The contract sat on my kitchen counter like it had wandered into the wrong apartment and was too embarrassed to leave.
I hadn't even taken my shoes off yet. My tote was still hanging off one shoulder, my blazer half-slid down my arm, and I stood there staring at the gold-lettered folder like it might explode if I blinked.
CONFIDENTIAL — PERSONAL AGREEMENT
Adrian Cole
My name printed neatly beneath it.
I picked it up again, just to make sure I hadn't hallucinated it the first time. Nope. Still there. Still fancy. Still terrifying.
"This… isn't real," I muttered.
I set it down. Picked it up. Set it down again. Like that would change anything.
The rest of HR's onboarding paperwork sat nearby—tax forms, emergency contact sheet, employee handbook. All normal. All sane. All expected.
But this contract?
This thing did not belong.
I wasn't a lawyer, but I knew enough to tell this was a level of formality that did not come with entry-level marketing jobs. The paper was thick enough to double as a weapon. The embossing caught the overhead light like it was proud of itself.
I should've ignored it.
I should've thrown it back in the folder, closed it, and pretended I'd never seen it.
But of course I didn't do that. Of course I sat at my tiny table, shoved aside a stack of unopened bills, and opened the thing like my life wasn't about to get infinitely more complicated.
Inside, the first page wasn't a contract at all.
It was a nondisclosure agreement.
A very intense nondisclosure agreement.
My gaze skimmed over phrases like:
Non-public personal information
Private representation
Public conduct expectations
Temporary arrangement
Internal discretion mandatory
My heartbeat kicked up.
"What the hell…"
I flipped to the next page, then the next. A lot of it was dense, vague language. Legal fog. But one line jumped out at me:
The signee agrees to temporarily assume the role of partner for public appearances as required.
My mouth went dry.
Partner.
As in… romantic partner?
I shook my head hard. "Nope. Nope. I did not read that. That is not meant for me."
I flipped to the end.
There was a blank line for the signature of the signee.
Under it: LENA HART.
The room suddenly felt too warm. Or I was overheating. Hard to tell.
My phone buzzed.
I flinched so hard the contract almost slid off the table.
A text popped up from Nina:
Nina: How's the new fancy job?? Already rich?? Did the CEO adopt you yet???
I stared at the message, then at the contract again.
If I told Nina any of this, she'd show up at my apartment with popcorn and a conspiracy board.
Me: Still processing my day. Will call you later.
Before I could hit send, another text arrived.
A different number this time. Unknown.
Unknown: Ms. Hart, this is Elise from Mr. Cole's office. Please confirm you received all onboarding materials.
My stomach dropped.
Of course. Of course the universe wanted to test if I could handle a crisis on day one.
I typed slowly:
Me: Hi. Yes, I received everything from HR.Then, because I could not help myself:I think there might be a document in the packet that wasn't meant for me.
Three dots appeared immediately, blinking like they were tapping their foot at me.
Elise: Which document?
I didn't want to send a picture. Screenshots of documents labeled CONFIDENTIAL felt like a fast track to being fired before I even started.
Me: Something that looks like it belongs to the executive floor. It's labeled "Personal Agreement."
Elise: Do not read anything further. I'll inform Mr. Cole. Expect a call from him shortly.
A call?
From him?
My pulse jumped so quickly I had to sit down again.
Me: Is that necessary? I can just bring it back on Monday. It's fine.
Elise: He will call you.
That didn't sound like an option. It sounded like a courtroom verdict.
Okay. Okay. I could handle a call. I was an adult. I had a job now. Adults handled things.
Even terrifying things.
Even phone calls with CEOs whose names were printed in gold on contracts meant for someone else.
My phone rang.
I nearly threw it.
His name wasn't on the screen—just another unknown number—but I knew. I knew the way you know when thunder is about to shake your entire block.
I swallowed hard and answered. "Hello?"
"Ms. Hart."
Yep. Him.
His voice was steady, smooth, but there was an edge under it—controlled, quiet, the kind that made you sit up straighter without realizing.
"This is Adrian Cole," he added, as if I might mistake him for anyone else on the planet. "Elise told me there was an issue with your onboarding packet."
"Right. Um. Yes." I pressed my palm to my forehead. "There's a document that definitely isn't mine."
"What document?" he asked.
"A personal agreement?" My voice jumped slightly at the end like it was asking for permission to exist. "With your name on it. And mine."
He exhaled slowly. Not annoyed. More like someone bracing himself.
"Do not discuss that document with anyone," he said. "Not even HR."
"I wasn't planning to!" I squeaked. "I didn't even mean to open it. It fell out. I panicked."
"I see that."
There was a beat of silence.
Then: "Ms. Hart… what exactly did you read?"
"Nothing! Well—some things. Kind of. A few words. Accidentally. Very accidentally."
"Which words."
I squeezed my eyes shut. "Partner."
There was a longer silence this time. I couldn't tell if he was cursing internally or rethinking his entire life plan.
"I apologize for the confusion," he said finally, voice lower now. "That document was misfiled."
Misfiled.
Like it was a stray paperclip.
"It is not related to your position in the marketing department," he added.
"Okay." I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "Okay. That makes sense."
But did it?
Because why did it have my name on it? Why did any of it exist? And what kind of "temporary partner role" required legal paperwork?
"I'll have a courier pick up the document tonight," he said. "You don't need to bring it in."
"A courier?" My voice rose. "Tonight?"
"It's a sensitive file."
"That sounds… ominous."
"It's also accurate."
I pressed my lips together. "Sir—I mean, Mr. Cole—I swear I wasn't snooping. I didn't mean to cause trouble."
"You didn't," he said. "The error was ours."
I wasn't sure if "ours" meant HR, his office, or the entire building.
Then, unexpectedly, his tone shifted—still calm, but different. A touch lighter.
"Ms. Hart," he said. "I'm aware today was… unusual. You handled it better than most would."
That did something to my insides I refused to examine closely.
"I handle panic professionally," I said before I could stop myself.
There was a quiet sound—quick, small. A laugh? Or something close to it.
I stared at my wall like I'd hallucinated it.
"I'll see you Monday," he said. "Report to the marketing floor at nine."
"Right. Yes. I'll be there."
"Good night, Ms. Hart."
He hung up.
I set the phone down slowly.
Then buried my face in my hands.
"Partner," I whispered into my palms. "Why did it have to say partner…"
I didn't get more time to unravel because my doorbell rang.
I jumped so high I nearly knocked over the table.
No one rang my doorbell. Ever. Not unless it was someone delivering pizza to the wrong address.
I crept toward the peephole.
A man in a black jacket stood outside holding a slim portfolio case. Not a pizza guy. Not a serial killer either, hopefully.
I cracked open the door.
"Ms. Hart?" he asked.
"That depends," I said. "Are you here to repossess my blender?"
He blinked. "No?"
"Then yes. I'm Ms. Hart."
He held up a small tablet. "I'm here to collect a confidential document on behalf of Cole Global. Signature required."
I stared at him.
"Wow," I said. "That was fast."
"I was instructed to come immediately."
Of course he was.
Of course Adrian Cole didn't wait around when things went wrong. Even paperwork emergencies got VIP treatment.
I handed over the folder like I was surrendering a cursed artifact. The courier slipped it into the portfolio with careful, deliberate movements.
"Thank you," he said.
"Do you… know what that contract is?" I asked before thinking.
He blinked. "No, ma'am. I'm not authorized to view client materials."
Right. Obviously.
"Have a good evening," he added.
"You too," I said, though mine was already circling the drain.
When the door closed, I leaned my forehead against it.
This was bad.
This was weird.
This was going to keep me awake all night.
I went back to the table and stared at the empty spot where the contract had been. I half-expected it to magically reappear, like I'd summon it by thinking too hard.
Partner.
Temporary arrangement.
Public appearances.
What had that been? A legal draft for someone else? A plan for another employee? A glitch? A mix-up? Some kind of upcoming company event? A PR stunt?
My name shouldn't have been on it. But it was.
And more than that—Adrian had taken it seriously enough to send someone across the city in under fifteen minutes.
I rubbed my temples.
This was fine.
Totally normal.
Completely unrelated to my first real job.
Absolutely nothing would come of it.
I told myself all of that as I finally kicked off my shoes, microwaved leftovers, and tried to pretend tonight hadn't happened.
But as I lay in bed later, staring at the ceiling, one thought kept circling in my mind, refusing to leave.
If a mistake like that could happen once…
What were the chances it wouldn't happen again?
And why did part of me feel like I'd just stepped into something I didn't understand yet?
Something that had—somehow—already reached back for me.