Chapter 4 : . : 12 ) EZ 55 vouchers Forty - five minutes later - after cleaning up , updating his therapy chart , and doing some deep - breathing exercises to stop myself from stabbing a rich man with a gold fork - I found him . Out on the balcony . Alone . Leaning against the glass rail , staring out at the endless Manhattan skyline like he was personally offended by the view . His jaw was tight . His back rigid . That permanent scowl back in place . He didn't turn around when I stepped out . But he spoke . Low . Cold . " Why are you still here ? " I raised a brow . " Because your mother told me that you might fire me . Repeatedly . Dramatically . Possibly with furniture involved ." He turned then , eyes burning . " And ? " " And ," I said sweetly , " she also told me that only she can fire me . You may be the client , Mr. McLeon , but she's the boss . So unless your mother has personally appeared via portal to dismiss me with her queenly rage , I'm not going anywhere ." He looked like he wanted to throw me off the balcony . I looked like I might push him first . " I told you to leave , " he said . " And I told you , " I replied , folding my arms , " that I don't take orders from moody muscle models who treat therapists like disposable slippers ." His mouth opened . Closed . Opened again . Like a rich fish gasping at the horror of being disrespected . So I added , " Also , the food was amazing . You're welcome ." He let out a harsh exhale and turned back to the view . I leaned beside him , pretending to admire the city , but really just admiring the fact that I had not murdered him yet . And despite the tension , the silence , and the fact that he definitely hated me ... He hadn't told me to shut up again . Which , in billionaire man - baby language ? 11:24 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 4 Was probably progress . But of course I texted his mother . 72 E55 vouchers Right after the balcony drama , while he stood there glaring at the skyline like it owed him something , I pulled out my phone and typed a very detailed update : Madam Elise , morning progress : - Patient attempted to fire me . - Patient refused to eat the food I heroically ordered . - Patient's stomach betrayed him . - Breakfast war ensued . - Therapist won battle , but war ongoing . Kindly advise if breakfast privileges need to be included in contract . Ten minutes later . Ten . The doorbell rang with the elegance of a piano note . I peeked out and - oh my god . A delivery guy stood there in an all - black designer uniform , crisp as a tuxedo and holding a box so sleek , so polished , it could've been carrying royal jewelry . The packaging practically glowed . Embossed gold lettering . A satin ribbon . The smell ? Indescribable . It smelled like ... not - fake truffles bathed in angel tears and caviar harvested under the full moon by Michelin- starred elves . Like money and privilege had a baby and named it " brunch . " I signed for it with shaking hands , partly because I was overwhelmed and partly because I recognized the logo Maison De Soleil . The fanciest , most outrageously expensive restaurant in the city . The kind of place where breakfast costs more than my entire week's groceries . The kind of place I used to dream of eating at while crying into discount ramen . I walked into the kitchen , still in a daze , carrying the sacred food offering like a holy relic , Steven didn't even glance at it . 11:25 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 4 : 72 55 vouchers He just rolled in , took one look at the box , and gave me the smuggest smirk I've ever seen on a human face . " You can set it up , " he said casually . " There's a tray warmer in the cabinet . " Oh . Of course there is . Why wouldn't there be a warming cabinet just for trays ? I set it up . Laid out his luxurious brunch with all the grace I could muster . Delicate plates , gold utensils , and a tiny crystal jar of ethically sourced jam that probably had its own passport . The food was actual art . Slices of seared salmon glazed with lavender honey , truffle scrambled eggs topped with edible gold leaf , amazing ham , bacon , a croissant that shimmered with some kind of magic butter , and a tiny parfait in a glass that probably cost more than my favorite boots . And Steven ? He looked so pleased with himself , it made my eye twitch . He took one bite of the salmon , nodded to himself like some royal deity , then looked up at me , still smug . " See ? " he said . " You just needed to have a little patience ." Patience ? Patience ?! Sir . You're the one who threw a steak at a chef last night because it made you emotional . You refused food this morning like a toddler . And now you're acting like your mother's emergency brunch bomb is proof of your divine breakfast destiny ? I watched him chew like it was a performance . Elegant . Methodical . Like he knew he was winning and wanted to rub it in . My stomach was still full , but even I had to admit .... That croissant smelled like it had secrets I wanted to hear . He raised a perfect brow . " Jealous ? " I scowled . " I'm professionally offended . " He just grinned and reached for the golden parfait . Okay , Fine , He won this round . But I'm keeping score , And next time ? I'm ordering the truffle mac and cheese for me . 11:25 Thu , Sep 10 Chapter 4 ***** 55 vouchers After another full - scale war - and yes , it absolutely qualifies as a war - of trying to get Steven Freaking McLeon to do the most basic PT routines , I was done for the day . Not tired . DONE . Like , throw - myself - onto - a - mattress - and - dream - of - a - banana - free - life kind of done . I didn't even say goodbye . Didn't have the energy . He was in the middle of complaining about the resistance bands being " too neon " and the yoga mat smelling like lavender " trauma , " whatever that meant . Honestly , it was like arguing with a six - foot - tall child who had a black AmEx and an anger management problem . So , I slipped out , grabbed my oversized hoodie , and made my way into the subway - blessed , grimy , loud , and miraculously billionaire - free . That's when I texted his mother . Update : PT session survived . Barely . Zero murders committed . Small victories . Two stops later , she replied . Not with a message . No emojis . No pleasantries . A PDF file . Curious , I opened it while holding my iced coffee in one hand and balancing against a metal pole that smelled like regret . And then ... I choked . I choked so hard I almost dropped my phone into the mysterious puddle near my feet . Because this PDF ? WAS A CONTRACT . A real one . Professionally written , watermarked , legally - binding life - changing contract . And it said : Salary : doubled . Position : Full - time Private Physical Therapist AND Personal Assistant to one cranky Steven McLeon . Duration : One year . Location : His Manhattan penthouse . (Meals , room , unlimited espresso included . ) 11:25 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 4 Advance bonus : $ 20,000 . Company car under my name . Mine . And the kicker ? : If patient ( a.k.a. Grumpy Prince of Manhattan ) shows progress or full recovery- Bonus payout : $ 500,000 . Half . A. Million . Dollars . I read it three times . Blinked at the screen . Then read it again . People don't get this kind of offer . Not people like me . 71 55 vouchers A lowly orphan with a mountain - sized student loan , a leaky ceiling , thrifted shoes , and a coffee machine on its last gasp . A girl who worked three part - time jobs and cleaned yoga mats at night just to graduate . A girl who's basically clawed her way through life with nothing but stubbornness and cheap eyeliner . Do I have the luxury to say no ? Absolutely freaking not . With the bonus alone . I could pay off a massive chunk of my student loan . I could move out of my tiny apartment that constantly smelled like garlic and heartbreak . I could breathe for the first time since I was seventeen . Sure , I'd have to live with a billionaire rage monster with cheekbones and commitment issues - but still . I needed a second opinion . So when I got home - kicked off my sneakers , collapsed on my bed , and tried not to scream - I did what any emotionally fried adult does . 1 called Max . My best friend . My ride - or - die . My favorite emotionally - repressed , gym - obsessed , deeply - closeted human . Max , who looked like he could bench press a truck , but still had to lie to his ultra - Catholic parents about " being too busy dating women " because he'd rather fake a girlfriend than be kicked out of his family's three- story brownstone . The phone rang once . Twice . 11:25 Thu , Sep 18 Chapter 4 Then his deep voice answered : : " Did he touch you ? Do I have to fight a billionaire today ? " I snorted . " No. But listen - his mom just offered me a contract ." I read him the terms . Silence . Then : " GIRL . TAKE IT . " " I- " 71 55 vouchers " No. No. Don't ' but ' me . I don't care if he bathes in liquid arrogance and farts $ 100 bills . Take . It . That kind of money ? That kind of offer ? You could pay off your debt and buy me a new blender ." " I don't think a blender is part of the deal ." " Still . Take . It . You're gonna live in a penthouse with heated floors and possibly a sauna . He has a private elevator , right ? " " Yes . " " Does the espresso machine work now ? " " Kind of . He made me cry once . But like ... luxurious tears . " " Then shut up and sign it ." I laughed , flopping onto my pillow , the contract still glowing on my screen like a promise from the universe . Okay . Fine . This wasn't how I imagined my life going , but who was I to fight fate when fate came with salmon , sass , and six - figure bonuses ? Tomorrow , I was packing my bags . Because Madison Luis was moving in with Manhattan's most insufferable patient . And somehow ... I didn't hate the idea .