Chapter 3 ***HIS PROPOSAL***

Flora's POV

The woman in the blazer looked like she had sprinted the entire length of the building to get here. Her chest was heaving, file clutched, her eyes wide like she had just seen a ghost.

Tyler's gaze shifted to her, his face contracting into a frown.

"What are you talking about?" His voice dropped, disappointment very evident in his tone.

The woman sucked in a breath. "I didn't—the one contracted for the arrangement was Flora Gina Morgan, not—" she gestured at me with her file, briefly and unapologetically, "— this one."

"Well." I raised my hand slightly. "That's certainly not me."

"Exactly." She nodded, grateful someone was helping her explain. "The confusion was caused by the matching names, and the hair—they're both blonde and of similar height. Except—" She glanced at me, then back to Tyler. "The other Flora is more—" She shaped something vague in the air with her hand.

"Curvy." She finished.

I stared at her. "I'm sorry, did you just —"

"They looked alike too at first.” She glanced at me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. "Though looking at her again, she does look rather different from the other Flora. A bit dehydrated, honestly."

Tyler made a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. He pressed two fingers to his mouth, eyes briefly bright with something could be mistaken for amusement.

"The real Flora Morgan," the woman pressed on, "called twenty minutes ago. She's been in an accident. She's been hospitalised and won't be able to continue with the contract." She straightened her file. "I'm deeply sorry for the confusion, Mr. Sinclair. I'll reach out to the agency to source an alternative—"

"Get out." Tyler said.

The woman blinked. "Sir—"

He raised two fingers toward the door without even looking at her.

She went out, and the door clicked shut leaving just the two of us. Tyler's eyes moved to me slowly, and honestly in that moment, I felt like I was standing in the same room as a predator.

I crossed my arms. "Well…this has been a very weird afternoon. I'm going to go find my room now—"

"SIT DOWN." His voice echoed through the room.

"I'd really rather—"

"SIT. DOWN." Something in his tone pulled at the back of my knees in a way I deeply resented.

"You," he said, leaning back in his chair and looking at me with his chin slightly lowered, "are going to take the offer."

I let out a short laugh. "I really, genuinely am not—"

"I've already told my parents what my girlfriend looks like." He continued, as if he had already made a decision and was just filling me in. "Blonde, light eyes." His gaze moved over me briefly. "You share enough physical similarities to pass as her." He tilted his head. "And you're already here."

"I'm here because I thought I was going to get my room key, I didn't sign up for whatever this is—"

"Are you always this dramatic?"

"Are you always this insufferable?"

"You're stubborn," he said, raising an eyebrow. “It thrills me.”

"And you're a jerk, but here we both are." I picked up my bag from the floor. "I appreciate the very strange afternoon, Mr. Sinclair but I'm leaving now."

I crossed the room quickly, and when I got to the door, I stopped and turned back. "By the way—I don't even find you attractive." I said, glancing over him. "So whatever you think you're doing with the whole—" I gestured vaguely at him, "— this. It's not working, you're not my type."

Something shifted in his expression, and he stood up. He came around the desk without any urgency and stopped directly in front of me.

I had to tilt my head slightly to look up at him.

“I said you’re not my type,” I reminded him.

“I heard you.”

He didn't move. Neither did I.

His scent reached me, clean and warm, and suddenly I was far too aware of how little space there was between us.

“Then why are you standing so close?” I asked, my fingers clutching the hand of my bag.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“You're the one who said I wasn't attractive.”

“I did.” “So you shouldn't be bothered.”

His hand came up, the back of his fingers brushing my jaw before tracing slowly along the line of my face. A humiliating little sound escaped me. His eyes dropped briefly to my lips, then returned to mine.

“Still not your type?”

I swallowed. “Absolutely not.”

A cocky smile tugged at his lips.

“Indeed.”

I took a full step backward, straightened my bag on my shoulder, and turned toward the door.

My heart was pounding as my gaze dropped, once again, to the irresistibly huge bulge in his joggers.

“Auren Beauty.”

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“One of the top three cosmetics brands in the country. I’ll get you a twelve-month modeling contract on top of the monthly payment.” He paused for a moment.

“Which remains at fifty thousand.”

I stared at the door in front of me.

Auren Beauty. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, but somehow I couldn't get myself to agree.

I heard him move, then something landed softly in my open bag. I looked down, it was his card.

"You have two days to decide." He said, turning back to his desk.

I stared at the card sitting in my bag.

I thought about what it would mean to come back from this—on the arm of the most recognizable face in the NHL, with an Auren campaign behind me and enough money to clear my debt and rebuild everything from the ground up.

I thought about Sean seeing it, then I remembered his face, denying me and kissing that girl in front of the whole world.

But I was done, done being moved around by men with pretty faces. Done making myself useful to people who had already decided what I was worth before I walked through their door.

Tyler Sinclair could keep his fifty thousand dollars and his Auren contract for all I care.

I tossed the card at his feet.

“Fifty thousand dollars still won't make me your girlfriend.” Then I walked out.