Chapter 45
Olivia
420
1345 vouchers
We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. The food was exactly what I needed, settling warmly in my stomach and chasing away the hollow feeling that had lingered since the hospital.
“How’s your father doing?” Alexander asked, breaking the silence.
“Stable. The surgery went well, but recovery will take time.” I twirled pasta around my fork. “Thanks again for arranging Dr. Weaver. The nurses said he never takes new patients.”
“He owed me a favor.”
“Must be nice having the world’s best cardiac surgeon in your debt.”
Alexander shrugged. “I donated a new wing to the hospital last year. Makes it easier to call in favors when needed.”
I paused mid–bite. “You donated an entire wing?”
Alexander nodded, seemingly unimpressed with his own generosity. “The pediatric cardiology wing. It needed updating.” He took a sip of water. “I regularly donate to hospitals, medical research, and children’s charities. It’s not just for the tax benefits.”
“That’s… actually really good of you.” I studied him with new eyes, trying to reconcile this philanthropist with the ruthless businessman who’d proposed our contract marriage.
He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”
I returned to my pasta, sneaking glances at him between bites. There were layers to Alexander Carter I hadn’t expected. The man who demanded a sex clause in our contract was the same one who ensured my father got the best surgeon in the country.
“Your mind is loud,” Alexander said, breaking the silence.
I looked up, taken aback. “What?”
can practically hear you thinking.” He set his fork down and leaned back against my couch, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. “Trying to figure me out?”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “You’re… not what I expected.”
His lips quirked. “And what did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Some heartless corporate robot who only cares about money and power.”
“And now?”
I shrugged. “Now I think you might actually have a pulse.”
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Chapter 45
He laughed. “High praise indeed.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
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Alexander’s eyes roamed over my face, lingering on my lips before meeting my gaze again. “You should eat
more.”
“I’m getting there.” I took another bite, savoring the creamy sauce. “This is ridiculously good.”
“Only the best for my future wife.”
The word hung between us, heavy with implications. Wife. Not girlfriend or fiancée, but wife. The full weight of our arrangement settled on my shoulders again.
“You keep staring,” I said, noticing his unwavering gaze.
“You’re interesting to look at.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“It is.” He reached forward, his thumb gently brushing a spot at the corner of my mouth. “Sauce.”
The casual touch sent a jolt through me. “Thanks.”
“Your apartment is nicer than I expected,” Alexander said, glancing around. “Cozy.”
“Code for small.”
“No, I mean it. It has character. My place is just… space filled with expensive things.”
“Poor little rich boy,” I teased. “Your penthouse is literally a dream home.”
“It’s a showpiece,” he corrected. “Designed to impress, not to live in.”
I studied him, wondering if there was actual loneliness beneath that perfectly tailored exterior. For someone who seemingly had everything, Alexander Carter gave off an air of isolation that felt strangely familiar.
“You’re staring again,” he said, breaking my reverie.
“Just trying to figure you out.”
Alexander leaned back, his arm stretching across the back of my couch. “And what’s your assessment so far?”
“That you might actually be human under all that money and power.” I set my empty plate on the coffee table. “It’s surprising.”
“You wound me,” he said with mock offense. “I’ve been human all along.”
“Could have fooled me with that contract of yours.”
His expression shifted, becoming more serious. “The contract is practical. It protects us both.”
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Chapter 45
“Including the sex clause?” I couldn’t help asking.
Alexander’s eyes darkened. “Especially that clause.”
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The air between us suddenly felt charged. I cleared my throat. “Want some wine? I think I need wine for this conversation.”
“Sure.”
I walked to the kitchen on slightly unsteady legs, acutely aware of Alexander’s gaze following me. The domesticity of the moment felt oddly intimate, my fake fiancé lounging on my couch while I fetched wine like we’d done this a hundred times before.
“I only have red,” I called over my shoulder, pulling a bottle of cabernet from the rack. “Nothing fancy like what you’re probably used to.”
“Red is perfect,” Alexander replied, his voice closer than I expected.
I turned to find him leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. The casual pose did nothing to diminish his commanding presence. If anything, seeing him in my small kitchen, surrounded by my mismatched appliances and thrift store decor, only emphasized how out of place he was, like finding a wolf in your living room.
“You didn’t have to get up,” I said, fumbling slightly with the corkscrew.
“Need help with that?” He pushed off the doorframe and moved toward me.
“I can open a bottle of wine, Alexander. I’m not completely helpless.”
His lips quirked. “I never suggested you were.”
The cork came free with a satisfying pop. I reached for two wine glasses from the cabinet, stretching to my tiptoes. Alexander stepped closer, his chest brushing against my back as he easily reached over me to grab the glasses.
“I had it,” I protested, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
“I know.” His breath tickled my ear. “But this was more fun.”
The kitchen suddenly felt too small, and the air between us charged with electricity. I poured the wine with less steadiness than I would have liked, hyperaware of Alexander’s proximity.
“Here,” I thrust a glass toward him, needing some distance.
Our fingers brushed during the exchange, and I nearly dropped the glass. What was wrong with me? I’d broken up with Ryan barely a few weeks ago, and here I was getting flustered over my boss–my fake fiancé- like some romance novel heroine.
“Let’s sit,” I suggested, heading back to the living room before he could comment on my obvious discomfort.
I settled on the couch, tucking one leg beneath me and leaving what I thought was a reasonable amount of
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Chapter 45
space between us.
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Alexander sat closer than necessary, his thigh pressing against mine. Even through two layers of fabric, the contact sent warmth spiraling through me.
He moved even closer, our bodies now firmly pressed together from knee to hip.
“Do you want to just sit on my lap?” I asked dryly. “Since you’re practically there already
“You can sit on my lap if you want. I wouldn’t mind.”
“I bet you wouldn’t,” I snorted, taking a large sip of wine. “I’m good right here, thanks
“Your loss,” Alexander said, but he didn’t move away. His thigh remained pressed against mine, a solid, warm presence that I was trying desperately to ignore.
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