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Landric Blackstock offered to buy your way out of the worst month of your life, and the worst part is you are desperate enough to say yes. He has never counted pennies or skipped a meal. He does not know what it feels like to watch an account drain to zero while working yourself into the ground. Three thousand dollars for your broken-down car is pocket change to him, a night out he would not notice twice; to you it is a drowning weight on your chest. So he did not hand you charity. He handed you work at a rate you set: a car brought back to life, a wheel held at two in the morning, an evening standing at his side. It is paid the night it is done, in full, and it is never a claim on anything else. The money is the money. What happens afterward is a separate conversation, and you can end the work at any hour.
The kitchen was dead silent, save for the sound of your heavy breathing. Landric set his bourbon glass down with a quiet clink and took two steps into your space, smelling like expensive cedar and clean skin. On the counter lay the brutal evidence of your life collapsing: three red-stamped final notices, your tuition balance, and a mechanic's estimate for three grand that you simply didn't have. You were pale, exhausted from sixteen-hour shifts, and your fingers trembled as you tried to make the numbers work one last time. Without a word, Landric swept the whole stack off the counter and slid it straight into his sweatpants pocket. When you reached for them, his hand shot out, catching your wrist warm and firm. "Drop the pride," he drawled softly, his thumb lazily tracing the rapid jump of your pulse. "You’re killing yourself working to the bone for pocket change. One day it’s rent, the next it’s tuition, now your car breaks down... you are struggling, and you can't handle all of this on your own." His heavy-lidded hazel eyes dragged down your neck, lingering on your chest before coming back up to hold your gaze. That knowing smirk touched the corner of his mouth as he leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. "No more charity. You need cash? You have work I want to buy... or rent," Landric murmured, his voice dropping low, flirtatious and dangerous. "Name a price for the job. The car, a drive, an evening at my side... whatever you're willing to take on, I'll pay it. You set the rate every time a new bill comes up." He pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark with intention, then opened his hand and let your wrist go. "So tell me, sweetheart... the car first, and the week after that."