The CEO's Contractual Wife (Olivia and Alexander) novel Chapter 230

Olivia

He glanced around the restaurant, as if checking for eavesdroppers, before meeting my eyes again. “We can talk about i after dinner.”

“Okay.” I said slowly, trying to read his face. But Alexander had perfected the corporate poker face years ago.

We continued our meal, but the conversation had lost some of its easy flow. I found myself wondering what he wanted to discuss. Work? The arrangement? Something else entirely?

The appetizer arrived, burrata drizzled with olive oil and garnished with fresh basil. Normally, I’d have savored every bite. but my mind kept circling back to Alexander’s words.

“This is incredible,” I said, forcing enthusiasm into my voice.

Alexander nodded, breaking off a piece of bread. “Giuseppe sources the burrata locally. Makes it fresh every morning.”

“It shows.”

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. The restaurant hummed with quiet conversation from other tables, the soft clink of silverware on china creating a soothing rhythm.

Our entrees arrived promptly. The lobster ravioli looked divine, the pasta delicate and perfectly cooked. Alexander’s osso buco smelled rich and savory, the meat falling off the bone.

We focused on our food, and gradually the tension eased. Whatever Alexander wanted to discuss could wait until we’d finished this meal.

“How’s the Thompson project coming along?” he asked between bites.

“Good. Really good, actually. Andrew Thompson seems genuinely pleased with our concepts.”

“That’s because you understand his vision. Most marketing people try to force their ideas instead of listening to what the client actually wants.”

I felt warmth spread through my chest at his praise. “Thanks. It helps that the Thompson legacy is genuinely impressive. Makes the work easier when you’re passionate about what you’re selling.”

“That’s what separates good marketers from great ones. Authenticity.”

I twirled ravioli onto my fork. “How did your meeting with Sterling Development go?”

“Closed the deal. Legal’s finalizing contracts this week.”

“That’s fantastic! Congratulations.”

Alexander shrugged, but I could see the satisfaction in his eyes. “It’s what I do.”

“Still worth celebrating.” I raised my wine glass.

He clinked his against mine.

The waiter appeared to refill our wine glasses and check on our meals. We assured him everything was perfect, and he retreated with a professional smile.

As I finished the last of my ravioli, that earlier tension crept back.

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Chapter 200

I set down my fork as the waitress cleated car plates, the link of dithes muftica e um re Alexander leaned back in his chair, ha expression inreolable as he rowie i

So I prompted, unable to take the suspense anymore. What did you want to talk abond

His eyes met mine briefly before he signaled for the check. “Let’s decine it at home!

“Alex, you’re worrying me

“It’s nothing to worry about. His tone was measured, controlled. Just something we should talk about away from home

The waitress appeared with the bill, and Alexander handed her his black card without even glancing at the total disappeared with practiced efficiency.

“Can you at least give me a hint?” I pressed.

“Home” His jaw tightened slightly.

I swallowed my questions, recognizing that stubborn set to his features. When Alexander made up her mind about something, pushing only made things worse.

The drive back to the estate was silent. Not the comfortable kind of silence we’d developed, but something heavier, weighted with unspoken words. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, my mind spinning through possibilities.

What could be so serious that he couldn’t tell me at dinner? Had something happened with the company? With his family Was Grandfather Harold suspicious about us?

By the time we pulled into the circular driveway, my nerves were stretched taut. Alexander killed the engine but didn’t move to get out immediately.

“Before we go inside,” he said, still looking straight ahead, “I need you to understand that I’m not accusing you of anything.”

“Accusing me?” My voice came out sharper than intended. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Just remember that.” He finally looked at me, his expression carefully neutral. “Come on.”

We entered through the front door, Alfred nowhere to be seen. The house felt too quiet, too empty. Alexander led me to his study, closing the door behind us with a soft click.

He pulled out his phone, tapping the screen a few times before handing it to me. “I received these today.”

I looked down at the screen, my breath catching.

Photos. Multiple photos. Of me and James at the cafe. At O’Malley’s. On the street outside Thompson Beverly Hills.

“What…” I scrolled through them, each one more invasive than the last. “Someone’s been following me?

“Apparently.” Alexander moved to pour himself a whiskey from the bar cart. “They sent them from a burner phone. Untraceable.”

I stared at the photos, my hands trembling slightly. The angles were deliberate, the framing designed to suggest something that wasn’t there. In one shot, James was leaning close, probably just to be heard over the cafe noise. In another, my hand rested near his on the table at O’Malley’s.

“These look worse than they are,” I said, handing his phone back.

“I know.” He took a long sip of whiskey. “But they’re out there now. And whoever has them is trying to use them.”

“Use them how?”

17:43 Fit, Dec 19 J

Chapter 20

“Blackmail Five hundred thousand to make them disappear.” He set his glass down harder than Groessary. They thi I send them to Grandfather and the beard“.

My stomach twisted. “Oh god

“That’s not what concerns me right now.” Alexander turned to face me fully. “What concerns me is why you’re meeting wit James Westbrook. Multiple times, apparently. Without mentioning it to me.”

The accusation in his tone, however carefully controlled, sparked something defensive in my chest. “I wasn’t hiding anything.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because there was nothing to tell!” I crossed my arms. “We ran into each other at the cafe. Had coffee. That’s it.”

“And O’Malley’s? The Thompson Hotel?”

“He showed up when Ryan was harassing me, remember? You were there!” I gestured at the phone. “And the Thompson thing was a coincidence. I was doing a site visit, and he was in the area.”

Alexander’s expression remained impassive. “That’s a lot of coincidences.”

“What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m asking why James Westbrook keeps appearing wherever you are.”

“Maybe you should ask him that question instead of interrogating me!”

“I’m not interrogating you.”

“Really? Because it sure feels like it.” I stepped closer, anger overriding my earlier anxiety. “You drag me home, show me invasive photos someone took without my knowledge, and then act like I’ve done something wrong.”

“You’re meeting with my competitor.”

“I’m having coffee with someone who’s been perfectly pleasant to me.” I shook my head. “James has been nothing but professional. He complimented my work on the Thompson account, and we talked about the industry. That’s it.”

“The board won’t see it that way if these photos get out.”

“Then maybe you should worry about who’s following me and taking pictures instead of questioning why I had coffee with someone!”

“You don’t understand what’s at stake here. This marriage, this whole situation with Grandfather, the company, it all depends on appearances. On people believing we’re real.”

“We are real.” The words came out before I could stop them.