Bound by Contract to the Alpha Chapter 17

Dominic's POV

I watched her from behind my desk, enjoying the way she shifted uncomfortably in the chair across from me. Her scent filled my office—a complex mixture of anxiety, desperation, and that distinctive sweetness that had haunted me since our first encounter at the bar. My wolf stirred beneath my skin, responding to her presence.

"I just need a job," she insisted. "Something that pays enough to help with the medical bills. I'll work hard, I promise."

"A noble sentiment," I said, dropping my voice to a lower register, watching her pupils dilate further. "But let's be realistic. Your father's treatment will cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. Even if I hired you as an executive assistant—which, forgive me, you're not qualified for—it would take years to earn enough."

I watched as the reality of her situation sank in, her shoulders slumping slightly, her scent shifting to include notes of despair.

"Then what do you suggest?" she asked, her voice small.

I could smell her fear—and beneath it, a hint of arousal she was desperately trying to suppress. The mate bond between us vibrated like a plucked string, urging me to claim her, to mark her as mine. I tamped down the instinct, focusing instead on the business at hand.

"I can pay for your father's entire treatment," I said, watching hope bloom in her eyes. "Every penny."

Her breath caught, and for a moment, naked relief washed over her features. Then suspicion narrowed her eyes. "And what would you want in return?"

I leaned closer, deliberately invading her personal space. "You. As my companion until I take my place as Alpha."

Her scent spiked with shock and outrage. Delicious.

"In what capacity, exactly?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

I reached out, catching her chin between my thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look directly into my eyes. "You would live in my private villa. You would be available to me whenever I desire. You would wear what I choose, eat what I provide, and warm my bed at night."

She jerked away from my touch, her cheeks flushing with anger as she shot to her feet. "You want me to be your whore? That's your proposition?"

"I prefer 'exclusive companion,'" I replied smoothly. "But call it what you will."

---

The audacity of my proposal had clearly ignited her temper. I found her anger far more appealing than her fear—the way her eyes flashed, her chest heaved, her scent sharpened with indignation.

"That's the most degrading offer I've ever heard," she spat. "I came here for a job, not to be your... your plaything!"

I didn't bother hiding my amusement at her outburst, which only seemed to infuriate her further.

"It's a simple transaction," I said, my voice maddeningly calm. "I get what I want. You get what you need."

"I need my dignity," she shot back.

"Dignity won't save your father." My words cut through her indignation like a knife. "And let's not pretend there's no precedent between us. You gave yourself to me quite willingly that night at the hotel. This is merely... extending that arrangement."

Her face burned with humiliation. "That was different. I was drunk, hurt—"

"And quite enthusiastic," I interrupted, my eyes darkening with the memory. "As you were in my car last night."

She looked like she wanted to slap me. "That was a mistake. Both times."

"Your body says otherwise." My voice dropped to a husky whisper as I closed the distance between us again. "I can smell your response to me. Your heart races when I'm near. Your pupils dilate. Your skin flushes." I brushed my hand against her arm, feeling her tremble. "You want me as much as I want you."

"What I want is a job," she insisted, her voice trembling. "Give me that instead. I'll work as many hours as it takes. I'll pay back every cent with interest."

I laughed, low and without humor. "Do you have any marketable skills that would justify me paying you hundreds of thousands of dollars? Are you an expert in corporate law? Finance? Pack politics?"

I could see the conflict playing across her face—the desperate need to help her father warring with her pride and self-respect. Her knees appeared to weaken, and I knew it wasn't just from fear or anger. There was something about our connection that affected her on a level she couldn't explain or control.

"I need... time to think," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

I caught her wrist, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingers. "Your father doesn't have time, Rebecca. You said yourself his condition is deteriorating daily."

The mention of her father brought reality crashing back for her. I could see it in her eyes—the painful awareness that her father was suffering while she hesitated.

"There must be another way," she said, desperation creeping into her voice.

"There isn't." My tone was final. "This is my offer. Take it or leave it."

She looked up at me, searching my face for any sign of compassion, any indication that I might bend. I kept my expression resolute, my eyes like steel.

"I need a day to think about it," she said, clearly trying to buy herself time, space to breathe outside my overwhelming presence.

My eyes narrowed, and for a moment I considered refusing. Then I released her wrist and stepped back. She needed to come to me willingly—or at least with the illusion of choice.

"You have until tomorrow. Same time," I said, my tone leaving no room for negotiation on this point. "But know this, Rebecca—this offer expires then. Your father's condition won't improve while you deliberate."

The cruel reminder of her father's deteriorating health made her stomach visibly tighten. She nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak.

"A reminder," I said, my voice rough with desire, "of what you're considering giving up if you refuse."

She stepped back, her legs unsteady, her thoughts clearly in chaos. Without another word, she fled my office.

As the door closed behind her, I returned to my desk, adjusting my suddenly too-tight trousers. The mate bond thrummed with energy, stronger now after our physical contact. It would be so much easier if I could simply ignore it, pretend she was just another human, useful for a time and then discarded.

But I couldn't. Even now, with her gone from the room, I could feel her—a pull in my chest, an awareness of her presence as she descended in the elevator, moved through the lobby, stepped out onto the street.

I turned to stare out the window, watching as Rebecca's small figure emerged from the building below. She paused at the corner, her shoulders slumped, and I knew she was weighing her options, calculating angles, searching for a way out of the trap life had set for her.

There was none. Her father's condition, her limited resources, her lack of connections—all of these had delivered her directly to me. It wasn't a coincidence; it was fate.

My father had always said that true mates found each other, no matter the obstacles. I had dismissed it as romantic nonsense after Caroline's betrayal. But now, watching Rebecca's determined stride as she crossed the street, I wondered if perhaps there was some truth to the old legends after all.

Not that it mattered. Mate or not, Rebecca Brown would soon be mine. The arrangements would need to be made quickly—the villa prepared, her belongings moved, the payment for her father's treatment organized.

By this time tomorrow, she would be in my home, in my bed.