C7 - Compliance

"Thirty million annually for four years, employment under Éclair Corp."

Michael Éclair's voice was as steady as the weight of the contract he slid across the table. No embellishments. No unnecessary words. Just a direct offer.

I glanced at the papers, my expression vacant.

Thirty million?

Barely a fraction of my yearly earnings.

What's his angle?

Lifting my gaze, I met his piercing stare head-on, refusing to waver.

"I must respectfully decline, Mr. Éclair."

A pause.

Michael leaned back, his arms resting on the chair's leather armrests, his face betraying nothing.

"…Shall I present an alternative?"

I didn't miss the flicker of intrigue in his sharp eyes.

Reaching into my briefcase, I withdrew a contract Adisa had drafted in anticipation of this very moment. A quiet instinct had told me Michael Éclair didn't invite people without a price in mind.

I placed the document on the table between us.

For a brief moment, silence reigned.

Then, laughter—deep, rich, and entirely unexpected—echoed through the office.

Ezra Smith, Éclair's ever-stoic secretary, visibly stiffened, his brows lifting in shock. Michael Éclair didn't laugh. Not in business. Not in negotiations. Not like this.

Slowly, Ezra turned toward me, his curiosity palpable.

I ignored him, keeping my attention fixed on the man before me.

"I, Eirian Aiyaret, shall provide you with insights and opinions for a stipulated fee over three years. In return, you will impart your wisdom and life counsel without charge until further notice."

I spoke without hesitation, without a shred of doubt.

The air between us tightened, thick with unspoken calculations.

Michael's amusement hadn't faded, but there was something else now—analyzing, weighing, testing.

"Young man, your proposition is one-sided."

"With all due respect, Mr. Éclair, my insights, counsel, and consultations will yield you profits. All you need to do is advise me on life matters, an arena I won't financially benefit from."

Michael chuckled, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"My wisdom holds greater value than money!"

His grin was infectious, but I held firm.

"Make your choice, or we part ways here, Mr. Éclair."

I flicked my gaze toward the double doors, making it abundantly clear I was prepared to walk away.

Michael Éclair wasn't a man used to being challenged, let alone given ultimatums.

But much to my surprise, he reached for a pen.

And signed.

Capping the pen, he exhaled, his smirk laced with undisguised amusement.

"My first piece of advice?" He leaned forward slightly, assessing me as though I were a long-term project he'd just acquired. "Hire a personal stylist. And invest in a fashion designer."

I blinked, my expression blank.

"You're an investor and a multi-millionaire," he continued, "do dress the part."

The sheer audacity.

I had just secured a three-year advisory contract with one of the most powerful businessmen in the world, and his first words of wisdom were about my wardrobe?

…Unbelievable.

Before I could fully process the exchange, I found myself within one of Michael Éclair's five-star hotels—a place that exuded classic opulence laced with modern sophistication.

A king-sized bed occupied the center of the lavish suite, its fine sheets crisp and pristine. A state-of-the-art kitchen, an elegantly furnished dining area, and a spacious living room spoke volumes about the caliber of guests this place was meant to accommodate.

Everything about it screamed exclusivity.

A haven crafted for those who belonged to an entirely different tax bracket.

And yet, despite the luxury surrounding me, I couldn't shake the feeling that my real initiation into this world… had only just begun.