The jazz bar on the Lower East Side was a cave of dim lights and dark wood, smelling of spilled bourbon and old regrets. It was the perfect place to disappear. Hayley was on her third Manhattan, the cherry at the bottom of the glass a small, bloody heart.
She stared at her phone. A screenshot of the trust document glowed back at her. "...must be legally married on the date of disbursement..." A digital clock in the corner of the screen ticked down. 71 hours and 28 minutes.
The bell above the door chimed softly. A man walked in. He wasn't flashy, but the coat fit his broad shoulders perfectly, a detail that spoke of quiet quality. He took a seat at the bar, leaving one empty stool between them.
"Just a club soda with lime," he told the bartender.
Hayley watched him in the mirror behind the bar. Clean-shaven jaw, dark hair, eyes that seemed to take in everything without moving. He looked... calm. Stable. And, from the simple watch on his wrist and the lack of any designer logos, not rich. Perfect.
The whiskey had burned away her inhibitions, leaving only a core of cold, hard desperation. She picked up her glass and slid onto the stool next to him.
"Are you single?"
He turned his head slowly, his gaze steady. A faint hint of a smile touched the corner of his mouth. He didn't seem surprised, or offended. "That's a direct approach."
"I don't have time for anything else," she said, her voice raspy. "Do you need money?"
He swirled the ice in his glass, the clinking sound loud in the momentary silence between songs. "That depends," he said, his voice a low rumble. "What's the job?"
Hayley's desperation made her blunt. "It's a business proposition. A contract."
His eyes held hers in the mirror, a flicker of understanding in their depths. "This sounds more serious than a typical business deal," he said, his tone laced with a dry amusement that somehow put her at ease. "Are you hiring a husband, by any chance?"
The air left her lungs in a rush. He saw right through her. Good. It saved time.
"Yes," she said, meeting his eyes. "I am. A one-year contract. Generous compensation. No strings, no expectations. At the end of the year, we walk away. Clean break."
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a simple, cream-colored business card. He slid it across the polished wood of the bar.
Kieran Mccall. Sales Associate. McCall Insurance.
"I sell insurance," he said, his voice a low, smooth baritone. "My rent is due. I could use a signing bonus."
She picked up the card. McCall Insurance. A solid, unremarkable name. A sales associate. It was perfect. They were from the same world-the world of people who worked for a living, who understood transactions. There would be no power imbalance, no a-hole from a dynastic family thinking he owned her.
"The terms are simple," she said, her voice gaining strength. "We don't interfere in each other's private lives. We present a united front when necessary. After 365 days, we file for a no-fault divorce."
He nodded slowly, his eyes searching hers. "And the compensation?"
"Enough to cover your rent for a lot longer than a year."
He looked at the clock above the bar. "City Hall closes in an hour for marriage licenses."
Hayley's heart hammered against her ribs. "We should go now."
"I like a woman who knows what she wants," he said, a genuine smile finally breaking through. He stood, tossing a twenty on the bar. "Let's go get married."
They stepped out of the bar's warmth and into the biting wind. Hayley shivered, the thin silk of her blouse no match for the cold. Without a word, Kieran shrugged off his trench coat and draped it over her shoulders. It was warm from his body and smelled faintly of cedar and clean cotton.
They stood at the corner, waiting for a cab. A red light stopped traffic, and a familiar, guttural engine roar made Hayley's blood run cold. Brad's Porsche.
The passenger window slid down. Brad was behind the wheel, his face a mask of disbelief. Jenna, beside him, let out a theatrical gasp.
"Well, well," Jenna said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "Looks like someone didn't waste any time finding a replacement."
Brad's face contorted with rage. He threw the car into park, ignoring the blaring horns behind him, and shoved his door open. He stormed toward them, his face flushed with fury.
He grabbed Hayley's arm, his fingers digging into the flesh above her elbow. "Who the hell is this?"
