Read Online Uncovering You: The Contract by Scarlett Edwards - Free Book Online

if I go through a drought and can’t find work? I need something guaranteed.
    My only real option is a low-paying service job.
    Like my mom.
    “Dammit!” I smash my palm against the table. The laptop jumps. My biggest goal in life is complete self-sufficiency. No reliance. No strings. I want to make my own decisions, and have life be in my control.
    I crave that. Growing up with an uneducated mother, I know how hard it is for someone without a degree to find work. I hated my teens. That’s when she started drinking. After Paul. We were always at the mercy of landlords and creditors and slimy exes she owed money to.
    The key to having control is an education. If my mother taught me anything, it’s that—if only by showing me the flipside of the equation.
    That’s why I work so hard in school. With a degree comes opportunity, which brings autonomy. And I will earn my degree.
    The problem is, for the next year, I am forced to step into my mother’s shoes.
    The apartment landline rings, startling me out of my thoughts. I look at the phone in wonder. Who could it be? I never gave the number out. Hell, I don’t even know it.
    I pick up the phone. “Hello?”
    A cheerful, young female voice greets me. “Hi, is this Lilly Ryder?”
    “Speaking?” I say.
    “Oh. Whew! Ha, ha. I’ve been calling every apartment complex in the area looking for you!”
    “You have?” I ask, not following.
    “Oh, yes. This is my first week on the job and I’m still trying to get the hang of things. You would think working a phone is easy. But in this office there are so many flashing lights and beeping thingies and like, a hundred different lines to keep track of…” she trails off and giggles. “I left so many voicemails on different machines asking for you, and now I’m paying the price. I’m getting dozens of calls back from different people, all of them confused about what’s going on—”
    “Hold on,” I say. The girl’s talking way too fast, and none of it is making sense. Still, something about her enthusiasm makes me smile.
    “Who are you? Why are you looking for me?”
    “Oh. Oh!” She sounds startled, then seems to remember herself. “Jeremy always says I get carried away,” she admits, then quickly rushes on, making her voice an octave lower and a breath slower. She clears her throat. “I am calling on behalf of Mr. Stonehart, Chairman and CEOof Stonehart Industries.”
    I gasp. The sound must be loud enough for her to hear, because she returns to her real voice and asks happily, “Oh, you’ve heard of us?”
    “Yes, I’ve heard of you,” I answer, breathless.
    Stonehart Industries is the conglomerate that owns the tech company my firm was developing the ad campaign for.
    Stonehart Industries is also a wholly private company and extremely secretive about its operations. Most people don’t even know they exist, but they have their corporate finger in all sorts of industry, from mineral mining to drug development to food production to God-knows-what-else. Chances are, if you’ve used an American commercial product that came out in the last ten years, Stonehart Industries has contributed to it one way or another.
    “What I don’t understand,” I continue, “is why you’re calling me.”
    “Oh, that’s simple,” the girl answers breezily. “Word of what’s happened to you has reached Mr. Stonehart. He heard about the promising young woman whose plans got derailed when ZilTech terminated the marketing campaign for its new television product. He wants to offer you his sincere condolences.”
    That is the most ludicrous explanation I’ve ever received.
    “Is this a joke?” I demand, suddenly angry. “Amy? Is that you? Are you pulling some prank on me?”
    Amy was the only one in the firm I did not get along with. Something about my being there was threatening to her, or some such nonsense.
    “No joke, Miss Ryder,” the girl says quickly. “Mr. Stonehart says—”
    “I don’t care what ‘Mr.