His Contract Wife

12: 45 pm.

Where was Carlson?

Leilani May Collins loathed tardiness. She and Carlson agreed to meet at this spot by 12:30 pm, but she came fifteen minutes earlier. Her phone vibrated, and she snatched it off the table before it could ring out and disturb the other diners. A peek at the screen showed it was Carlson. She hit answer.

“Hey,” she said into the phone.

“Hey, Leila.” His voice sounded the same as it did on their previous calls. Freya, her best friend, might have put the idea he might be a catfish into her head. “Sorry, I’m running late.”

Leila stopped tapping the silk-covered table and refolded the napkin. If Carlson wasn’t so handsome and probably a potential love interest, she might have left. She sipped from her glass of water that had gone warm. He was one point down in her book.

“All right. How long until you get here?”

“Ten minutes top,” he replied.

When she’d waited thirty minutes already for him? She was here, anyway, so she might as well stay.

“Fine. I’ll be waiting.”

Setting the glass down, Leila played a game of Candy Crush on her phone until her phone pinged with a text from Freya. Opening it, she groaned almost immediately at the content. It was yet another selfie from her best friend.

Freya was at a wedding Leila refused to tag along to. Following her was equivalent to setting herself up for a blind date. It had become her friend’s mission to hook Leila up with any available but eligible bachelor. Since her best friend was married now, she had been trying to rope her into a relationship.

The two went back and forth, exchanging selfies and texts until twenty minutes passed. She almost dialed Freya to come get her out of there, but on second thoughts, she waited.

Carlson could have a good reason for being late. So far, he had been a great companion. Though this date was happening because she insisted on it, she would give him the benefit of the doubt today. She would wait an extra ten minutes, then leave. Maybe even delete Tinder. That app wasn’t working for her. It might have if she put more effort into making her profile more attractive and used an actual picture of herself instead of Freya’s cat.

Her eyes roamed the place, watching other paired diners chat and laugh with a tinge of jealousy. When she caught sight of her sad reflection in the window, she ran a hand through her hair and straightened her spine.

Five more minutes, and she was gone.

Murmurs from the table ahead made her lift her head. A couple were arguing, and it was attracting attention to them. While one waiter went to them to diffuse the situation, another came to her table to ask for her order. Leila remembered his face. He had come here twice already. She skimmed through the menu, confused and amused by the items on the list. This type of restaurant wasn’t usually her cup of tea, but she wanted to impress this Carlson guy.

“Can I have a milkshake for now?” she asked. The waiter glared at her like she had vomited on their off-white tablecloth. His black hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail at the nape of his neck. Might be why he was looking so constipated. “I’ll order when my date arrives.”

With a curt nod, he walked away without a word. She scowled at his retreating figure. Was she going to get her milkshake or what? Her phone vibrated on the table. Freya was calling her.

Leila didn’t pick up.

The call ended, and a text followed. Her best friend wanted to know if her date had arrived and she was having fun. Fun indeed. At this point, she didn’t care anymore. She made to leave, but the waiter approached her table with a tray holding her milkshake. She forced a smile, which he didn’t reciprocate.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

He probably thought of her as one of those people who stopped at a restaurant without buying anything. Wrong. She was only here for one person. And that person could go to hell.

Her position at the window gave her the best view of the people leaving and entering the restaurant, but she soon grew tired of it. None of the people who entered resembled Carlson. Staring at her phone, she gave in to the urge to reply and sent Freya a text with some sad eye emojis. Her phone beeped immediately.

FREYA:

You should come here. The wedding is almost over.

LEILA:

No, thank you.

FREYA:

Come. Join us at the reception. Eat some cake and cheer up.

On her feet, she used the coaster to cover the milkshake. Her feet ached from being in heels all afternoon. She wore heels for this Carlson man. To make an appearance, like her silly best friend suggested, as if wearing it all week at the office wasn’t enough torture for her feet. The waiter from earlier was serving a table when she walked past him, but the scalding look he sent in her direction made her steps waver.

“I’m not leaving yet,” she spat at him.

Some heads turned to her. She flashed a smile reserved for her colleagues and continued to the restroom. Once inside, she gripped the sink, staring at her doppelgänger in the mirror as her red lips parted in a fake, practiced smile.

Straight, black hair cascaded down her shoulders, her brown eyes highlighted by the makeup surrounding it. She might not be the prettiest girl in a room by any standard, but she was pretty enough. On instinct, her fingertips brushed the dark mark on her jaw. Once or twice, a few dates had tried to wipe the spot, thinking it was a smudge. They were wrong. She turned on the faucet and rinsed her hands.

What if Carlson didn’t come? Either way, she was done with this stupid date. Maybe she should let Freya set her up. She dried her hands under the automatic hand dryer attached to the wall, patted her hair one last time, and pried the toilet door open.

The male restroom was beside the female. She stepped out at the same time as a man in a black suit who bumped into her, causing her to wobble on the damn heels. He mouthed, “Sorry,” without so much as a glance in her direction, and the only thing she had to remember him by was the wallet at her feet.

Just great. She picked it up and followed the path he took. The waiter gave her cold looks she ignored and rushed out to find the wallet’s owner. She wouldn’t be so silly to make an order without paying for it.

The cool afternoon air hit her face. Her hair tickled her neck, and she whisked it into a high bun. Where was he? Straining her neck to see beyond the mini fence separating her from the parking lot, she caught sight of him and jogged as fast as anyone on heels could to catch up.

With his hand flat on the roof of his car and his back to her, his face was hardly visible. His side profile was stiff. He was still on his phone call. Bits of the conversation filtered into her ears.

“Jesus Christ. I am on my way, Donna,” the man barked into the receiver. Leila flinched at his tone. She didn’t want to be on the other side of the phone. As if noticing her for the first time, he cocked his head slightly without giving her a full view of his face. “Yes?”

Okay. Someone was in a mood. Leila jerked a finger over her shoulder, trying to form the words to explain to him that his wallet dropped in front of the restroom. The man sighed. Moving his phone from his left to his right ear, he opened the backdoor.

“Step aside, lady. I don’t have time for this.”

With that, he entered the car and shut the door, leaving her to glare at her image on the tinted window. Very well. She pivoted on her heels and stormed back to the restaurant.

The gentle breeze from the air-conditioner welcomed her back in. She maneuvered to her table and sank into the seat. The milkshake had almost melted, but she slurped on it. Her phone vibrated as she was rounding up and she unlocked it to view the message from Carlson.

He was here.

Finally. She scanned the interior for the tall, handsome, model-like man on Carlson’s profile, and her heart slammed against her chest when a short man waved at her from the door.

The milkshake no longer tasted milky, and the air-conditioner seemed to blow hot air. She tried to stand, maybe run out of there, but her feet refused to cooperate.

God, please no. This could not be her date.

1: 25 pm. She waited one hour and ten minutes for this? No. This could not be Carlson. But the man strolled toward her table with a wide smile.

“Leilani, right?”

“R… right,” she whispered.

He pulled the chair in front of her and sat. “Hi.”