I can pay off my student loans. I’ll get Mom into a decent apartment, one where the roof doesn’t leak when the snow melts. And when the time comes, I’ll be able to pay for whatever treatments might help me, even if they’re experimental. Until that happens, I can travel, see things—really see them—before the lights go out for good.
All I have to do is survive three months with Bastian Hale.
I pull out my phone and open the email app.
After careful consideration, I accept your terms. Ninety days, as discussed. I’ll expect the contract by tomorrow morning.
I hit send, then immediately want to throw up. What am I doing? Making a deal with the devil, that’s what. A devil who makes Gordon Ramsay look like a teddy bear.
My phone pings. That can’t be him, right? It’s been thirty seconds.
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