

Sinful Deals

 

Sinful Deals

Chapter One – The Contract Kiss

The job posting was simple:

Personal Assistant. High confidentiality. Discretion required. Six-month contract. $500,000.

No name. No company. Just a Manhattan address.

Amara Knight stood at the mirrored elevator of a skyscraper in Midtown, her reflection too composed for how fast her heart was racing. She wore the best outfit she owned—a black pencil skirt, white blouse, red lipstick to fake confidence. It wasn’t enough.

As the elevator climbed, she ran over everything she knew. Which was almost nothing.

Her student debt was crushing. Her landlord was circling like a vulture. This was her last card. The one she didn’t know how to play.

The elevator dinged.

The doors opened to a private floor. Marble floors. Glass walls. A single black door at the end.

She walked, heels clicking like gunshots.

Knocked once.

“Come in.”

The voice was smooth. Deep. Dangerous.

She opened the door.

And stopped breathing.

Behind the desk sat Damon Kade—billionaire, tech empire CEO, ruthless, untouchable. He was younger than she expected—early thirties maybe—but every inch of him radiated power. Sharp suit. Colder eyes. And the kind of beauty that made women break vows.

“You’re early,” he said.

“I—I didn’t want to be late,” she stammered.

“You’re not what I expected.”

“Am I… what you’re looking for?”

He didn’t answer. Just stood and circled the desk.

“I need someone who doesn’t ask questions. Someone who follows orders. No complications.”

Amara straightened her spine. “I can be that.”

He stopped in front of her. “No. I don’t think you can.”

She blinked. “Then why did you let me up here?”

“Because I wanted to see what temptation looks like in heels.”

Heat flooded her cheeks.

He leaned in, voice low. “Let me make this clear, Miss Knight. This isn’t a normal job. You’ll live in my penthouse. Go where I tell you. Do what I say. And in return, I’ll pay your debt. Every last cent.”

Her throat tightened. “That sounds more like ownership than employment.”

He smirked. “Call it what you want. You’d be mine—contractually, of course.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then you walk out, and I hire someone else.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a folder. “But something tells me you won’t.”

Inside the folder: her student loan balance, her eviction notice, her unpaid hospital bill from her mother’s final days.

She gasped. “How do you—”

“I always do my research.”

She closed the folder with trembling hands.

“This is illegal,” she whispered.

“So is breathing in my world without armor. But I’m giving you a chance, Amara. One decision. One signature. One rule.”

“What rule?”

He stepped closer.

“No falling in love.”

She signed.

With trembling fingers and a soul screaming in confusion, she signed her name on the contract that felt more like a deal with the devil.

He watched her.

Not smiling. Not gloating.

Just watching.

Then he said, “Come with me.”

The penthouse was a glass castle above the city—sleek, cold, perfect. Like him.

He showed her to the guest room. “You’ll stay here. Unpack. There’s an NDA on the dresser. Sign it before morning.”

She nodded.

But before he turned to leave, he looked her dead in the eyes and said:

“If you break the rule, I break you.”

She didn’t sleep.

By 2 a.m., she was staring out at the Manhattan skyline, wondering how the hell she ended up here.

Then she heard it—music.

Soft. Haunting.

She followed it barefoot to the living room. There, in the dark, sat Damon at the grand piano. Shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, fingers ghosting over the keys.

She watched him.

He looked… human.

Broken, even.

Then he stopped.

“I said no wandering.”

“I heard music.”

He stood. Slowly.

“Come here.”

She hesitated.

He waited.

She obeyed.

“Tell me, Amara… why did you really take this job?”