I Got A Wrong Call At 2AM, And She Said Can You Come Over And Be With Me

 An Arrangement at Prescott Manor

Three days later I was at my garage, elbow deep in the engine of a 1972 Mustang that had been giving me trouble for a week.

There was grease on my hands, sweat on my brow, and the familiar smell of motor oil that had become my whole world since I opened this shop five years ago.

It wasn’t much but it was mine, a one-man operation in an industrial part of Portland that most people drove past without a second glance. That’s when the Cadillac pulled in.

It was black, polished to a mirror shine, the kind of car that looked like it had never seen a speed bump or a pothole in its entire existence.

It slid into my lot like it had accidentally wandered into the wrong neighborhood and was too polite to admit the mistake.

A man stepped out, mid-50s, gray at the temples, wearing a suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

He looked around the garage with a neutral expression that somehow still managed to convey that he found everything about this place slightly beneath him.

“Daniel Carter,” he said.

I wiped my hands on a rag.

“That’s me; can I help you?”

He reached into his jacket and produced an envelope, thick, cream colored, the kind of paper that felt expensive just looking at it.

“Miss Prescott asked me to deliver this personally”.

I took the envelope, frowning.

“Prescott? Elena Prescott?”

“I believe you met her recently at Memorial Hospital”.

He didn’t wait for me to respond, just nodded once, got back in the Cadillac, and drove away.

He left me standing there with grease on my fingers and an envelope that felt like it weighed 100 pounds. I went inside and washed my hands before opening it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper handwritten in elegant script.

“Please come; I owe you more than words”.

“There’s a car waiting for you at seven; Elena”.

Below that was an address, Prescott Manor, an address on a hill overlooking the city that I’d driven past a hundred times and never once imagined I’d have reason to visit.

I arrived at Prescott Manor at seven sharp, driving my beat-up truck past a wrought iron gate that probably cost more than everything I owned combined.

The driveway curved through manicured grounds, past fountains and hedges trimmed into geometric perfection up to a house that wasn’t really a house at all.

It was an estate, a monument, the kind of place that belonged in magazines, not in the same world as a mechanic from southeast Portland.

A butler opened the door before I could knock. Actually, I don’t know if he was a butler or a house manager or whatever rich people called the person who answered their door.

But he had the demeanor of someone who’d been doing this for decades and had seen everything.

“Mr. Carter,” he said, stepping aside.

“Miss Prescott is expecting you”.

The foyer had marble floors and a chandelier that looked like it was made of actual crystals.

I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror as I passed and saw the way my clean jeans and button-down shirt still somehow looked out of place here.

I felt like I was a stain on the wallpaper. My hands felt too rough, too calloused, too marked by work to belong in a place where everything was smooth and polished and untouched.

Elena appeared at the top of a sweeping staircase. She looked nothing like the woman I’d met in the hospital.

Her auburn hair was styled in loose waves and she wore a simple black dress that managed to look elegant without trying.

The dark circles were gone, replaced by careful makeup, but I could still see the exhaustion underneath if I looked closely enough.

“Daniel,” she said.

She came down the stairs and I noticed she moved carefully, like someone who was still recovering from something.

“Thank you for coming”.

“Thank you for the invitation”.

I looked around.

“Nice place”.

She almost smiled.

“It’s too big for one person, but it’s home”.

She led me through a series of rooms that each seemed larger than my entire apartment, finally settling in a dining room with a table long enough to seat twenty.

We sat at one end facing each other and a silent staff member appeared to pour wine that probably cost more per bottle than I made in a week.

“I had you looked into,” Elena said without preamble.

“After the hospital, I wanted to know who you were”.

I set down my glass.

“And what did you find?”

“That you’re 34, that you own a small auto repair shop that’s been in the red for two years”.

“That you live alone in a one-bedroom apartment and have no family to speak of”.

“That you’ve never been arrested, never been married, and according to everyone I spoke with, you’re decent and honest and keep to yourself”.

She paused.

“I also found that you sat with a complete stranger for two hours in the middle of the night because she was scared”.

“That doesn’t show up in background checks, but it told me more than everything else combined”.

“I’m glad the surgery went well,” I said, because I didn’t know how to respond to the rest of it.

“It did, but that’s not why I invited you here”.

She looked at me across the table and I saw something shift in her expression, the careful composure cracking just a little.

“I’m sick, Daniel”.

“The heart procedure was just one piece of it; I have cancer, stage three”.

“The prognosis is…”

She took a breath, uncertain. The word hung in the air between us.

I didn’t offer platitudes; I didn’t tell her everything would be fine. I’d heard enough empty reassurances when my parents were dying to know how hollow they sounded.

“The company,” she continued, “Prescott Media; it’s been in my family for three generations”.

“I’m the CEO, but there’s a board, and there are people on that board who have been waiting for an opportunity to take control”.

“A man named Harrington specifically; he’s been circling like a shark for years waiting for me to show weakness and now…”

She gestured at herself.

“Now I’m weak, and if they find out how weak, they’ll move to remove me before I have a chance to fight back”.

“What does any of this have to do with me?”

She met my eyes.

“I need someone, someone who can stand beside me at public events, someone the cameras can photograph, someone the board can see”.

“Someone who makes me look like I have support, stability, a life outside these walls”.

“I need a partner, even if that partner is…”

She paused.

“An arrangement”.

I understood then.

“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend”.

“I know how it sounds and I know I have no right to ask, but I can compensate you generously enough to save your shop, pay off your debts, start fresh if that’s what you want”.

“All I’m asking is for you to stand beside me at a few events, hold my hand in front of the cameras, let the world think I’m not alone”.

I looked at her across that long table, at the space between her world and mine.

She had everything: money, power, a name that opened doors.

And I had nothing but a failing business and a one-bedroom apartment and hands that still smelled like motor oil no matter how many times I washed them.

“Why me?” I asked.

“You could hire an actor, someone who knows how to play this game”.

“Because you showed up,” she said simply.

“At 2 in the morning in the rain to a hospital room where a stranger was crying”.

“You didn’t ask what you would get out of it, you just came”.

“I’ve been surrounded by people my whole life, Daniel, and I’ve never met anyone who did something like that without expecting something in return”.

She leaned forward.

“You’re real; that’s what I need, someone real”.

I should have said no. Every sensible part of me was screaming to walk away, to go back to my garage and my simple life and forget I’d ever answered that phone call.

But I thought about the sound of her crying in the dark. I thought about the way she’d gripped my hand before surgery.

I thought about what it felt like to be scared and alone and have no one come when you called.

“One condition,” I said.

“If this starts to feel wrong, if either of us gets hurt, we stop; no questions”.

“And if what’s between us becomes real, we don’t pretend anymore; we tell each other the truth”.

Elena studied me for a long moment, then she nodded.

“Agreed”.

We shook hands across the table and I tried not to think about how I’d just signed up for something that could destroy us both.