The CEO's Contractual Wife

Olivia

Nineteen minutes later, I’d blow–dried my hair into submission, applied minimal makeup, and thrown on a pair of skinny jeans and a silky emerald top. The neckline dipped just low enough to be interesting without veering into office- inappropriate territory. Not that I was trying to impress anyone at O’Malley’s, but it felt good to wear something that wasn’t a power suit or one of Alexander’s carefully selected dresses.

I grabbed my purse, double–checked for keys and wallet, and headed out to catch a cab.

As we drove through downtown LA, the city hummed with its usual nighttime energy. Neon signs flickered, crowds spilled from restaurants onto sidewalks, and the ever–present traffic crawled along despite the late hour. I rested my head against the window, already regretting my decision to leave my apartment.

“First time at O’Malley’s?” the cab driver asked, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.

“No, I’ve been there before.”

“Good place. Good beer.” He nodded sagely. “Meeting friends?”

‘Yeah.” I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, but he seemed determined.

‘Better than meeting strangers!” He laughed at his own joke. “My daughter, she uses those apps. Dating apps. I tell her, ‘Mira, you meet a nice boy at church, not on the internet. But kids today, they don’t listen.”

I made a noncommittal noise, pulling out my phone to check if Alexander had texted. Nothing. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.

‘Here we are, O’Malley’s,” the driver announced, pulling up to the curb. “Have fun with your friends!”

I paid and slid out of the cab, the sounds of laughter and music spilling onto the sidewalk as someone opened the pub door. O’Malley’s was packed, as usual. A mix of after–work professionals and early weekend warriors crowded the bar while groups huddled around small tables scattered throughout the space.

I spotted Emilia near the back and made my way through the crowd, dodging a tray of shots and narrowly avoiding a collision with a waitress.

‘She lives!” Emilia crowed as I approached their table. She stood to give me a hug, nearly spilling her cocktail in the process. “We were about to send out a search party.”

‘Or call your CEO to see if he’d kidnapped you for a private jet to Paris,” Claire added with a wink.

I slid into the empty chair. “Very funny. Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.”

Claire beamed. “Thanks! Senior account manager. Finally.”

“She’s been insufferable,” Ariana said, nudging Claire with her elbow. “Already practicing her new email signature.”

not!” Claire protested,

Account Manager,” Ariana mimicked in a pompous voice. “Please direct

assistant.”

don’t even have

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Chapter 66

down a waitress. “What are you drinking,

white wine,” I said, already calculating how quickly I could finish one drink

shots,” she told the

I said one drink,” I protested.

a drink. It’s

my eyes but didn’t argue. Sometimes, it was easier to go along with Emilia’s schemes than

Claire leaned forward conspiratorially. “How’s the most eligible bachelor in Los

groaned. “Can we please talk about

three of them

on, Liv,” Ariana urged. “We’ve been watching you two all over news and social media. Give us something the tabloids

to tell,” I insisted. “We’re taking things

at you like he wants to

“Em!”

true! I’ve seen the photos. That’s not a ‘taking

our shots and my wine. I grabbed the tequila immediately, needing the

I said, raising

clinked glasses and downed the shots. The tequila burned a fiery path down my throat, warming my chest and

hear about that new rooftop bar opening next weekend? Supposedly, Ryan Reynolds

said, turning to me. “Have you

hope

cheating bastard doesn’t deserve

upgrades. From cheating Ryan to

not an upgrade,” I

better or different

different. Ryan was safe,