The Devil's Contract

by Claire Contreras

  She stilled in his arms when he shifted.

  “Will you come back to me?” he murmured. Amara froze for a moment before turning around to face him. His eyes were closed and his breathing was even. He’d fallen asleep. She bit down on her lip to keep it from quivering.

  “Always,” she whispered.

  Amara stood up and dressed as she watched him. She memorized the way his chest raised and fell slowly, and the way his lips parted into a peaceful little smile. She felt a smile spread over her face as she looked at him, wondering what he dreamt about. She hoped it was about her. Tears cascaded down her face before she could control them.

  Of course she would miss fucking him, but it was more than that. She would miss his late night calls about infomercials, him smelling her hair and twirling his fingers around it as he fell asleep beside her, his funny sense of humor, the way he spoke about his job, the way he commanded a room when he stood in it, his eyes, the way he smiled when she was speaking to him. A loud sob escaped her. She loved that man—loved him with everything she had. She would always love him. Even if he moved on, which would be inevitable, Amara never could.

  She scribbled down a note before walking out of the door, and out of his life. When she stepped into the elevator, she sagged against the wall and sobbed loudly, uncontrollably. Tears fell, matching the broken pieces of her heart. They stayed in that elevator, in that building. She left her happiness behind that day.

  EVERY NERVE ENDING in Amara’s body hummed with anticipation as she looked around Grand Central Station. She glanced at the large clock, wondering how many eyes before hers had looked at that same hand as it ticked and tocked on its endless journey. The longer Amara watched it, the more she felt as though her life was hanging on the balance of one of those clock hands. As she waited, watching the passengers scurry to and from their trains, it dawned on Amara that she was away, but never far, from commotion. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d liked to sit and watch things from the sideline. She’d been a cheerleader, and could have been captain, but had chosen to give up the ranking to a friend because she hadn’t liked being in the spotlight.

  When Amara was told she would win Homecoming Queen, she almost didn’t go to the dance, because she knew that everybody’s eyes would be on her for the fifteen minutes of the announcements. Amara was good at pretending, though. No one would have ever guessed she’d felt that way inside.

  The buzzing phone in her lap made Amara jump out of her thoughts. Colin. She saw his name and gasped, rapidly scanning the immense platform, just in case she’d been spotted. Amara didn’t have much time before Vivienne was scheduled to arrive, and would rather not have to answer any questions. She was so distracted by the picture of a smiling Colin on her phone screen, that she didn’t notice the man walk up to her until she heard the chair beside her move against the marble floor.

  Amara looked up, and when she did, she was met with eyes as clear as the sky on a cloudless day. Her body shifted slightly backward in response. She hadn’t expected Philip to be there. Her amber eyes scanned the platform again, in search of Vivienne.

  “She didn’t come. It’s only me,” Philip said.

  Her phone buzzed again. An incoming text message. She looked down long enough to see Colin’s name on her screen before turning the phone over on her lap.

  “Okay,” Amara said, trying to ignore her nervousness. She didn’t know what to expect from Philip, but she was glad to be in a public place.

  He extended his hand. “Good to see you again, Amara.”

  Amara’s eyes shot from his face to his hand and back again. He offered her a small smile that made him look like he was hiding secrets. Normally, she would have just taken his hand, but her mind was still reeling from the surprise of seeing him there, and she was also distracted by wanting to read Colin’s text messages. She doubted that Colin realized she’d been serious when she broke up with him and she was anticipating his anger.

  Philip dropped his hand and shook his head with a silent chuckle. “We do not need to get off on the wrong foot,” he said.

  Amara narrowed her eyes. “I believe you’re five years too late on that account.”

  He smiled at her and laughed as if she was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Amara wanted to punch him. “You’re funny,” he stated, still smiling.

  “You’re not,” she said.

  Philip nodded, seemingly enjoying their conversation, or lack thereof. “Well, nonetheless, I have a contract that states I own you for the next two years.”

  His words made a shiver crawl down her spine. “I’m not a piece of property,” Amara said, raising her chin and pulling her shoulders back.

  Philip tilted his face, his lips twisting as if though in thought. “You signed on the dotted line, did you not? Was it explained to you what the contract entailed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not having sex with clients,” she blurted out, moving forward in her seat as she took the manila envelope she’d been carrying and shoved it at his chest.

  Philip threw his head back with a laugh. The amusement was clear in his eyes when he looked at her again. “Did you read the contract?” he asked very slowly, as if speaking to a child.

  Amara stopped breathing. She’d spoken to Vivienne, leafed through the pages, called her father, and was in such a huff when she hung up as she thought about her mother that... she’d forgotten to go back over it in its entirety. She gasped loudly as horror filled her lungs. “Oh my God... but...”

  Philip clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, making a sound of disapproval as he shook his head. “Rule number one, Ms. Maloof, you always read what you’re signing. I’m shocked your father didn’t teach you that.”

  Philip didn’t sound shocked, of course, he sounded like he was enjoying her ignorance. Amara tore open the yellow envelope and took out the contract with desperate, shaky hands. She began leafing through it, her wide eyes meeting Philip’s over every page as she read. When she got to page six, her mouth dropped. There it was: Article IX: No Sexual Relations with Clients*. A damn asterisk! Her eyes dropped to the bottom of the page. “**Unless Méchant Agencies requests employee to do so, in which case, employee must comply.” Should employee have specific concerns about this article, she may request permission to not comply.”

  Amara felt her face flush with fury. She slammed the papers on the seat between them. “You set me up!”

  “Au contraire,” Philip replied. “You set yourself up. You agreed.”

  He shrugged at the obvious, while Amara fought for control of her emotions. She didn’t know what to do—what to think—what to say. He was right. She signed without reading.

  “Okay,” Amara said, blowing out a breath as she tried to calm herself down. “Okay... my boyfriend...”

  “Is no longer your boyfriend,” Philip finished.

  Amara tore her eyes away from his face and looked at the papers on the table. She blinked a couple of times and focused on her breathing, trying not to cry. Not in front of Philip. He’d probably get off on her crying, and the last thing she wanted was to bring another creepy smile to his face.

  “If we come to an agreement,” she started.

  “He wouldn’t be part of it,” Philip countered.

  She brought her eyes to his, pleading with him, hoping he would see how much she needed this sliver of her current life. He shook his head.

  “Absolutely no relationships,” he said. “The contract says so, and you agreed. Or were you oblivious to that as well?”

  The tone in his voice made her feel as though she’d been punched. “I know I agreed to that,” she gritted out. “He’s a friend of mine.”

  “That you sleep with. Often.”

  Amara’s eyes flickered to his. “He’s still a friend. I wanted to see if we could come to an agreement.”

  “I can agree to many things, ma chére,” he said. “A relationship isn’t one of them. Boyfriends complicate things.
They get jealous; women begin to feel guilty for doing their job, and it’s a job that pays remarkably well and has many perks, as you know. No boyfriend.”

  “He won’t even know what I’m doing. I don’t even know what I’m doing!” she emphasized. He grinned at that—a malicious twist of his lips that made Amara’s hands begin to shake again.

  “I know. That’ll soon change,” he said, opening his obviously expensive briefcase and handing her a white envelope. “Here are your tickets. Your flight is tonight. A driver will pick you up in,” he glanced at his enormous watch. “Three hours.” He looked down and saw her suitcase. “Is that all you are taking?”

  Her hand reached down to touch the handle of her weekend bag. “Vivienne said to pack lightly.”

  He nodded. “I like a woman that follows directions. We should work together just fine, Amara. Do yourself a favor and read the papers I gave you. Your passport and flight ticket are also in there.”

  She swallowed loudly and nodded in agreement, trying once more to reason with him. “Philip, my friend...” she said again, pleading.

  Philip let out a harsh breath and rolled his eyes towards the heavens. “Mr. Wolfe will be fine, Ms. Maloof. I’m sure he will take the opportunity to screw all the single women in Manhattan and move on just fine.”

  Amara’s lip trembled and tears spilled cruelly. His words cut her deeply. “Why are you saying this to me?” she whispered.

  He exhaled. “Everybody gets their heart torn at one... or several... points in their life. I’m assuming this is your first real heartache, as is his. You’re both young, you’re both naïve, and you think the world is at your feet. You’re wrong. The world will never grovel for your love; it will take it and spit it back in your face. It’s best you learn that from a young age.”

  A sob escaped her. “My mother’s brain tumor isn’t the world spitting it back in my face? My father’s gambling addiction? Me signing a contract with... the devil,” she spit out, shaking with rage. “Isn’t enough? Hurting someone I love and in turn, living with a broken heart myself... that isn’t the world spitting back in my face? What did I ever do to deserve this?”

  The side of Philip’s lip curled up. “You didn’t do anything. That’s the lovely thing about this world, Ms. Maloof. As soon as we’re born, the world is trying to find ways to spit us back out of its system.”

  AMARA WALKED BACK to her apartment in a hurry, she knew she didn’t have much time left and, as usual, she’d forgotten to pack some important things, including underwear and her favorite sweater. The sweater was one that Colin had given her. He’d worn it in college, and she used to always steal it and wear it around the house. If she had to leave all of her belongings and just take that one damn sweater, she would do it, because that sweater smelled and felt like home to her. Running up the steps to the second floor, she used her key in the door, only to realize it was already unlocked. Her heart began to pound as she pushed the door open slowly, her feet still in the hallway. She had accidentally left her door unlocked a couple of times before, so it wasn’t completely impossible, but something felt off. She could feel somebody inside her apartment. She contemplated leaving the sweater behind, and would have, but her eyes caught the keys sitting on the kitchen counter. Colin.

  Amara stepped in and dropped the suitcase beside the door before heading to her room. Leaning against the doorframe, she crossed her legs at the ankles and looked her fill at a sleeping Colin. Who knows how long he’d been there. She looked at the time and figured he had let himself in during his lunch break and had fallen asleep as he waited for her to return. She could have gone. She should have, but she couldn’t. Amara slipped off her shoes, aware she didn’t have much time before the car picked her up. She walked over to the bed, lifted his arm up and shimmied under it. Colin stirred and squeezed her tightly to him.

  “You’re back,” he whispered against her hair. “I brought you lunch.”

  She closed her eyes. “I’m leaving today.”

  He pulled his arm back and sat up beside her, but Amara didn’t move until he pushed her onto her back. His dark hair was messy and pointing in all different directions, his hazel eyes narrowing on hers.

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  She wanted to look away, but the intensity in his eyes forced her to hold his gaze. He pinned her arms down as he adjusted his body over hers, and loosened his necktie. His gaze flickered over to the clock on the nightstand before finding hers again.

  “I’m late for work,” he said.

  “I figured. How long have you been here?”

  “A couple of hours. I called you when I was on my way. Where were you?”

  She looked away, finally. “I had some things I needed to do.”

  He lowered his head and nipped her chin with his teeth. “Mara, tell me where you were.”

  “I had to meet with Philip so he could give me some stuff.”

  “Do you think you can transfer to the headquarters here soon?”

  Amara sighed. “Two years in Paris, Colin. We talked about this.”

  He moved to sit beside her and she sat up to face him.

  “No, Amara. YOU talked about it. You said this was over. I never agreed to that.”

  “This...” she shook her head. “This has never been official. You know that!”

  The veins on his arms bulged from the tight grip he had on the sheets underneath them. “You know that’s bullshit! Just because we never made us official doesn’t mean we’re not.”

  Amara tried to regain her composure. She tried to remain completely blank, but she could feel herself crumbling. She knew that if she stayed any longer, she would say whatever he wanted her to, just to make him feel better. She looked away from his tortured gaze and focused on the light seeping in from the crack of the door.

  “We’re not.” She was being defiant, she sounded stubborn, and felt ungrateful, but she didn’t know what else to do.

  “Look at me,” Colin said. His voice was rough.

  Amara couldn’t look at him, not right now. She looked at the painting on the wall. It was her take on The Starry Night, which she’d painted months ago and had framed recently.

  “Amara... look at me. If you’ve ever fucking felt anything for me, you would look at me right now.”

  She met his gaze as he cupped her cheek with his hand, brushing his fingers along her jaw.

  “Tell me this isn’t real,” he said in the low voice that always twisted Amara’s insides. He inched closer to her so that his bent knee touched hers. “Tell me what we have is just sex,” he said, pressing his lips lightly on hers before backing away to look at her. He dragged his hand over her breasts and down to her stomach. “Tell me I don’t make you feel something here,” he said, tracing his fingertips along the hem of her shirt. She shivered as he touched her skin. He leaned into her and sucked on her neck, making a trail up to the skin behind her ear. “Tell me, baby,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “Tell me this is only physical. Tell me you only call me late at night because you want my dick and not my attention.”

  The last thing she wanted was to be turned on by his words. She wanted to prove him wrong and walk out to lessen the pain they would both feel when she was gone, but she couldn’t fight him when he had his lips on her like that.

  “You’re my friend,” Amara said lamely.

  “Am I?” he asked as he continued to tease her, his lips traveling across her chest, her collarbone, tasting any skin he could reach.

  “Yes,” she gasped when he stretched her shirt up and over her breasts, pulling a nipple into his mouth. “My best friend.”

  “Your best friend now, huh?” he said, biting her lightly.

  She made a sound letting him know she agreed with that, but couldn’t think after he pushed a hand into her pants and began to rub on her clit.

  “So if I stop giving you orgasms, you’ll still call me in the middle of the night? Since I’m your best friend,” he asked, increasing his r
hythm on her sensitive bud.

  Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she began to pivot her hips so that his fingers could just finish the job. “Yes, yes!”

  “Yes?” he asked, fingers working her clit furiously as she climaxed.

  Colin stood abruptly and stripped off her pants. Fully dressed, he opened the fly of his black dress pants before sitting back down on the bed, freeing himself from the confines of his briefs. Colin pulled Amara to him, placing her directly over his cock and sliding her down on it. Her walls were still clenching and she gripped him tightly as she sank down onto his shaft. Colin groaned, burying his face into her neck.

  “Jesus Christ this feels too fucking good,” he growled as he thrust up to meet her movement.

  “We’re not supposed to be doing this right now,” Amara said, grinding on him roughly as she pulled on his hair.

  “Because you’re leaving,” he said, kneading her ass.

  “Yes,” she gasped, arching her back as his soft lips found her breasts.

  “You’re going to call me when you get over there,” he said.

  “No,” she countered.

  When he gripped her hips and lifted her completely off of him, Amara whimpered at the loss. She was so close again. “Yes, you are.”

  “Colin!” she said, pressing against him. She tugged his hair harder with one hand as the other tucked between them, finding his erection. Amara wrapped her fingers around his length and began to work him, hoping they would finish before she had to leave. “Please.”

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, Colin flipped Amara onto her back and pushed into her with one deep thrust that had his knees buckling in pleasure.

  “Holy shit,” he said with a groan. “I can’t live without this, Amara.”