The CEO's Contractual Wife

Chapter 7

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 al- most 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 Instagram. 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 inno- vative 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.”

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

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Chapter 7

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time,” he said finally, his voice low enough that only

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

with something that might have been amusement. “Why don’t we talk in my

His office? The mythical top-floor sanctuary that junior exec- utives whispered about but never visited? Before I could formulate a response,

clutched to

Carter. I’m sorry,

wait.”

quickly I half-expected to see a

said, suddenly aware of how dry my

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

about.

soft chime, leaving us alone in the

for the top floor, and I tried not to fidget as we ascended

excellent,” he said suddenly. “You

I managed, surprised by the compliment. “It’s kind of

marketing department fifteen floors below, this

looked up from behind a desk. “Mr. Carter, your three o’clock had

you.” He guided me past reception with a light touch on my lower back that sent electricity

of a luxury apartment, minus the bedroom. A massive desk domi- nated one end, while a seating area with leather couches occupied another. A wet bar gleamed in the corner, and

drink?”

of where to place myself in this vast