttons his white jacket and drapes it over the back of a leather sofa before strolling toward the bar. Without the jacket, his navy shirt fits closely across his broad shoulders.

I immediately look away.

I have no time to be distracted by him.

"So," he says, glancing over his shoulder. "To what do I owe the absolute honor of your presence, Hailey?"

He reaches for two crystal glasses.

"If you're in desperate need of a job, I might consider finding a little space for you. But only if you ask nicely, of course."

My jaw tightens.

Ask nicely? Beg him?

I am a Lincoln. I've spent my entire life building a reputation of my own, and I refuse to let him reduce me to a woman begging for scraps.

Even if that's exactly how I must look to him right now.

"I'm not looking for a job, Callum."

He pauses, one hand resting on a glass.

"No?"

"No."

I draw on every bit of courage I have left and meet his eyes.

"I'm here to make a deal with you."

~ Hailey ~

“A deal?”

Callum turns slowly, one eyebrow raised as his gaze sweeps over me.

I straighten my spine and square my shoulders beneath his scrutiny. Even standing as tall as I can, I barely reach his broad shoulders, but I refuse to let his physical presence intimidate me.

Hesmirks, balancingtwo crystalglasses in one hand.

“Sounds interesting. Then we should discuss it over a drink, eh?”

“I’m not drinking. That’s not why I came here.”

“I insist.” He pours whiskey into both glasses. “Consider it a little celebration for your reappearance after vanishing for two whole weeks.”

“Is that supposed to convince me?”

“Did it work?”

I cross my arms.

“I’m not here to make friends with you, Callum. I’m here for business.”

“Then think of it as a toast to the potential agreement you’re about to propose.”

He approaches and