Chapter 44
Olivia
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I groaned and tossed my phone onto the couch cushion beside me. Why was he so damn stubborn? First, showing up at the hospital like some knight in an Armani suit, and now insisting on coming to my apartment in the middle of the night. What part of our contract covered midnight food delivery?
The thought of Alexander seeing my tiny apartment made me glance around with fresh eyes. It wasn’t messy, exactly, but it wasn’t CEO–of–a–multi–billion–dollar company ready either. The contrast between his sleek penthouse and my cozy apartment would be laughable.
With a resigned sigh, I pushed myself off the couch. If he was coming, I at least needed a shower. I’d spent all day in a hospital waiting room, and I probably smelled like anxiety and bad coffee.
The hot water felt heavenly against my tired muscles. I washed my hair quickly, then stood under the spray for an extra minute, letting the water cascade down my back. The thought of Alexander in my space sent a flutter through my stomach that I refused to acknowledge.
After drying off, I faced the closet dilemma. What exactly does one wear for a midnight visit from one’s fake fiancé? I settled on a pair of soft gray leggings and an oversized NYU sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder. Casual but not completely sloppy.
I applied a hint of tinted moisturizer and mascara to seem lively without appearing overly made–up. A quick brush through my damp hair, and I deemed myself presentable.
With fifteen minutes to spare, I did a quick sweep of the apartment. I gathered a bra that had been draped over a chair, stuffed a pile of mail into a drawer, and straightened the throw pillows on my couch. I decided to light a vanilla–scented candle; its soft glow and comforting aroma helped ease the tension in the room.
My laundry basket sat in the corner of my bedroom, a lacy red thong peeking over the edge. I quickly tucked it deeper into the pile, then paused, wondering why I cared if Alexander saw my underwear. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already commented on my “pretty pussy” during our contract negotiation–the memory still made my
cheeks burn.
“Get it together, Olivia,” I muttered to myself, fluffing the pillows on my bed out of habit, then feeling ridiculous for doing so. It wasn’t like he was going to be in my bedroom.
Unless…
“Nope,” I said aloud, cutting off that dangerous train of thought. “Not happening.”
I checked my phone: 12:32 AM. Alexander should be arriving any minute. I unlocked my door as instructed, then settled back on the couch with a book I had no intention of reading, just to look casual when he arrived.
The knock, when it came, was firm and confident. Three sharp raps that somehow conveyed impatience despite their brevity.
I took a deep breath and opened the door.
— hollumu looking frustratingly nerfect despite the late hour. His outfit was simple yet
Chapter 44
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impeccable: dark jeans that fit perfectly and a crisp button–up with rolled sleeves. His slightly tousled hair looked like he’d run his hands through it, making him even more attractive.
He held up a large paper bag that smelled divine. “Dinner,” he announced, stepping past me into the apartment without waiting for an invitation.
“Come right in,” I said dryly, closing the door behind him.
Alexander surveyed my living room with curious eyes. I saw my space through his gaze, the mismatched furniture collected over the years, the bookshelf overflowing with paperbacks, the collection of succulents on the windowsill, some thriving and others clinging to life.
“It’s small,” I said defensively.
“It’s charming,” he countered, surprising me. “Very you.”
“You don’t know me well enough to say what’s ‘very me,” I pointed out, crossing my arms.
Alexander set the food on my coffee table and turned to face me, his expression unreadable. “I know more than you think.”
The statement hung between us, loaded with implications I wasn’t ready to explore. I gestured to the bag instead. “What did you bring?”
“Italian. Pasta carbonara, garlic bread, and tiramisu.” He started unpacking containers. “From Giorgio’s.”
My eyes widened. “Giorgio’s doesn’t do takeout.”
“They do for me.”
Of course, they did. Alexander Carter probably never heard the word “no” from anyone.
“I’ve never been there,” I admitted, eyeing the elegant packaging. “I hear it’s impossible to get a reservation.”
“We’ll go sometime.” He said it so casually, as if we were actually dating as if this whole thing wasn’t an elaborate business transaction. “Plates?”
I pointed to the kitchen. “Cabinet above the dishwasher.”
While Alexander gathered plates and utensils, I sank onto the couch, suddenly overwhelmed by the surreal nature of the situation. My CEO was in my kitchen, serving me midnight pasta after spending hours at the hospital with my family. None of this made sense.
“You look better,” he commented, returning with two plates and forks. “Less pale.”
“Amazing what a shower can do,” I said, accepting the plate he handed me. “You didn’t have to come all the way here.. I would have been fine.”
Alexander sat beside me, close enough that I could smell his cologne, something woodsy and expensive. “You need to eat. Your father’s surgery was successful, but you’re still under stress.”
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Chapter 44
“So you appointed yourself my personal nutritionist?
He served the pasta with practiced movements. “I take care of my investments.”
The reminder stung. “Right. The contract.”
Alexander paused, his eyes finding mine. “That came out wrong.”
“Did it?” I challenged, accepting the plate he offered. “Isn’t that what this is? An investment? You’re buying a wife to secure your inheritance.”
His jaw tightened. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“Which you just had to maintain at midnight by feeding me pasta?”
“Would you rather I left you to starve?” He raised an eyebrow. “Eat your food, Olivia.*
I took a bite, mostly to avoid continuing the conversation, and immediately moaned. The pasta was incredible, rich, and creamy, with perfectly crisp pancetta and just the right amount of pepper.
“Good?” Alexander asked, a hint of smugness in his voice.
“Adequate,” I lied, taking another large bite.
He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “You’re a terrible liar. Your face gives everything away.”
“Not everything,” I muttered.
