Chapter 34

Chapter 34
Olivia
“No!” I said too quickly. “ I mean… not yet.”
Emilia’s eyebrows shot up. “Not yet? So you’re planning to?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “The chemistry is… intense. ”
“I bet it is,” she smirked. “Have you seen the way he looks at you in those photos? Like he wants to eat you alive.”
Heat rushed to my face. “Em!”
“ What? It’s true! I’ve never seen a man look at a woman like that in public.” She took a sip of her wine. “I’m happy for you, you know. After what Ryan did… you deserve someone who looks at you like that.”
I felt a twinge of guilt. If only she knew the truth, that it was all a performance, a business arrangement.
“I’m being careful,” I said instead.
“Good.” Emilia nodded firmly. “Because if he hurts you, I don’t care how rich or powerful he is; I’ll kick his ass all the way back to whatever fancy prep school he came from.”
I laughed despite myself. “I’d pay to see that.”
“Seriously, Liv.” Her expression softened. “I just want you to be happy. And if Alexander Carter makes you happy, then I’m all for it. Just… don’t let him break your heart, okay? Men like that… they’re used to getting what they want and moving on.”
The truth of her words hit uncomfortably close to home. Wasn’t that exactly what our contract stipulated? Alexander gets what he wants, and then we go our separate ways?
“I know what I’m doing,” I lied.
“Do you?” Emilia–asked, her gaze sharp even through the haze of alcohol. “Because you’ve got that same look you had with Ryan in the beginning. That ‘I’m falling hard‘ look.”
“I am not falling for Alexander Carter,” I protested.
“If you say so.” She didn’t look convinced. “Just remember that men like him don’t change. They don’t suddenly decide they want the white picket fence and the 2.5 kids.”
“Maybe I don’t want that either,” I said defensively.
Emilia studied me for a moment. “Maybe you don’t. But you deserve someone who wants the same things you do, whatever those things are.”
I sighed, deflating slightly. “When did you get so wise?”
“I’ve always been wise. You just never listen to me.” She grinned, breaking the tension. “Now, are we going to sit here talking about your love life all night, or are we going to dance?”
“Dance,” I decided, downing the rest of my wine. “Definitely dance.”
We pushed our way onto the crowded dance floor, letting the music wash over us. For a few blissful hours, I didn’t think about contracts or fake relationships or the way Alexander’s eyes darkened when he looked at me. I just danced, letting the
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rhythm and the alcohol numb everything else.
It was after midnight when we stumbled out of the club, laughing and clinging to each other for balance.
“We should get tacos,” Emilia declared, pointing dramatically down the street. “Tacos fix everything.”
“Everything except hangovers,” I laughed.
“Those too! Tacos are magic.”
“Lead the way, taco wizard,” I laughed, linking my arm through hers as we wobbled down the sidewalk.
The late–night taco truck three blocks from Velvet had become our post–clubbing ritual long before Alexander Carter entered my life. The familiar smell of grilled meat and spices wafted toward us as we approached, making my mouth water.
“Two carnitas and one al pastor,” Emilia ordered confidently, leaning against the truck’s metal counter.
“Make that two al pastor,” I corrected. “I’m feeling adventurous tonight.”
“Ooh, living dangerously,” she teased, bumping her hip against mine.
“It’s just tacos, Em,” I laughed, steadying myself against the truck. “Not like I’m bungee jumping off a cliff.”
“No, but you’re dating Alexander Carter, which might be more dangerous.”
I rolled my eyes. “Can we please not talk about him for five minutes?”
“Fine, fine.” She raised her hands in surrender. “But you know I’m right.”
The taco vendor handed us our food, and we found a nearby bench to sit on. The night air had cooled, sobering me slightly as I bit into my taco; the spicy salsa made my eyes water.
“Oh god,” I moaned. “This is exactly what I needed.”
“Better than sex with your CEO boyfriend?” Emilia wiggled her eyebrows.
I nearly choked. “Emilia!”
“What? I’m just asking a question.” She took another bite of her taco, sauce dripping down her chin. “For science.”
“For gossip, you mean.” I handed her a napkin. “And I wouldn’t know, remember? We haven’t… you know.”
“Yet, she added with a wink. “You said ‘yet‘ earlier.”
My cheeks burned. “Can we change the subject? Please?”
“Fine. ” She sighed dramatically. “How’s work going? Besides having to see your fake boyfriend every day.”
I tensed. “What do you mean, fake?”
“Relax, Liv. I just meant that you’re keeping it professional at work, right? So he’s like your fake boyfriend there.”
Relief washed over me. “Right. Yes. Very professional.”
“Except for those looks he gives you across the conference room,” she teased. “Nova told me all about it.”
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“Nova needs to mind her own business,” I muttered.
“Nova thinks it’s romantic. Office romance, forbidden love, all that stuff.”
I snorted. “There’s nothing romantic about work.”
“I don’t know…” Emilia mused. “Something about a man in a power suit…”
“Stop!” I laughed, throwing a napkin at her. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m delightful,” she corrected. “And I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. The whole office is probably taking bets on when you two will get caught making out in the supply closet.”
“We are not going to make out in the supply closet!”
“Conference room?”
“No!”
“His office? On that big desk of his?” Her eyes glinted mischievously. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”
I had, actually. More than once. But I wasn’t about to admit that.
“You’re impossible,” I said instead, focusing on my taco.
“And you’re avoiding the question,” she countered. “Which means you’ve definitely thought about it.”
“I plead the fifth.”
Emilia cackled triumphantly. “I knew it! Olivia Morgan, you dirty girl.”
“Shut up and eat your taco,” I grumbled, but I couldn’t help smiling.
We finished our late–night snack in companionable silence, watching the occasional car drive by. Despite the alcohol in my system, I felt clearheaded, almost peaceful. This was nice, normal. For a few hours, I wasn’t Alexander Carter’s wife–to–be. I was just Olivia, out with her best friend, eating tacos at one in the morning.
“I should get home,” I said eventually, crumpling my napkin. “I have work tomorrow.”
“Ugh, adulting is the worst.” Emilia stood up, stretching. “Want to share a cab?”
“Sure.”
We waited on the corner, arms linked for warmth. A cab pulled up within minutes, and we climbed in, giving the driver our addresses.
“You first,” I told Emilia, settling back against the seat.
“So generous,” she teased. “Sure, it has nothing to do with not wanting me to see if a certain CEO is waiting at your place?”
“He’s not waiting at my place,” I said firmly. “We’re not at that stage yet.”
“What stage are you at, exactly?”
I hesitated. How to explain our relationship without revealing the contract?