The CEO's Contractual Wife - Chapter 53: Chapter 53

Olivia
He leaned across the console, his face inches from mine. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, he brushed his lips against my forehead, just as he had the day before.
"Get some rest," he murmured. "I'll see you in the morning."
I nodded, unable to form words with him so close. His cologne wrapped around me, spicy and expensive, making my head swim.
"Goodnight, Alex," I managed finally, reaching for the door handle.
"Goodnight, Liv."
True to his word, Alexander appeared at my door at precisely seven-thirty the next morning, bearing coffee and a bag from my favorite bakery.
"How did you know about Marlowe's?" I asked, accepting the bag of pastries.
"You mentioned it once," he shrugged, following me into the kitchen. "You said they had the best croissants in LA."
I blinked, surprised he'd remembered such a trivial detail. "Well, you're right. They do."
We ate quickly, then headed to the hospital. The day passed in a blur of activity as Dad was moved from ICU to a regular room. The improvement was immediate and dramatic; his color was better, his voice stronger, and he was fully alert.
"There she is," Dad greeted me when I entered his new room. "My favorite daughter."
"I'm your only daughter," I reminded him, kissing his cheek. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck," he admitted. "But a smaller truck than yesterday."
Dr. Weaver visited mid-morning, pleased with Dad's progress. "Everything looks excellent, Mr. Morgan. Your heart is responding well to the bypasses. If you continue like this, you could be home by the end of the week."
"Thank God," Dad muttered. "No offense, Doc, but I hate hospitals."
"Most people do," Dr. Weaver smiled. "But you'll need to take it easy for several weeks. No lifting, no driving, no exertion of any kind."
"What about work?" Dad asked, already fretting about his job at the hardware store.
"Not for at least six weeks," Dr. Weaver said firmly. "Your body needs time to heal. You'll need help at home for the first few weeks."
Mom nodded. "We'll manage. The kids will help."
"Of course we will," I agreed, already mentally rearranging my schedule.
After Dr. Weaver left, Dad fixed me with a stern look. "So, your boss. He seems... intense."
"He can be," I acknowledged. "But he's been very supportive through all this."
"Hmm," Dad grunted, clearly reserving judgment. "He's older than you."
"By eight years," I said. "It's not that much."
"And he's your boss."
"Yes, but I don't report directly to him," I repeated Alexander's explanation.
Dad studied my face. "Are you happy?"
The question caught me off guard, just as it had when Ethan asked. "I think so," I said honestly. "It's still new, but... yes."
"Then that's all that matters," he said, patting my hand. "Just be careful. Men with money and power can be complicated."
"I know, Dad," I assured him. "I'm being careful."
The conversation shifted to his recovery, the medications he'd need to take, and the changes to his diet. I took notes, knowing Mom would be too overwhelmed to remember everything.
The next few days fell into a rhythm. I'd go to the hospital in the morning, spend a few hours with Dad, then head to the office for the afternoon. Carter Enterprises was surprisingly accommodating about my situation. I could work remotely when needed and take time off without question.
At the office, I threw myself into my marketing campaigns, grateful for the distraction. The team was supportive, offering to cover meetings I couldn't attend and keeping me updated on projects.
"How's your dad doing?" Nova asked one afternoon as we worked on a presentation.
"Better every day," I said, genuinely relieved. "The doctor says he's exceeding expectations."
"That's great," she smiled. "And how's things with the boss man?"
I felt my cheeks warm. "It's going well. He's been really supportive through all this."
"I bet," she waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "The way he looks at you in meetings... girl, that man is smitten."
"He is not," I protested, but my heart skipped at the thought.
"Please," Nova scoffed. "He can barely take his eyes off you. And don't think I haven't noticed how he finds excuses to touch you. A hand on your back, brushing against you when he passes... classic moves."
I focused intently on my computer screen, hoping she couldn't see how her words affected me. "We're just... figuring things out."
"Well, figure it out in the bedroom," she advised with a wink. "That's where all the best decisions are made."
"Nova!" I laughed despite myself. "That is terrible advice."
"Maybe," she shrugged. "But it's fun advice."
On Friday, a week after his surgery, Dad was finally cleared to go home. Dr. Weaver went over his discharge instructions meticulously.
"No driving for at least three weeks," he emphasized. "No lifting anything heavier than a gallon of milk. No strenuous activity of any kind."
"What about sex?" Dad asked bluntly, causing Mom to gasp and me to suddenly find the floor fascinating.
Dr. Weaver didn't miss a beat. "Not for at least four to six weeks, and then only when you feel ready. Your sternum needs time to heal, Mr. Morgan."
"Great," Dad grumbled. "Surgery saved my heart but killed my love life."
"Dad!" I protested, my face burning.
"What? I'm a married man with needs," he said unapologetically. "Your mother's a beautiful woman."
"Please stop talking," I begged, covering my ears.
Mom was blushing furiously, but there was a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "David, behave yourself."
Dr. Weaver cleared his throat, looking amused. "As I was saying, you'll need to take it easy. Follow the medication schedule precisely. We'll see you back here in two weeks for a follow-up."