bChapter /bb115 /b

    Olivia

    I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile at Emilia’s persistence. “Maybe he fell for me and can’t believe I’m married now. His loss.”

    “Oh, please,” Emilia snorted into her wine ss. “That man wasn’t shocked you’re married. He was shocked that you married Alexander Carter. There’s a difference.”

    “What does that mean?”

    “It means,” she leaned forward conspiratorially, “that James Westbrook has probably been researching you since the moment he met you. Men like that don’t approach women randomly in bars. He knew exactly who you were, who you worked for, and now he can’t believe younded the biggest fish in the ocean before he could make his move.”

    I considered this, swirling thest of my wine. “You think he was interested in me because I work for Alexander?”

    “I think he was interested in you because you’re gorgeous and smart, but the Carter connection probably didn’t hurt.” Emilia shrugged. “Financial guys are always looking for an edge over thepetition. Dating someone from inside Carter Enterprises would’ve been a gold mine for information.”

    “That’s cynical even for you.”

    “That’s realistic. LA is full of people using other people to climbdders.” She drained her ss. “Which is why I’m d you’re with Alexander instead. At least you know what you’re getting with him.”

    If only she knew how right she was. Our arrangement was nothing if not transparent, unlike whatever game James Westbrook might have been ying.

    “His loss,” I repeated, more firmly this time.

    “Damn straight.” Emilia grinned. “And Alexander’s gain. Even if he doesn’t fully appreciate what he’s got yet.”

    “What makes you think he doesn’t appreciate me?” I asked, a bit defensively.

    “Oh, he appreciates you, alright.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I saw how he looked at you. But men like Alexander Carter take a while to realize when they’ve got something real versus something convenient.”

    I shifted ufortably. “You don’t know him like I do.”

    “Obviously.” Sheughed. “I haven’t seen him naked.”

    “Em!”

    “What? Am I wrong?“.

    I felt my cheeks flush. “We should probably head out. It’s gettingte.”

    “Changing the subject. Smooth.” She checked her phone. “But you’re right. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow.”

    16:06 Sat, 23 Aug

    34%

    b+28 /b

    We settled the bill and stepped outside into the cool night air. The street was busy withte–night revelers and people heading home from dinner.

    “You sure you don’t want to share a cab?” Emilia asked as she gged one down.

    “Your ce is in the opposite direction from Alexander’s. No sense in doubling back.”

    A yellow cab pulled up to the curb. Emilia gave me a quick hug.

    “Don’t forget what I said,” she called as she slid into the backseat. “Men like Alexander take time to realize what they’ve

    got!”

    I waved as her cab pulled away, then turned to g down another one for myself. The ride ito /iAlexander’s penthouse was quiet.

    When the cab pulled up to Alexander’s building, I paid the driver and headed inside. The doorman nodded respectfully as I passed, no longer asking for ID now that I was officially Mrs. Carter.

    Mrs. Carter. The name still felt foreign on my tongue, like trying on someone else’s clothes.

    The elevator whisked me up to the penthouse in seconds. I stepped out into the foyer, surprised to find lights on in the living room.

    “Alexander?” I called, dropping my purse on the entryway table.

    He appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, dressed in sweatpants and a t–shirt, looking surprisingly domestic. “There you are. I was wondering where you’d disappeared to.”

    “Sorry, I left a note,” I said, slipping off my shoes. “Didn’t you see it?”

    “I did.” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “But that was three hours ago. I expected you back sooner.”

    “We got caught up talking,” I exined, making my way to the kitchen. “I didn’t realize howte it was getting.”

    Alexander followed me. “You should have rested. We just got back from the honeymoon.”

    “Says the man who’s clearly been up working,” I nodded toward hisptop open on the kitchen ind.

    He had the grace to look sheepish. “Touché. But I wasn’t the oneining about jetg earlier.”

    “I’m fine,” insisted, opening the refrigerator for a bottle of water. “The girls wanted to hear about the trip.”

    “And what did you tell them?” Alexander’s voice was casual, but I caught the hint of curiosity beneath.

    I twisted the cap off my water bottle and took a long sip. “That the ind was beautiful and the chef was amazing.” “Nothing else?” He raised an eyebrow.

    “Whatb, /blike details about our sex life?” Iughed at his expression. “Rx, Alexander. I didn’t kiss and tell.”

    “Good.” He seemed genuinely relieved. “I ordered some food earlier. Nothing fancy, just bpasta /bbfrom /bbthat /bbItalian /bbce /byou

    b2/3 /b

    16:06 Sat, 23 Aug

    like. There’s still some if you’re hungry. I can heat it up for you.”

    “I can do it,” I protested, reaching for the container.

    He held it just out of reach. “Let me. You’ve had a long night.”

    I relented, sliding onto one of the barstools at the ind. “Thanks.”

    34%

    Alexander moved around the kitchen with surprising efficiency, transferring the pasta to a te and popping it into the microwave. There was something strangely intimate about watching him perform such a mundane task, this powerful CEO reheating leftovers for me in his penthouse kitchen.

    “So,” he said as the microwave hummed, “did you have fun with your friends?”

    “Yeah, it was great to catch up,” I said, watching as he meticulously added fresh parmesan to my pasta. “Emília wanted all the honeymoon details, of course.”

    Alexander raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure she did. How much did you share?”

    “Just enough to make her jealous about the ind.”

    The thought of James Westbrook flickered through my mind. I almost mentioned our encounter, then hesitated. Bringing up another man’s name right after returning from our honeymoon seemed like poor timing, even if it was purely innocent. Besides, James was probably just being friendly. No need to overthink it.

    “What’s on your mind?” Alexander asked, sliding the te of steaming pasta in front of me.