The Ceo's Contract Wife

Evelyn "So you see, sweetie, I believe a young thing like you should be more... accommodating to her elders' needs." My fingers clenched around the water glass as Mr. Thompson's pudgy hand inched up my thigh under the table. The old fart wasn't even trying to be subtle anymore. Great. Just perfect. Mom set me up with a p*****t. Again. My phone buzzed. Another text from Mom: "Is it going well? Remember, he's promised to help with Dad's treatment if you're nice to him!" If by 'nice' she meant letting this creep paw at me like I'm merchandise on clearance, then yeah, I was done being nice. "Mr. Thompson," I said, scooting my chair back with a screech. "If you don't remove your hand from my leg right now, you'll be drinking that soup through a straw." His face turned as red as the marinara sauce on his tie. "Well! Young lady, do you know who I am?" "A predator with a bad comb-over?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. Dammit, my mouth was going to get me in trouble again. He sputtered, bits of bread flying from his mouth. "I am the vice president of—" "Of the Creepy Old Men Club?" I cut him off, standing up. "Look, I don't care if you're the president of the United States. You don't get to grope me under the table." My phone buzzed again. Mom: "Honey, everything okay?" I snatched my purse, my hands shaking with anger. "Thanks for the meal. I'd rather date your son." "I don't have a son!" "Exactly." The restaurant had gone quiet. Eyes from nearby tables turned our way, whispers starting to spread. Great. Just what I needed—more humiliation. As if walking in on Jack screwing Bethany in the office wasn't enough. I stormed toward the exit feeling frustrated, my heels clicking against the marble floor of this fancy-ass restaurant. The crystal chandeliers seemed to mock me with their sparkle. Look at little Eve, thinking she belongs here with the rich folk. Another text from Mom: "Please, honey. Just one date. For Dad." Dad. My steps faltered. The mounting medical bills. The treatment he needed but we couldn't afford. The loan sharks circling like vultures... No. I wasn't selling myself to some creepy old man, even for Dad. I pushed through the revolving doors, gulping the cool night air. The fresh breeze hit my flushed face, and I wanted to scream. Instead, a burst of laughter caught my attention. "I'm afraid that's not what I meant by a 'stimulating conversation' tonight." That voice. Ice-cold and dripping with sarcasm. I'd recognize it anywhere. Alexander Blackwell, CEO of Blackwell Law Firm, aka Satan's favorite lawyer, aka my boss who barely knew I existed despite working as his receptionist for three years. He stood under the restaurant's awning, his perfectly tailored suit looking more expensive than my whole wardrobe. A woman in a dress that probably cost more than my rent clung to his arm, wobbling on skyscraper heels. "Alex, baby, you misunderstood!" She giggled, swaying dramatically. "When I said I was good with my mouth—" A snort escaped me. Holy hell, did she really just say that? I quickly turned it into a cough, covering my mouth with my hand. Too late. Mr. Blackwell's steel-gray eyes locked onto mine, his expression frigid. Great. I'd just laughed at my boss's date. My boss who could fire me with a snap of his fingers. The woman continued, oblivious to the tension. "Come on, Lexy, your grandfather won't know if you skip out on this silly marriage arrangement. Let's go to my place and—" "That's quite enough, Veronica," Mr. Blackwell cut her off, his voice sharp enough to slice through steel. He carefully removed her hand from his arm, like he was handling toxic waste. Veronica pouted, red lips pursing. "But Alex—" "I believe our evening is concluded." His tone made it clear this wasn't up for discussion. The woman's face transformed from seductive to furious in two seconds flat. "You're going to regret this, Alexander Blackwell! You think you're so high and mighty, but wait until—" "Goodbye, Veronica." She huffed, stumbling slightly as she pulled out her phone. "Henry? Yes, come get me. That asshole lawyer just dumped me on the street." I watched the scene unfold like a bad reality show. Mr. Blackwell stood there, like a cold statue, while his date threw what could only be described as an adult tantrum. And here I was, caught in the crossfire, trying to become invisible. "Miss..." His voice trailed off as his gaze moved back to me, though he seemed distracted as he waited for me to fill in the blank. He doesn't even know my name. Three years of saying 'Good morning, Mr. Blackwell' every day, and I'm Miss Question Mark to him, what did I expected though? "Lawson," I supplied, trying not to sound bitter. "Evelyn Lawson." His date hiccupped, still swaying. "Ohhh, is this another one of your bitches, Lexy? I bet she's good with with her mouth too!" Another giggle. I watched something flash in Mr. Blackwell's eyes, irritation? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, it made him straighten up even more, if that was possible. Veronica finally staggered off to a waiting Mercedes, still cursing Blackwell's name. Once she was gone, the silence between us grew thick. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling his gaze on me. "Rough night?" I asked, immediately regretting it. You don't ask your boss about his personal life, Eve. Especially not when he looks like he's contemplating murder. His jaw tightened. "I could ask you the same, Miss Lawson. You seemed... distressed when you exited the restaurant." Heat crept up my neck. "Just another blind date disaster. Nothing new." "Indeed." His eyes scanned me from head to toe, not in a creepy way like Mr. Thompson, but analytically. Like I was a legal document he was reviewing for flaws. My phone buzzed again. Mom. I ignored it. "Miss Lawson." His voice turned even colder as he watched me intently, if that was even humanly possible. "Marry Me." What the F---?