The President Contract Lover Novels & Stories

"Well Dario is the heir, next in line to that company. He was the one in coma." "Oh!" "So what did you guys talk about?" Elena asked with keen interest. "He asked me to get married to him..." Elena cut in. "That quick, no date, no late night movies?" "A contract marriage, he'd pay me five hundred thousand dollars every month." "That's a good business deal. Why are you not taking it?" "I thought you complained about his arrogance?" "Yeah but I don't blame him considering the fact his fiancee died five years ago. It turned him into a beast. So what was your reply?"

Mr Scott replied wondering why the president would ask that. "Hmm, I see. I will look into it and award the contract to the deserving company," the president said and Mr Scott exited the office. Ten minutes after Mr Scott had left smiling ear to ear, the president received a call from Mr Smith. "Greetings Mr President, my team and I have settled on the company to get the contract after doing our checks," Mr Smith said. "Good, which company is getting the contract?" the president asked. "The contract will be awarded to Mr Thatcher's Construction Firm," Mr Smith said.

He gently wiped his eyes as he cleared his throat. "If I don't only have chosen to find someone for the contract, I would have already freed you, but in these circumstances, you are already linked to me, the moment I let you have my blood to save you that night, is like signing the contract." My eyebrows arched as I tried to scrutinize his words. Contract what? His blood to save me? What is he talking about? "Take this as my advance apology. " He handed me a book. As I focused my eyes on it, I can't help but widened it. I snatched it from his hands then hugged it tightly.

The way I saw it, there was no getting out of it. We argued, but the more we talked, the more I realized that... Maybe it's not a bad idea. This marriage will surely be complicated, but at least I'll be away from Trevor, and I won't have to deal with him anymore. There's a lot to still go over, and if we are going to make a contract for this marriage, than surely he'll have to deal with my terms and conditions as well. "Fine. It's a deal. One year, no more." I say, holding my hand out to shake Daniel's. His face lights up, and he gives me a big kool-aid smile.

Anthony All Busy Whitmore and finally hand him the blessed signed contract and he assured me that as soon as he authenticated everything that was needed he would send me a copy, I just nodded and went home determined to eat something that would stay in my stomach. After he gave me back the copy of the contract, our "relationship" basically boiled down to him calling me once a day just to drop a question that was really starting to annoy me, "Are you okay? And I, being the good person that I was, was trying very hard not to answer him as sarcastically as I would like to, instead taking a deep breath and saying that I was fine despite the nausea that didn't seem to want to leave me alone.

Liora I left the dining table the moment I finished eating and headed straight upstairs. No point lingering. Thankfully, he didn’t bring up the whole “come work for me as my personal secretary” nonsense again. I swear, Tristan could be hilarious in the most unexpected ways, because what on earth made him think I’d actually want to work for him? This was a contract marriage. One year. Play the wife. Keep up the appearances. And nowhere, absolutely nowhere, in that contract did it say I had to be his employee too.

“If this is about a salary increase, Sir, I’ll take it.” His smile twisted into a grin—an evil grin that made my heart skip. “You’re right,” he said. “But it comes with a cost.” Everything always did. But if it involves a salary increase? I was willing to take most deals. Most. Preferably not those that will harm my dignity or my soul. “My parents are celebrating their wedding anniversary next week. And since I made them a promise last year, I have to be there—with that promise fulfilled.” He twirled his pen between his fingers. “I need a fake girlfriend. And I’m choosing you.”

“If you know about them, then you know I don’t have time for your games.” Lucien walked back toward his desk. “I don’t play games,” he said. He opened the file again. Turned it. And slid another document forward. Tatiana didn’t move. “What is that?” “A contract.” She didn’t touch it. “For what?” Lucien met her gaze. “A marriage agreement.” Tatiana laughed once—sharp, disbelieving. “This is some kind of joke.” “It isn’t.” Her eyes hardened. “Why me?” Lucien paused.

I said. "I thought love was something you won," he said, with the particular, precise quality he brought to the distinction. "Through being exceptional. Through being useful. Through being better than the alternative." He paused. "It took me years to understand that love that works like that isn't love. It's a contract. And contracts don't keep you warm in October when the garden has gone dormant and there's nothing to demonstrate and nothing to win."

His dark eyes stared at the desk in a daze. The president didn't look well. Did the president encounter something big? It shouldn't be about work. Because even in the previous billions of orders, he had never seen any changes in the president's expression. What's more, there was no contract that the president couldn't made it successfully to sign. Only the contract he didn't want to sign. "It's not about the contract. Could something have happened in his family there?" "It shouldn't be. If something happened there, the president would have gone there long ago."