The CEO's Contractual Wife

Olivia

Our director began the presentation, introducing the campaign and the team behind it. When my turn came, I stepped forward on shaky legs.

"Good morning," I began, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'll be walking you through our social media strategy for the new product line."

I clicked on the first slide, focusing on the familiar material rather than the gray eyes I could feel watching me. As I spoke, my confidence grew. This was my territory. I knew these numbers, these platforms, these strategies inside and out.

Halfway through my section, I dared to look directly at Alexander. His expression was unreadable as he studied me, head slightly tilted. When our eyes met, though, something seemed to change in his face.

I thought I saw recognition flicker in those steel-gray eyes. His lips parted just a bit, and for a fleeting moment, it almost looked as if he was genuinely surprised, or maybe I just imagined it.

I faltered for just a second before pushing forward, explaining the projected engagement metrics for I*******m. When I glanced back at him, he leaned toward one of his assistants, saying something while still watching me.

I finished my section and handed it off to Vivian, returning to my seat with my heart pounding. Throughout the rest of the presentation, I could feel Alexander's gaze returning to me, but I kept my eyes firmly on whoever was speaking.

When the presentation concluded, our director asked for questions. Alexander spoke for the first time.

"Impressive work," he said, his deep voice instantly recognizable. "Particularly the social media strategy. Very innovative approach."

My cheeks burned as several colleagues glanced my way. The director beamed, thanking him for his attendance and feedback.

As the room began to clear, I gathered my notes quickly, planning a strategic retreat. I'd almost made it to the door when I heard his voice behind me.

"Ms. Morgan, isn't it?"

I turned slowly, finding Alexander standing just a few feet away, hands in his pockets. His expression was neutral, but his eyes held a glint of something I couldn't identify.

"Yes, sir," I managed. "Olivia Morgan."

He studied me for a moment, and I wondered if he was comparing the professional, composed version with the one he had met that night. The woman in the little black dress with mascara streaks and a shattered heart versus the polished junior executive who'd just delivered a flawless presentation.

"It's been a long time," he said finally, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "How are you?"

I blinked. "Long time?" The words tumbled out before I could stop them. Was his brain wired wrong? It had been less than a week since he'd driven me home from the worst night of my life.

Alexander's eyes flickered with something that might have been amusement. "Why don't we talk in my office?"

My stomach dropped to somewhere around my ankles. His office? The mythical top-floor sanctuary that junior executives whispered about but never visited? Before I could formulate a response, Nova appeared at my elbow, a stack of folders clutched to her chest.

"Olivia, I need you to—" She froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she registered Alexander standing there. "Oh! Mr. Carter. I'm sorry, I didn't realize..." She backed away like she'd stumbled upon a sleeping tiger. "Carry on. It can wait."

She disappeared so quickly I half-expected to see a Nova-shaped cloud of dust in her wake.

"Okay," I said, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth had become.

As we walked toward the elevator, I gave myself a mental shake. Why was I so nervous? I hadn't done anything wrong. So what if he'd seen me at my lowest moment? I'd caught my boyfriend cheating, been harassed by drunks, and Alexander had simply been a decent human being who offered us a ride. There was nothing to be embarrassed about.

The elevator doors closed with a soft chime, leaving us alone in the sleek, private space.

Alexander pressed the button for the top floor, and I tried not to fidget as we ascended in silence.

"Your presentation was excellent," he said suddenly. "You have a solid grasp of social media demographics."

"Thank you," I managed, surprised by the compliment. "It's kind of my thing."

The elevator dinged open to reveal a reception area I'd never seen before. Unlike the bustling marketing department fifteen floors below, this space was hushed, with sleek furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Los Angeles.

A woman with an impossibly tight bun looked up from behind a desk. "Mr. Carter, your three o'clock had called to reschedule."

"Thank you." He guided me past reception with a light touch on my lower back that sent electricity shooting up my spine.

Alexander's office was less of an office and more of a luxury apartment, minus the bedroom. A massive desk dominated one end, while a seating area with leather couches occupied another. A wet bar gleamed in the corner, and the views... dear God, the views. Los Angeles sprawled beneath us like a living map, the ocean visible in the distance.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked, moving toward the bar.

"Water would be great." I remained standing, uncertain of where to place myself in this vast space.

He returned with two glasses, gesturing toward the couches. "Please, sit."

I perched on the edge of an expensive leather couch.

Alexander settled across from me, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, the picture of relaxed authority.

"So," he said, taking a sip of his water. "How are you really?"

The question caught me off guard. It wasn't the professional inquiry I'd expected.

"I'm... fine," I replied automatically, then reconsidered. "Actually, I'm better than I expected to be. Turns out finding your boyfriend having sex with your friend puts things in perspective."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I imagine it would."

"Look, about that night..." I began, deciding to address the elephant in the room. "I appreciate what you did, but I hope it won't affect how you see me professionally."

Alexander set his water glass down with deliberate precision. "Your personal life doesn't diminish your professional capabilities, Ms. Morgan. Your work speaks for itself."

Relief washed through me. "Thank you. I was worried—"

"However," he interrupted, leaning forward slightly, "there is something I'd like to discuss with you."

"What is it?" I asked, my fingers nervously tracing the condensation on my water glass.

Alexander's eyes locked with mine, intense and unblinking. The silence stretched between us for three heartbeats.

"I need a wife." His voice was steel wrapped in velvet. "And you're going to marry me."

Water sprayed across the coffee table as I choked mid-sip. "I'm sorry, what?"