The Sinner's Bargain (Contracts & Deceptions Book 2)

by Claire Contreras

  He pushed his chair back and stood. They were so close that the heat radiating off of their bodies was an inferno; the chemistry that crackled between them was way past the point of being sparks, it had turned into a pit of lava. They were submerged, and neither wanted to surface. Amara craned her head slightly to meet his eyes.

  “My point is, I know when you’re lying. If you’re going to try to screw me over, at least do it on your own watch, not when I’m paying you to do a job for me—a legal job for me, on top of the one I already bailed you out of.” His words cut deep. She felt disgusted and ashamed. Was she really doing this? To Colin, of all people? What had she become?

  Amara didn’t respond. She turned away from him and let her feet guide her to the door. She paused, her hand on the doorknob as she asked, “Did Philip know you were Nolan all along?”

  She felt him as he moved to stand behind her. His breath whispered over her ear as he leaned closer, causing goose bumps to erupt over her skin. “There are few things I love more than people who think they can’t be outsmarted, like Philip. He figured it out at some point, but by then it was too late, I was already in. The way he emphasized the word with that rasp in his voice made Amara’s heart skip. She swallowed loudly, her grip on the doorknob so firm that her knuckles were white. Colin pressed his chest to her back so that she could feel the length of him. “And for the record, Amara, you may want to figure out what side of the board you’re on, because there’s always a loser, and you may not want to be on that side when I figure out how to tear Philip’s companies apart.”

  Amara bit her lip to keep from coming undone. Her voice was quiet when she was composed enough to use it. “Are we finished?”

  “Not nearly finished, but you can go now.”

  As she opened the door, Amara didn’t have to turn around to confirm that a smile painted his lips; she had heard it in his voice. When did he become such a bastard?

  “YOU BROUGHT MY doughnuts!” The excitement in her mother’s voice broke Amara’s heart a little.

  “Bavarian Crème,” She said with a smile, setting the box aside after putting a doughnut on a napkin.

  She watched as her mother nibbled on the doughnut and wondered if she even really wanted them. Anna always asked her daughter to bring the sweets, but every time she took a bite, she’d make a face. Anna’s skin was so pale, it was surprising that her veins weren’t visible. The chemicals pumped into her body had practically made them disappear. Her arms seemed to be frail twigs just barely hanging on to the branches of her shoulders. Hell, Amara realized as she looked at her mother, wasn’t a place. Hell was seeing somebody you love breaking and not being able to do anything about it. Her hair hadn’t begun to grow back, and Amara knew it wouldn’t, not fully anyway.

  “Why do you always ask me for doughnuts if you don’t want to eat them?” she asked quietly.

  Anna’s eyes filled with unshed tears as she lowered the doughnut and looked at her daughter for a long moment. “They got the PET scan results this morning. The doctors say the cancer metastasized to the lymph nodes of my breasts, and there’s a small tumor on my right side. They also found one in my kidneys.” She shook her head and blinked a couple of times, her tears spilling down her cheeks. Amara tried not to let her own fall, but couldn’t stop them. Her heart hurt so much in that moment—more than it ever had—and Amara doubted she’d ever feel such sorrow again. “There’s nothing I can do about what’s happening to me in here,” Anna said as she patted her chest. “The chemo took my taste buds, and the radiation makes my mouth taste like metal. So no, I can’t taste the doughnut. I don’t even remember what the flavor is, but for a minute—right before I bite into it—I can imagine it. I can picture myself at eighteen, stepping foot inside of the doughnut shop for the first time and trying it. I can remember the smell, the joy I felt, and how much I enjoyed that doughnut. Today I may not be able to taste it, and more than likely I never will again, but I can remember what it felt like to eat them. I think I’m secretly hoping for the flavor to hit me one of these days, even just for a moment. It’s dumb— it’s just a doughnut— but to me, in here,” she signaled around the hospital room. “It’s everything. My beautiful daughter, who has made all of these sacrifices for me and still loves me—even after everything she’s been through and witnessed—brings me these doughnuts. I’m not going to let her down by not trying them.”

  A sob broke free from Amara’s chest, and she lurched forward in her chair, letting her head rest beside her mother’s bosom. She let herself cry openly as her mother stroked her hair softly, the way she did when she was a little girl, and later, when she was a lost teenager. Amara still hadn’t found herself—if anything she felt more lost than ever. Once the tears settled, she took a deep breath and wiped her face, bringing her eyes up to look at her mother.

  “I’m so sorry, Mommy,” she said brokenly. Amara wished so much that she could trade places with the woman in front of her. No matter what Amara had done for her mother, Anna Maloof had sacrificed much, much more.

  Anna laughed lightly through her tears. “It’s not your fault any of this is happening, Mara.”

  “I know, I just wish I could take it away,” she said feeling deflated.

  “You being here makes it tolerable. I just wish you were smiling more often, so why don’t we change that?”

  She smiled and squeezed her hand. “I love you.”

  “And I love you, but I hate seeing these fake smiles. What’s going on with Colin? Is he still marrying that floozy?”

  Amara laughed loudly, loving that her positive, gentle mother was saying something negative about somebody for once. “Floozy?”

  Anna shrugged a bony shoulder. “Well, is he? Or have you convinced him otherwise?”

  She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. “I would have to marry him. That’s what he said, anyway. He needs to get married. Even if he wasn’t set to marry her, I don’t think he trusts me enough to marry me, at this point.”

  Her mom’s eyes widened. “He said that?”

  She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. “He may as well.”

  “You haven’t told him why you went with Philip? The reason you stayed?”

  Amara shook her head as her eyes drifted to the floor.

  “You’re scared.”

  “You don’t think I should be?”

  She paused for a moment. “I think you should be terrified.”

  Her eyes flashed back to her mom’s face.

  “Sorry, my khorshid, I wish I could make this easier for you. Maybe telling Colin is your way of getting the upper hand.”

  Her eyes wandered the room as she thought about it. Philip would kill her, or maybe he would kill Colin. She wouldn’t put it past him to kill them both.

  “Mom, who does Philip work for?” There was a pregnant pause, and Amara braced herself for the answer.

  “A variety of people. His client list is a short but powerful one. I know for certain he aids the government, which is pretty ironic.”

  “Why? Because you don’t think he’s sneaky enough?”

  Her mom’s light brown eyes pinned her with a gaze that shook her. “No, because his biggest client is a terrorist.”

  Amara’s eyes widened at her words. “How do you know?”

  “Because he’s my father,” Anna whispered to her startled daughter. Anna knew the words would terrify her, but she needed Amara to understand the gravity of the situation they were in. Growing up, anything related to the sultan was kept buried under a thick rug of mystery. Her mother rarely spoke of him, and her uncle Vlady was the only one who kept in touch with the man. Any reference to her grandfather was never in lighthearted conversation, but never was it said that the sultan was a terrorist; never was it confirmed that he did anything to purposely harm anyone. Knowing she was in direct lineage with someone who wielded such power made a shiver rock through Amara. Her knowledge of terrorism began and ended on September 11, when one of her friend’s fathers die
d in the horrific attack.

  “That’s crazy,” she said after a long moment lost in thought. “Does he bomb people?”

  Anna’s lips twisted uneasily. “As far as I know, his reasons for killing have nothing to do with religious beliefs. I’m sure some of the people he employs follow that code, but the sultan—he follows his own. He’s very vindictive and purposeful. He preys on the weak and uses them as a means to a higher end.”

  “Like?” Amara prompted.

  Her mother shook her head and sighed. “I don’t know, Amara. I left that life a long time ago. I don’t keep up with his doings. Even when I lived there I didn’t really know what went on; he never spoke to me about anything, I was only one of the daughters his wives birthed, after all. The United States government, though —he has many ties with them.”

  “Philip told me there are files in that account. Files a lot of people want their hands on. I think maybe grandfa…” she cringed and stopped herself from saying the word. “Do you think the sultan lost trust in Philip? And maybe that’s why somebody is out there looking for me to get to that stupid account?” Her words were hushed, having long been warned not to talk about the situation openly. Even in the hospital, her mother was paranoid that somebody could be spying on them.

  “The sultan doesn’t trust anybody,” Anna said, her eyes distant. “I’ve witnessed him order beheadings over missing slippers. I can’t imagine he would trust anybody, not even Philip, with something of this magnitude.”

  “I still don’t understand why my name is on that account. He doesn’t even know me.”

  “No, but he knows me, and that’s enough for him.”

  “What do you have to do with anything?”

  “I’m the only one of his daughters that left Iran. I’m the only one who disobeyed him and got away with it—more than just got away with it—I left with the one person he forbid me to be with. Philip somehow was able to get me some money.”

  “Why would your dad give you money, knowing you were leaving?”

  She reached out to hold Amara’s hand. “Your grandmother talked him into it and I guess he figured it would be best to get rid of me. And now we have this issue. I guess it’s been brewing for as many years as I’ve been gone, but as big as this account is, he had it set up so that it can’t be traced back to him..”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because if there is anything at all that could prosecute anybody …it’s in there, and it’s under your name. My daughter. My father knows how to hurt people, Amara. It’s what he’s good at. He knew what he was doing when he set up that account, and he thinks he’s going to burn me when the time comes.”

  Amara blanched. She could feel her veins pumping rapidly inside her body, her heart jittering in her chest. “So basically, I’m completely fucked,” she whispered.

  Her mother offered her a small, careful smile. “No, sweetheart, power can only get you so far, but what’s power without heart? The way I see it, in this case, we have both. We just have to be smart about what we do with it.”

  AMARA’S PHONE HAD been chiming non-stop all morning, refusing to let her focus on the things she was supposed to be working on. To make matters worse, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of Colin’s office, unable to shake the memories of the last conversation they’d had in there. She told herself to stop thinking about it, but every time she drifted into a daydream, it was about his breath on her neck, his eyes on her cleavage, or his kisses trailing over her jaw. Amara’s body shivered in remembrance, the arousal between her legs growing with each memory. At the sound of yet another chime, she shook the thoughts out of her head. She needed to focus. When she looked at her phone, she expected to see another reminder on her calendar or another email from the company Colin had asked her to send the latest contract to, but instead, saw his name and unlocked her screen with a frown.

  Colin: Did Lisbeth tell you about tonight’s event?

  Amara: No.

  Colin: I need you to stay late tonight. We have a cocktail hour at 6:30.

  Amara: Here?

  Colin: Yes, one floor down, the space is right next to accounting.

  She sighed, putting the phone back on the desk and looking down at the white shirt she wore tucked into a pink, knee length skirt. It was definitely not something she wanted to wear to a cocktail party. Amara decided to take her lunch hour at home so she could change clothes and freshen up. Maybe it would give her the burst of energy she needed to get her through the day.

  Amara: I’ll be there.

  Colin: I know.

  She rolled her eyes at his response and muttered, “Of course you do,” as she tucked her thick hair behind her ear and focused on answering emails. At noon, Amara pushed her chair back and collected her things. She looked behind her, at Colin’s closed door, and wondered if she should try to look through his things one last time, but then thought better of it when she remembered Brandon was holed inside his office. He’d probably take that moment to step out.

  Amara went home, showered, and changed into a knee-length dress that was classic black, but ruched at the waist and tailored to accentuate her hips. It was one of her favorite dresses, even though she’d only worn it once before. Hurrying now, Amara slipped into her heels, reapplied her make-up, and brushed her long, dark hair, letting it fall over her back in luminous waves. After a final look in the mirror, she headed back to the office.

  As time ticked on, Amara started to get nervous about the cocktail hour. She should have asked for more information. She figured it was an employees-only kind of thing, but what if it wasn’t? Would Nancy, Colin’s mom be there? Would Molly be there? Did she still work at Wolfe or had she quit when Colin proposed? As soon as six-thirty rolled around, Amara shut her computer off and walked downstairs, anxious to make an appearance so she could leave. The hallway rug muted her heels as she walked toward the accounting office. Amara had only been to that floor a couple of times to small talk with Lisbeth, but the sounds of boisterous voices led her to the right room.

  The large space had wide, open doors and tall tables set up around the room. Employees were congregated in groups, most with drinks in their hands as they talked and laughed. Amara’s eyes skirted around the room, relieved when she spotted Lisbeth and Brandon—the only friendly faces she knew in the sea of strangers. Lisbeth smiled as she approached.

  “You look so pretty,” Lisbeth complimented as Amara stopped to stand beside her.

  “Likewise,” Amara said, returning her smile.

  “Did you go home and change?” Brandon asked as he walked up.

  “Yeah, I didn’t really want to wear pink to a cocktail party. I wasn’t sure what the rules were.”

  “Oh, honey, there are no rules,” Liz said, laughing as she sipped on her drink.

  “Maybe a two-drink minimum rule though,” Brandon said, his eyes crinkling in a smile as he tapped his wine glass with Lisbeth’s.

  Liz laughed. “Yeah, maybe that. You want a glass of wine?”

  “Sure,” Amara said with a shrug.

  Brandon stood beside Amara and people-watched as he nursed his wine.

  “So it’s a company party only, right?”

  “Pretty much. We like to keep it sporadic. I’m pretty sure John came up with this yesterday afternoon.”

  “Who’s John?” Amara asked looking around. Liz returned and handed Amara a glass of red wine. She was glad to have something to do with her hands.

  “John is my boyyyyfriend,” Liz answered in a low voice that was above a whisper, below a shout, definitely louder than she intended.

  “You are such a lightweight,” Brandon said with a chuckle.

  “I know,” Liz whined.

  “What department does he work in?”

  “He’s the head of accounting,” Brandon answered as Liz ran off in the direction of someone she wanted to speak to.

  “An accountant that likes to party. That’s cool,” Amara said, smiling.

  Brandon raised his
eyebrows with a smile. “It seems this entire company likes to party.”

  Amara smiled, not knowing what to say. She didn’t know very many people, but Colin wasn’t much of a partier.

  “There he is, the man of the hour,” Brandon said, breaking into Amara’s thoughts. Her eyes snapped up to the door where Colin stood, taking her breath away. He was wearing a white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms, and blue pants. His wavy hair was in its usual, organized disarray, the way only he could pull off. Colin smiled as he greeted everyone; the side of his mouth was pleated in a grin, the lines nearly hidden under the beard on his face that filled in more each day. Amara didn’t like facial hair, but his was well-kempt and looked ….decidedly sexy. She found herself smiling with him, his laugh contagious. Amara’s smile faltered when she noticed the woman beside him. Clad in a red, knee-length dress, her blonde hair piled up into an up-do that matched her impeccable make up, was Molly. She wasn’t an extraordinary woman—wasn’t beautiful—but she had a smile that radiated confidence.

  Molly walked forward, greeting one of the women standing by the door and flashed the ring on her left hand in the process. The engagement ring. Even from where she stood, Amara could make out the huge rock on her finger. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply to keep her stomach from heaving. The thought of him picking out a ring for another woman and his ensuing proposal made her feel sick. His proposal. How had he asked her? Had he gotten down on one knee? Did he take her to a fancy restaurant or plan a picnic? Did he ask her beneath the stars? Amara forced herself to stop thinking about it. She had to shut the thoughts out of her brain before she lost control.

  “You okay?” Brandon asked quietly.

  Amara looked at him and nodded with a small smile. “How long do we have to stay?”

  “You ready to run off?”

  She nodded again, suddenly not feeling like using her voice. Despite the warning bells ringing in her head, Amara looked back toward Colin, his eyes finding hers. He looked surprised for a moment, as if he were startled by seeing her. Perhaps he was too busy paying attention to his fiancée to think about Amara. He had to be aware of the way her heart felt like it was being stomped on with every minute she remained in the room. She wanted to run—wanted to let the wine glass fall from her hands and run out of there as fast as she could, but Colin’s eyes, the intensity in them as they blazed, locked on hers and kept Amara rooted in place.