The CEO's 30-Day Contract Wife

Olivia Carter had two rules. Never date a man from Manhattan. And never beg a man from Manhattan for money. Both rules broke on the same morning she had eighty seven thousand dollars of debt and zero dollars in her bank account. The eviction notice was taped to her apartment door in Queens with red tape. It was bright red. The paper said FINAL NOTICE in capital letters. Her landlord had added his own note with black marker. Olivia pay or get out by Friday. She pulled it off and walked inside. The apartment smelled like cold coffee and rain. Her phone was already ringing. Queens General Hospital flashed on the screen. She answered. Her voice was steady. She had practiced steady. "Miss Carter? This is Doctor Evans calling about Maria Carter. Your mother needs heart surgery within the week. The total after insurance is eighty seven thousand dollars. Without payment we cannot schedule the operating room. Do you understand?" Olivia closed her eyes. Her hand tight around the phone. "I understand," she said. "Can I pay in parts? Like ten thousand now and -" "Miss Carter, I am sorry. The hospital policy requires full payment before we book the surgeon. Eighty seven thousand dollars." "Eighty seven thousand dollars," she repeated. The number felt like a stone in her mouth. "Okay. Thank you, Doctor." She hung up. Her mother was sleeping in the next room, thin and pale after the last attack. Her mother thought Olivia had a good internship in Manhattan. Her mother thought everything was fine. Olivia opened her laptop. Bank balance: forty two dollars and sixteen cents. She had rent due of one thousand two hundred dollars. She had hospital debt of eighty seven thousand dollars. She had forty two dollars. She laughed. It was not a happy sound. Her phone buzzed again. Blackwood Holdings. Her internship supervisor. "Olivia? Where are you? Mister Blackwood is in the office early and there is no coffee on his desk. You were supposed to be here at seven." It was seven fifteen. She had overslept because she worked a double shift at the diner last night. "I am coming, I am on the train, five minutes," she lied. She was still in her pajamas. "Be here in ten minutes or do not bother coming at all. Mister Blackwood does not like waiting." She ran. She pulled on her only good suit. It was from college. It was too small. She tied her hair into a ponytail and ran out the door in Queens, down three flights of stairs, into the rain, onto the subway. The subway smelled like wet people and sadness. She held her tote bag with her mother's hospital papers inside. Blackwood Holdings was on the fifty eighth floor of a glass tower that touched the clouds. The lobby was all marble and cold air. Men in suits that cost more than her rent walked past her like she was invisible. She reached the fifty eighth floor at seven forty three. Seventeen minutes late. Her shoes were squeaking with rain. Tiffany, the head secretary, looked up and smirked. "Well, well. The intern graces us with her presence." "Tiffany, I am so sorry, the train -" "Mister Blackwood has asked for his coffee three times. Black. No sugar. No milk. Hot enough to burn. And he is in a very bad mood. Good luck." Olivia ran to the small kitchen. She made the coffee with shaking hands. Black. No sugar. No milk. Extra hot. She poured it into the expensive black mug that said Blackwood Holdings on it. She walked to his office. The double glass doors were closed. Through the glass she could see him. Ethan Blackwood. Thirty two years old. Billionaire chief executive officer. He was standing by the window, looking out at the city, wearing a black suit that fit him like it was made for him. Which it was. He was tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Face like a sculpture that someone had made angry. He was on the phone. His voice was low and cold. "I do not care what my father says. The board will vote my way. If they do not, I will buy the board." He hung up. Olivia took a deep breath and knocked. "Come in." She opened the door. Her heart was beating so loud she thought he could hear it. "Mister Blackwood, I have your coffee. I apologize for being late, the -" "Late?" He turned. His eyes were gray and furious. "You are not just late, Miss Carter. You are incompetent. Do you know how many interns would kill to work on this floor?" "I know, sir, I -" "You spill water on my presentation yesterday. Today you are late. You think this is a joke? You think Blackwood Holdings is a charity for Queens girls who cannot afford the train?" The words hit harder than they should have because she was already broken. She felt tears coming. She bit her lip. "I am sorry, Mister Blackwood. It will not happen again." He walked to his desk and sat down. He did not look at her. "Put the coffee on the desk and get out. You are fired." The world stopped. "Fired?" she whispered. "Yes. Fired. Pack your things and leave my building. You are not built for Manhattan, Miss Carter. Go back to Queens." She stood there, holding the hot coffee. Forty two dollars in her bank. Eighty seven thousand dollars hospital bill. Eviction notice on her door. Mother sleeping in the next room thinking everything was fine. And this man in his two thousand dollar suit telling her she was not built for Manhattan. Something inside her snapped. "No." Ethan Blackwood looked up slowly. "What did you say?" "I said no," Olivia said, and her voice was shaking but loud. "I am not going back to Queens because you had a bad morning and your father yelled at you on the phone. I made your coffee exactly how you like it. Black. No sugar. Extra hot. I woke up at five in the morning to make your stupid coffee and I took two trains in the rain and you did not even say thank you." His eyebrows went up. No one ever spoke to him like that. "You are firing me for being seventeen minutes late? You know what I did before I came here? I got a call that my mother needs eighty seven thousand dollars for heart surgery or she will die. I have forty two dollars. I have an eviction notice on my door. So yes, I am late. But I am here. And I am good at my job when I am not being yelled at by a man who thinks the world belongs to him." She slammed the coffee down on his desk. The lid was not on properly. The coffee exploded. Black, burning hot coffee, all over his desk. All over his papers. All over his two thousand dollar suit pants. Silence. Olivia stared at the brown stain spreading across his white shirt. Her mouth opened. Closed. "Oh my God," she whispered. "Oh my God, oh my God -" Ethan Blackwood stood up slowly. Coffee dripping from his suit onto his expensive carpet. His face was unreadable. "You," he said quietly, "just ruined a suit that costs more than your rent for three months." "I am so sorry, I -" "Get out." Olivia grabbed her tote bag and ran. She ran out of his office, past Tiffany who was staring with her mouth open, past the entire floor who was now staring at the intern covered in coffee and tears. She reached the elevator and pressed the button over and over. The doors opened. She stepped inside and pressed lobby and covered her face and cried. Really cried, for the first time since the hospital call. The elevator dinged. Lobby. She stepped out. She was going to walk back to Queens in the rain. She was going to tell her mother she lost her internship. A hand touched her shoulder. She turned. It was a woman in a gray suit, older, kind eyes, holding a tablet. "Miss Carter? Olivia Carter?" "Yes?" "I am Margaret, assistant to Mister Blackwood's executive office. Mister Blackwood asked me to give you this." She held out a dry cleaning bill. No, not a bill. A card. A thick black card with gold letters. BLACKWOOD HOLDINGS Mister Ethan Blackwood Will See You Now Suite Five Eight Zero One Immediately Olivia stared at it. "He just fired me," she said. "I know," Margaret said softly. "But he also said to tell you if you come back upstairs right now, he has a proposal that will pay you one hundred thousand dollars." One hundred thousand dollars. Eighty seven thousand dollars for her mother. Thirteen thousand dollars left over for rent. Olivia looked at the elevator. Looked at the rain outside. Looked at the card in her hand. She turned back toward the elevator. The doors were still open, as if waiting for her.