Chapter 2 - The Terms of Engagement
By Thursday morning, a heavy fog had rolled in off Boston Harbor, blanketing Beacon Hill in a thick, gray haze that obscured the streetlamps and muffled the sound of morning traffic.
Matthew sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows in his private study, sipping black coffee. For the first time in three years, he had shaved carefully, pulled on a crisp charcoal cashmere sweater, and asked Peter to open the velvet drapes to let the morning light into the house.
When Natalie arrived at nine o'clock, she did not carry her cleaning bucket.
She walked into his study wearing a faded rain jacket, holding a thick white envelope in her hand. Her face was flushed, her dark eyes wide with shock, anger, and utter confusion.
She walked straight up to his desk, setting the envelope down on the mahogany surface with a slap.
"What is this?" she demanded, her voice shaking.
Matthew picked up his coffee cup, taking a slow sip before looking at her. "It appears to be a notice of mortgage satisfaction from First New England Bank."
"You bought my father's debt," Natalie said, her chest heaving with distressed breaths. "You bought the reverse mortgage on my grandmother's house, and then you canceled the balance. Why would you do that?"
"Because your father’s bank was charging you an exorbitant sixteen percent interest rate," Matthew said smoothly, setting his cup down. "It was bad business. Now, you don't owe the bank eighty-four thousand dollars."
"I don't want your handouts, Mr. Knight!" Natalie shouted, tears of frustration glistening in her eyes. "I work for my money! I don't need a billionaire feeling sorry for me and tossing crumbs from his table to make himself feel like a good person!"
Matthew’s blue eyes narrowed. He pressed the button on his armrest, driving his electric wheelchair out from behind the massive desk, stopping less than two feet away from her.
"Do I look like a good person to you, Miss Zeller?" Matthew asked, his voice deathly quiet. "Look at me. Look at this chair. Look at this house. I don't give a damn about feeling good. And I don't pity you."
Natalie swallowed hard, stepping back an inch, but holding his gaze. "Then why did you do it?"
"Because I am making you a business offer," Matthew said, leaning his forearms on his lap. "You owe eighty-four thousand dollars to Knight Holdings now. But you will not pay me back in money. You will pay me back in time."
Natalie frowned, her anger giving way to deep suspicion. "What kind of time?"
"Quit your job at the café," Matthew commanded. "Quit your night shift downtown. You will work for me exclusively. Three hours every morning, five days a week. Your salary will be one hundred thousand dollars a year, with full tuition coverage for your university degree."
Natalie stared at him as if he had suddenly begun speaking a foreign language. "To clean your house?"
"No," Matthew said, his voice softening just a fraction. "My house is already clean. You will sit in that chair across from me, you will read your books out loud, and you will talk to me like a human being. That is your job."
Natalie stood frozen in the quiet study. "You want to pay me a hundred thousand dollars a year... to read to you?"
"I want to remember what it feels like to think about something other than spinal cord injuries, stock portfolios, and my own miserable existence," Matthew said, staring at her with raw, startling honesty. "Are those terms acceptable to you, Miss Zeller?"
Natalie looked down at the white envelope on the desk, then back at the formidable, broken man sitting in the wheelchair before her. She saw beneath his icy demeanor, beneath the wealth and the terrifying authority—she saw a man who was starving to death in a room full of gold.
"One condition," Natalie said softly.
Matthew raised an eyebrow. "You’re in no position to negotiate, but go on."
"I will read to you," Natalie said, setting her shoulders back. "I will talk to you. But I will not let you bully me, Mr. Knight. If we do this, we talk as equals. Not as a billionaire and his employee."
May you like
A faint, long-forgotten sensation touched the corners of Matthew’s mouth. His jaw relaxed. A spark of genuine amusement flashed in his cold blue eyes.
"Agreed," Matthew said.
