The CEO's Contractual Wife

The bell dinged as we entered. Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed over checkerboard floors and red vinyl. booths. A tired–looking waitress named Dottie, according to her name tag, barely looked up from wiping down the counter.

“Sit anywhere,” she called out.

I led Alexander to a booth by the window, sliding onto the vinyl seat. He sat across from me, looking so out of place in his perfect suit that I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“What?” he asked, noticing my expression.

“Nothing. You just look like you’re afraid to touch anything.”

“I’m being cautious,” he countered, picking up a laminated menu with two fingers.

Dottie shuffled over, order pad in hand. “What can I get ya?”

“Double cheeseburger with bacon, extra pickles, fries, and a chocolate shake,” I said without hesitation.

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “I’ll have the same.”

When Dottie left, he leaned forward. “How did you decide so quickly?”

“There’s only one rule at a place like this: order the thing that’ll clog your arteries fastest.” I spread my arms. “Welcome to how the other half lives, Mr. Carter.”

“I’m not that sheltered,” he protested.

“Oh, really? When’s the last time you ate something that came in a paper wrapper?”

“Tuesday. I had a protein bar between meetings.”

I rolled my eyes. “That doesn’t count. I’m talking real junk food. The kind that makes your cardiologist cry.”

“Then it’s been a while,” he admitted. “My schedule doesn’t allow for many culinary adventures.”

“That’s sad. Everyone needs a good greasy burger once in a while.”

Our shakes arrived in tall glasses topped with whipped cream and cherries. I took a long sip, closing my eyes in appreciation.

“Good?” Alexander asked, watching me.

“Heaven. Try yours.”

careful sip, his eyes widening slightly. “That’s

sagely, stealing his cherry. His eyes

piled high on paper–lined baskets with golden fries spilling over the edges. Alexander stared at his with a mixture

I need utensils

“No! Just pick it up and embrace

a smear of ketchup at the corner of his mouth. I reached across

suddenly aware of the intimacy of the

his eyes holding mine for a beat

throat, focusing on my burger. “So, what do you

disgustingly delicious,” he admitted, taking

a fry into

of many,” he murmured,

late–night emptiness of the diner creating a bubble around us. It felt strangely normal, sitting here with Alexander Carter eating burgers, despite the

you something?” I

“Of course.”

what would have happened if

considered this, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Honestly? I’ve

“And?”

our paths would have crossed eventually. Maybe

“You really believe that?”

“Some

philosophical over midnight burgers,” I teased, but his words

think you’d be

swirled a fry in ketchup, thinking. “Probably still at Carter Enterprises, just climbing the ladder much more slowly. Still a junior marketing executive,

regardless,” Alexander said

say, but let’s be realistic. The corporate world isn’t exactly a

talent usually finds a

sipped my shake. “What about you? Where would

into a wry smile. “Probably sitting through

mockingly pouted. “Forced to date beautiful,

Interesting? Rarely.” He leaned forward. “Most people want something from me. It gets tedious

what’s my angle?” I

sparkled. “That’s what makes you different, Olivia. I’m still trying to figure that

snorted. “Maybe I just wanted your fries.” I reached across