Chapter 8

Olivia

"You heard me correctly." He remained perfectly composed while I coughed and sputtered. "I require a wife within four months, and I've decided you're the most suitable candidate."

I stared at him, certain I'd slipped into some alternate dimension. "Is this a joke?"

Alexander's face remained perfectly serious, those gray eyes locked on mine without a hint of humor.

"I assure you, Ms. Morgan, I never joke about business matters."

"And this is... business?" I managed, and my voice was higher than normal.

"Precisely." He leaned back, completely at ease, while my world tilted on its axis. "My grandfather has given me an ultimatum. I must marry within six months to retain control of Carter Enterprises. Two months have already passed while I've evaluated my options."

I set my water glass down before I could spill more of it. "And you landed on... me? A random employee you drove home once?"

"There was nothing random about my selection process."

"Mr. Carter, I don't understand why you're telling me this. Surely you should be out there looking for someone suitable to be your wife? Someone you're actually dating? Maybe propose to your girlfriend?"

He looked at me in a way that suggested I was being deliberately obtuse. "If I had a girlfriend, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Then find one! There must be thousands of women in Los Angeles who'd jump at the chance to marry you."

"That's precisely the problem. They want to marry Alexander Carter, CEO and heir to the Carter fortune. The actual person is irrelevant."

"And I don't want to marry you for your money?" I asked incredulously.

His lips curved into something almost resembling a smile. "You're different."

"You don't know me!"

"I know enough." He crossed one long leg over the other. "You're intelligent, resourceful, and you understand business. You're also honest—brutally so, based on how you handled your ex-boyfriend's infidelity."

Heat crept up my neck at the reminder. "That doesn't mean I want to marry you!"

"I haven't explained the terms yet."

"There aren't going to be any terms because this is insane! I'm your employee, Mr. Carter. You can't just ask employees to marry you!"

"I'm not asking all my employees," he said with maddening calm. "Just you."

"Why me?" I demanded, standing up. "This is completely inappropriate and probably illegal!"

Alexander remained seated, watching me with those unnerving eyes. "I chose you because you need this arrangement as much as I do."

That stopped me cold. "What?"

"Please, sit down." His voice softened slightly. "I'm not some creep propositioning you, Olivia. This is a business arrangement that would benefit us both."

Against my better judgment, I sank back onto the couch. "What could you possibly know about what I need?"

Alexander leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Your student loans have been in deferment for two years, but that grace period ends next month. You've received four collection notices in the past two weeks alone."

My mouth fell open. "How did you—"

"Your father's heart condition requires surgery that insurance won't fully cover. You've been working overtime for months, plus freelancing on weekends to save up the difference."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "Have you been spying on me?"

"I've been researching you," he corrected, as if that made it better. "After I drove you home that night, I saw you in the office on Monday morning. Most people wouldn't show up to work like nothing happened after a weekend like that. It intrigued me."

"So you dug into my personal life?" I demanded. "That's a serious invasion of privacy. You had no right to pry into my struggles and secrets."

"I had our HR department pull your file. You applied for a company loan three months ago and were denied. You've been working sixty-hour weeks since January, which exceeds our recommended maximum. If this continues, HR will be forced to restrict your hours for liability reasons."

"Your company is the one making me work those hours! The marketing department is severely understaffed and—"

"It's due to the sudden increase in sales and customer engagement," he finished for me. "Yes, I'm aware. And you're being compensated for the overtime, but combined with your freelance work, you're heading for burnout."

"I'm fine," I insisted, even as my exhausted body betrayed me with a poorly timed yawn.

Alexander's lips twitched. "Clearly."

"This is insane. You can't possibly think I'd agree to marry you just because I have financial problems."

"Not just marry me," he corrected. "Be my wife for exactly one year. After which we'll amicably divorce, and you'll walk away with five million dollars."

The room spun slightly. "Five... million?"

"Tax-free," he added, as if that were the sticking point.

"Why not just hire an actress? Or find someone who actually wants to marry you?"

"An actress would be recognized. And as I mentioned, anyone who wants to marry me wants my money and position, not me."

"And I don't want your money?" I asked skeptically.

"You need it," he clarified. "There's a difference. You have specific financial goals: clearing your debt, paying for your father's surgery. You're not looking to become Mrs. Carter permanently."

I stared at Alexander, trying to process his words. He'd researched me, dug into my personal finances, and somehow knew about Dad's surgery. My mind raced through all the implications, the ethical violations, the sheer audacity of what he was suggesting.

"So what do you say, Ms. Morgan?" Alexander leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. "Do you accept my proposal?"

"No," I said flatly. "Absolutely not. This is insane."

His eyebrow quirked up. "Insane? Five million dollars for one year of your life is insane?"

"Yes! It's completely insane. You can't just buy people, Mr. Carter."

"I'm not buying you," he replied calmly. "I'm proposing a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"An arrangement where I pretend to be in love with my boss? Where I lie to everyone I know? Where I become tabloid fodder?" I shook my head. "No amount of money is worth that."

Alexander studied me for a moment, then rose from his seat. He walked to his desk with measured steps, pulled open a drawer, and extracted a thick manila folder.

"Before you make your final decision," he said, returning to the seating area, "I'd like you to review this."