Desperate Measures

Tristan’s face blurred as he closed the distance. Clara’s survival instincts kicked in the millisecond his hot breath brushed her skin. She did not pause to weigh the consequences. Her right hand flew up and struck his cheek with a sharp, stinging crack that echoed like a gunshot through the spacious office.

Tristan froze in place. The pampered third son of the powerful Hayes family stood rigid, his hand slowly rising to clutch his burning face. No woman had ever dared to raise a hand against him, let alone strike him in his own domain. He dropped his tight grip on her chin, his dark eyes narrowing into dangerous, unyielding slits.

"Do you not want your job anymore?" he threatened. His voice carried a dark, menacing edge meant to make her cower.

Normally, Clara would have bowed her head and apologized. She knew slapping a Hayes meant digging her own grave. But today, the dam broke. She had swallowed her pride and acted as a punching bag for far too long. She refused to take another second of this disrespect.

"Hey, Hayes, I’ve been sick of you for a very long time!" Clara shot back, her voice shaking but resolute. "I’m fine not having my job here anymore. There will always be some other place in this city that will take me in. I quit!"

She yanked the zipper of her worn canvas bag open. Reaching inside, she pulled out the sleek company-issued phone and the heavy car keys he had forced upon her earlier. With a fierce, defiant motion, she slammed them directly onto his polished mahogany desk. Without waiting for a response, she spun around and hobbled out the massive glass door as fast as her injured legs could manage.

Behind her, Tristan did not yell. He rubbed his stinging cheek, a dark, predatory smirk slowly stretching across his lips as he watched her retreating figure. "Clara Vance, you definitely won’t get away so easily. Just wait and see."

Clara ignored the throbbing pain in her legs as she made her way toward the nearest bus stop. The crisp city air did little to cool her racing pulse. Her brief moment of liberation shattered the second her personal phone rang in her pocket.

"Clara! Come quickly!" Her neighbor’s frantic, panic-stricken voice pierced her ear. "Your uncle Arthur fainted in the house! The paramedics just rushed him to the hospital in an ambulance!"

Panic seized her chest. Clara flagged down a passing cab, throwing the driver a crumpled bill as she yelled the hospital's name. Her racing heart lodged in her throat the entire ride.

She sprinted into the chaotic emergency room, scanning the sterile hallways until she spotted her neighbor pacing outside a set of sliding doors.

"How is the situation?" Clara gasped, clutching her chest.

"The doctors are tending to him now. It doesn't seem to be going well, Clara."

Clara could barely breathe. The harsh fluorescent lights seemed to flicker as the minutes dragged into agonizing hours. She paced the waiting area, chewing her lower lip until she tasted copper.

Finally, the sliding doors parted. An exhausted, grim-faced doctor stepped out into the hall. "Family of Arthur Vance?"

"I am," Clara hurried forward, her hands trembling as she approached.

The doctor sighed, delivering a devastating, life-altering blow. "The patient is not in a good condition at all. He has advanced uremia. His kidneys are failing, and he requires an immediate kidney transplant."

The sterile walls of the corridor spun out of control. Clara grabbed the edge of a nearby counter to keep from collapsing to the linoleum floor. Suddenly unemployed, broke, and now facing her uncle's critical illness. A massive mountain of terrifying misfortune crushed down on her shoulders.

"What’s most important now is to find a donor," the doctor continued in a sympathetic tone. "You should go to the front desk and pay the initial hospitalization and examination fees."

Clara nodded numbly. She walked to the billing counter with a heavy heart. Swiping her bank card to pay the holding fees drained every last cent of her meager savings.

Lost in a thick fog of despair, she decided to head home and pack some belongings for her uncle. She shuffled out through the massive glass doors of the hospital lobby. Her mind was a chaotic mess of expensive medical bills and donor waiting lists. She did not even see the person walking toward her.

Smack.

Clara crashed headlong into the pedestrian. A stack of thick folders and loose papers flew out of the woman's arms, scattering across the pavement.

"Don’t you have eyes to carefully watch where you’re going?" the woman snapped, glaring down at the mess.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry!" Clara muttered apologetically, dropping to her knees to help gather the scattered documents.

As she reached for a glossy page, she glanced up at the stranger's face. She gasped in pure shock. "Natalie?"

The other woman froze, her angry glare morphing into wide-eyed disbelief. "Clara?"

Before Clara could even stand up, Natalie Ford lunged forward and punched her in the arm in sheer frustration. "Where the hell were you? You indecent woman! You never bothered calling even once in the last three agonizing years! I was so worried about you!"

Clara rubbed her arm, a bittersweet smile touching her lips. Back in university, Natalie had been her notoriously hot-tempered best friend. They had lost touch after Natalie went abroad to study and Clara quietly divorced Dominic, vanishing into thin air.

Natalie pulled Clara to her feet, dusting off her jacket. She was now a rapidly rising television screenwriter, and she hadn't changed a bit. "I've been trying to find you since I got back. What happened? Why do you look so pale?"

Clara swallowed hard, the dam threatening to break again. She quickly summarized her sudden unemployment and her uncle's grim diagnosis.

Natalie crossed her arms. Her bright eyes immediately lit up upon hearing the news that Clara was urgently looking for high-paying work. "Clara, I’m currently planning to launch a massive reality dating show, and we desperately need some attractive female guest stars for the intense pre-launch campaign. Why don’t you come act as our primary female guest?"

Clara hesitated deeply, overwhelmed by the sudden offer. "I can’t!"

"Why on earth not?" Natalie countered. "You’re so pretty. Do you know how much attention you would garner by just standing on the stage? I want to keep the good stuff for people I know. I’ve got so many sponsors for this show, and you’ll get paid a massive daily salary just for sitting there. Most importantly, it’s easy money."

Desperate beyond measure for funds to save her dying uncle, Clara felt a tiny flicker of genuine hope ignite. "Really?"

"Of course!" Natalie grinned widely, dialing a number on her phone. "I’ve already found one female guest. You guys only need to find another five of them."

Natalie was a person of her word. She immediately sealed the timely deal by thrusting a massive, heavy packet of detailed information about the show directly into Clara's hands so that she could go straight home and read through the documents.