The CEO's Contractual Wife

Chapter 44

Olivia

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.

it came, was firm and confident. Three sharp raps that somehow

a deep breath

impeccable: dark jeans that fit perfectly and a crisp button–up with rolled sleeves. His slightly tousled hair looked like he’d run his

held up a large paper bag that smelled divine. “Dinner,” he announced, stepping past me into the apartment without waiting for

1/3

said dryly, closing the

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

I

he countered,

enough to say what’s ‘very me,”

my coffee table and turned to face me, his expression unreadable. “I know more than

wasn’t ready to explore. I

Pasta carbonara, garlic bread, and tiramisu.” He started unpacking

“Giorgio’s

“They do for me.”

probably never

elegant packaging. “I hear it’s

said it so casually, as if we were actually dating as if this whole thing wasn’t an elaborate business

kitchen. “Cabinet

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.

with two plates and forks.

he handed me. “You