Chapter 33

Olivia

I gathered my things, my stomach fluttering with nerves. Alexander had texted the address of a restaurant for tonight, along with instructions to "dress to impress." I hadn't agreed to stay at his penthouse yet, preferring the safety of my own apartment for now.

Over the next two weeks, Alexander and I fell into a rhythm. We'd meet for dinner at high-end restaurants, where photographers would conveniently appear, capturing images of us looking intimate but never quite showing my full face. He'd kiss my cheek, hold my hand, and place his arm possessively around my waist—always when cameras might be watching.

Each time, I wore dresses from his collection, each more stunning than the last. Each time, his eyes would darken when he saw me, his gaze lingering on my curves in a way that made my skin tingle.

"You're a natural at this," he said one night as we left a trendy rooftop bar, his hand resting on the small of my back.

"At what? Pretending to be your girlfriend?"

"At being desired," he corrected, his voice low against my ear. "Every man in that room wanted you tonight."

"But only you get to take me home," I replied, playing along for the benefit of the paparazzi I'd spotted across the street.

Alexander's fingers tightened slightly on my hip. "Exactly."

In the car, he maintained the charade, his thumb tracing circles on my knee as his driver navigated the LA streets. It was becoming harder to remember this was all for the show, especially when he looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole.

"Will you stay tonight?" he asked as the car pulled up to his building.

I hesitated. We'd established a pattern: dinner, drinks, and a lingering goodbye at my apartment door. I hadn't spent the night at his penthouse since that first day.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I said carefully.

"Why not? The contract allows for it."

"The contract allows for a lot of things," I reminded him. "That doesn't mean we have to do them all immediately."

Alexander studied me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You're afraid."

"I'm not afraid," I protested. "I'm being cautious."

"Of what? Me?"

"Of this," I gestured between us. "It's too easy to blur the lines."

His lips curved into a slow smile. "Maybe the lines should be blurred."

"Alexander—"

"It's just sleep, Olivia," he cut me off. "Nothing more. Unless you want it to be."

The implication hung between us, charged and tempting. I swallowed hard.

"Not tonight," I said finally. "I need more time."

He nodded, accepting my decision with unexpected grace. "I'll take you home, then."

At my apartment door, he leaned in to kiss my cheek, his lips lingering near the corner of my mouth. It was part of our routine now, this almost-kiss that left me breathless and confused.

"Goodnight, Olivia," he murmured, his breath warm against my skin.

"Goodnight, Alexander."

I watched him walk away. The door closed with a soft click, and I leaned against it, exhaling slowly. My body hummed with a frustration I wasn't ready to acknowledge. I could have called him back. Could have invited him in. The contract certainly allowed for it and even encouraged it.

But then what? One night of passion, and then what happens when the year is up? When he decides he's fulfilled his obligation to his grandfather and doesn't need a wife anymore?

I pushed off the door and kicked off my heels, wincing as they clattered against the hardwood floor. My phone buzzed in my purse. A text from Emilia.

Emilia: Girls' night. No excuses. Meet us at Velvet in 30.

I smiled, grateful for the distraction. Maybe a night out with friends was exactly what I needed to clear my head of thoughts of Alexander Carter and his almost-kisses.

Forty minutes later, I pushed through the doors of Velvet, the pulsing music hitting me like a physical force. The club was packed, bodies pressed together on the dance floor, the bar three deep with people vying for the bartenders' attention.

I spotted them at a booth in the corner.

"There she is!" Emilia shouted over the music, waving frantically. "The woman of the hour!"

I slid into the booth beside her, gratefully accepting the glass of wine Claire pushed toward me. "Sorry I'm late."

"We ordered for you," Ariana said, nodding toward the wine. "Figured you could use it."

"God, yes." I took a generous sip. "Thank you."

"So," Claire leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "How's life as a celebrity?"

I groaned. "Please, not you, too. I've had enough of that at work."

"Fine, fine," Claire raised her hands in surrender. "No Alexander talk. Promise."

"Thank you," I said, relaxing slightly.

"So what should we talk about instead?" Ariana asked, swirling her martini. "The weather? Politics? The fact that Claire hooked up with her gym trainer last weekend?"

"Ari!" Claire gasped, her cheeks flushing pink.

"What? It's been three days, and you haven't told us anything. I want details!"

The conversation shifted, and I felt myself truly relaxing for the first time in days. There was something comforting about being with friends who'd known me before I became "Alexander Carter's mystery woman." They teased and laughed and drank, and not once did anyone mention my new "relationship."

Two hours and several drinks later, Claire checked her watch and groaned.

"I have to go," she said, gathering her purse. "Early client meeting tomorrow."

"Me too," Ariana sighed. "Rain check on those shots?"

They hugged me goodbye, leaving just Emilia and me in the booth.

"Another round?" she asked, already signaling the server.

"Why not?" I shrugged. "I deserve it after the week I've had."

The server brought two more glasses of wine, and Emilia waited until he was out of earshot before leaning in.

"Okay, now that the others are gone, spill it. What's going on with you and Mr. CEO?"

I choked on my wine. "What happened to 'no Alexander talk'?"

"That was Claire's promise, not mine," Emilia grinned. "Come on, Liv. You're everywhere! Page Six, TMZ, even that stupid society column my mom reads. They're calling you 'Alexander Carter's mysterious new love interest.'"

I stared into my wine glass. "It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it for me," Emilia urged. "Are you sleeping with him?"