Chapter 36: Clause for Concern
After I declined Adrien Walton, I thought that would be the end of that weird proposal. Close the Chapter, delete the draft, and move on with my very normal, very non-contractual life and never think about it again—like a weird fever dream I could laugh about in ten years.
But I was so very wrong.
The next few days were a new version of hell I wasn’t prepared for-Adrien constantly on my case to accept the contract. Calling me into his office for "updates." He’d revise the contract like we were negotiating nuclear disarmament and send printed versions to my desk with color-coded annotations, as if that was the thing stopping me from signing my life away. I half-expected him to start including PowerPoint presentations.
One time, I swear, he slid the damn thing toward me like it was a check for a million dollars and I’m almost certain the zeros had mysteriously multiplied again. And the most absurd part? He had the audacity to highlight the "no touching" clause in bold, flaming red ink like that would seal the deal.
I nearly set the whole folder on fire.
Today, thankfully, was different.
A rare cosmic event had occurred: Adrien was out of the country for some big, important meeting. Which meant, for the first time in days, I could actually breathe.
I took a deep breath. Ah, yes. The sweet scent of freedom. I love the smell of peace.
Aria, of course, seized the opportunity to stage what she called an "emergency intervention." Apparently, I was "visibly cracking under the stress of boss-induced delusion" and "one breakdown away from throwing someone out a window."
So she dragged me to the beach.
Literally dragged. As in, she pulled the covers off me and threatened to drown my phone in her matcha latte if I didn’t put on sunscreen and come willingly.