He found her at a small printer in a corner of the open-plan office. It was past seven. The main lights were off, leaving only the blue glow of computer sleep screens and the warm pool of light from the printer station.
Ella Reed was shuffling papers, her movements precise now, not clumsy. The nervous girl from his office was gone. In her place was a tired young woman finishing a long day. She jumped when his shadow fell across the printer.
"Mr. Sterling," she said, straightening. Her voice was flat. Guarded.
"Miss Reed," Alex nodded. He kept his tone neutral, professional. "A moment of your time."
"The reports are perfect. I checked them twice. They're on your desk," she said, a defensive edge in her words.
"This isn't about the reports."
She looked at him, suspicion deepening in her eyes. He saw it then—the intelligence behind the wide, scripted "innocent" eyes. This wasn't a character. This was a person who'd just been humiliated by her boss.
"My office is closer," he said, turning. He didn't wait for agreement. He walked, knowing the pressure of his position would make her follow.
She did, her footsteps quiet behind him.
Inside his office, he didn't go behind the desk. That was a power move. Instead, he stood near the sitting area. He gestured to a chair. "Sit."
She perched on the edge, back straight, hands in her lap. A soldier awaiting orders.
Alex sat across from her. He placed a single printed document on the glass table between them. The title was clear: GIRLFRIEND AGREEMENT & NON-DISCLOSURE CONTRACT – DRAFT.
Ella's eyes flicked to it. Her face went blank with confusion.
"I am proposing a business arrangement," Alex began, bypassing all preamble. His voice was the one he used for boardrooms. Calm. Direct. "A one-year, renewable contract. You would act as my public, romantic companion for social and professional functions."
He watched her. No blush. No fluttering. Just a slow, dawning stiffness.
"The terms," he continued, tapping the document. "One: a monthly allowance of ten thousand dollars, deposited to an account of your choosing. Two: additional compensation for any public appearance or event requiring our joint attendance. Three: a strict confidentiality clause. What happens within the arrangement stays between us. Four: this is a platonic, professional partnership. No romantic or physical expectations."
He laid it out like a project brief. Clean. Unemotional.
Ella's eyes had not left the paper. The confusion was gone, burned away by something hotter.
"Five," Alex finished. "Either party may terminate with thirty days written notice. I would, of course, provide a severance package proportional to time served."
Silence filled the room, thick and heavy.
Ella slowly lifted her gaze from the contract to his face. Her eyes were no longer wide. They were narrowed. Sharp.
"Let me get this straight," she said, her voice low and surprisingly steady. "You screamed at me over spilled coffee today. And now, hours later, you're offering to… to pay me to be your fake girlfriend."
"It's a formalized affiliation. Mutually beneficial. You gain financial security and social capital. I gain a stable companion for public functions. It removes uncertainty."
"'Uncertainty,'" she repeated, the word a poison on her tongue. She stood up abruptly. "You're trying to buy me."
"I'm offering you a position," Alex corrected, frowning slightly. Her reaction was off-script. Where was the flustered acceptance? The tearful negotiation?
"A position?" A bitter laugh escaped her. "What's the job title, Mr. Sterling? 'Arm Candy'? 'Professional Liar'?"
"The title is irrelevant. The benefits are clear."
"The benefits are insulting!" Her composure cracked, not into tears, but into fierce, clear anger. "You think because I'm an intern, I have no pride? You think you can just point to a number and I'll… I'll sign my dignity away to play pretend for you?"
Alex stared at her. This was miscalculation. A critical one. He had assessed her as a resource, but he had failed to account for her agency. Her pride.
"It's a business transaction," he said, a faint edge of frustration in his voice. "Nothing more."
"Everything about this is more!" She snatched the contract off the table. The paper shook in her hand. "This is a power game. A cruel one. You have all the power, all the money, and you think that means you can get anything. Even a person."
She threw the document back down. It skidded across the glass and landed on the floor.
"No," she said, the word final and solid as a stone. "The answer is no. Find someone else to play your twisted game."
She turned and walked to the door, her shoulders set in a hard line.
"The allowance is negotiable," Alex said, the last tool in his box.
Ella stopped at the door. She looked back at him, and in her eyes, he saw not anger anymore, but a deep, weary disappointment. It was worse.
"You really don't get it, do you?" she said softly. Then she left, closing the door with a quiet, firm click.
The office was silent.
In the corner of his vision, the blue text flashed, stark and judgmental.
[QUEST FAILED: PRIMARY TARGET ACQUISITION]
[Target: Ella Reed - REFUSED.]
[Penalty Assessment: NONE.]
[New Directive: Identify and secure alternate qualifying asset.]
Alex did not move. He looked at the crumpled contract on the floor. The flawless logic of the deal. The clear benefits.
It had failed.
The System's path wasn't a paved road. It was a negotiation. And his opening offer had just been thrown in his face.
A strange feeling tightened in his chest. It wasn't hurt. It wasn't sadness. It was the cold splash of reality. The targets had wills. They could say no.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and steepled his fingers under his chin. His gaze was fixed on nothing.
Failure. No penalty. But no reward. Half a million dollars, gone.
He reviewed the interaction. His error was clear. He had chosen a target with a personal, negative history with him. He had appealed only to financial need, ignoring personal sentiment. He had misread her character entirely.
A new variable entered the equation: target profiling.
He needed someone without personal baggage. Someone who saw the world more like he did now. As a series of transactions.
He stood up, walked to the window. The city's lights twinkled, indifferent. The System's blue interface still hovered, waiting.
The game was harder than he thought.
But the rules were still the rules.
He turned from the window, a new target already forming in his mind. Someone from the society pages. Ambitious. Clear-eyed about value.
"System," he said. "Search public profiles. Filter for individuals with high social visibility, career-driven, with clear financial or career-oriented ambitions."
A list began to scroll in his vision.
Alex allowed himself a small, thin smile. The first move was a loss.
Time to make the second move.