Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 130: Tense

Hailey

Marcus closes the door behind us, and for a moment, just studies me.

"You handled today well," he says finally, leaning against the edge of his desk. "Better than some seasoned professionals would’ve."

"Thank you," I say, caught off guard by the rare praise.

"Don’t let it go to your head." A wry smile flickers at the edge of his mouth. "Paris is going to be ten times harder. More pressure, higher stakes, tighter deadlines. The client is demanding and used to getting what they want."

"I can handle it," I reply, more confidently than I feel.

"I believe you can. That’s why I pushed for you." Marcus straightens, his tone shifting.

"Thank you," I say.

Marcus nods, then walks around his desk and begins gathering a few documents. The pause stretches, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken.

"There’s one more thing," he says, not looking up. "About Josh."

My breath catches.

He continues, voice even. "The client specifically asked for him after seeing the test shots. They think he’s the ’face’ they’ve been missing. Which means... he’s not just your model anymore. He’s the centerpiece."

I nod slowly, absorbing the implication.

"If something happens. If he walks, or if there’s more drama, this entire expansion could fall apart."

"I understand."

Marcus finally looks up, his gaze sharp. "Make sure he understands too. You brought him in. If this works, you both rise. If it doesn’t..."

"We fall," I finish quietly.

He softens, just a fraction. "I’m rooting for you, Hailey. You’ve got the eye. But vision only gets you halfway there. The rest is discipline."

"I won’t let you down."

He hands me a slim folder. "Flight details. It’s real now."

As I leave the office, the weight of it all settles on my shoulders—not fear, exactly, but the sense that everything is shifting beneath my feet. Josh and I had started as something impulsive, passionate, uncertain. But now?

Now the world was watching.

~-~

Josh is waiting by the exit, leaning against the brick wall with his hands in his pockets. The golden light of sunset streaks across his face, catching the faint shadows beneath his eyes. He straightens when he sees me, that familiar half-smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Everything okay?" he asks, nodding toward the folder in my hands.

I hesitate, then hand it to him. "Flight details. We leave in ten days."

He flips it open, brows lifting slightly. "Business class? Look at us."

I smile faintly but don’t laugh. Not this time.

"Marcus talked to me," I say. "About you."

Josh tilts his head. "Let me guess—he told you to keep me in line?"

"Something like that." I pause. "He said you’re the centerpiece of the Paris campaign. The client asked for you specifically."

Josh’s expression shifts—part pride, part surprise. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. You impressed them."

His smile fades into something quieter. "And now the pressure’s on."

I nod. "For both of us."

He studies me for a moment, the teasing gone from his eyes. "Are you worried I’ll screw this up?"

"No." The answer comes out sharper than I expect. "But if things go wrong, it won’t just be your name on the line. I fought for you, Josh. This is my shot too."

He steps closer, gently taking the folder from my hands and tucking it under his arm. "I’m not going anywhere, Hailey."

I look up at him, searching for any hint of hesitation. There isn’t any. Just him—solid, present, unexpectedly steady.

"I need you to take this seriously," I say quietly. "This isn’t just a fling anymore."

"I know," he murmurs. Then, softer: "But that doesn’t mean it has to stop being real."

He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch lingering.

"We’re in this together," he says. "Whatever this becomes."

And for the first time today, I let myself believe that maybe... just maybe... we’re ready for what comes next.

Paris is calling.

Josh shifts his weight, glancing down at the folder under his arm like it suddenly weighs fifty pounds. "So," he says, dragging the word out a bit, "does this mean I’m officially your professional responsibility now?"

I raise an eyebrow. "In Paris, you’ll technically be under my direction. So... yes."

He grins. "Interesting choice of words, considering I was under your direction last night too."

Heat floods my cheeks. "Josh."

"I’m just saying," he says, hands raised in mock innocence, "you seemed pretty confident giving instructions."

"Oh my god."

"And I followed every one," he adds with a wink. "Flawlessly, I might add. Like a true professional."

I press my hand to my face, torn between laughing and dying of embarrassment. "You’re impossible."

He leans in closer, his voice low. "If I recall correctly, you didn’t seem to mind."

I swat at his shoulder, trying to hide my smile. "Focus, Casanova. We have a lot riding on this trip."

He straightens up, still grinning but with a flicker of sincerity returning to his eyes. "I know. I’ll be good. Promise."

"You better be," I mutter, turning to walk away.

Behind me, I hear him say, just loud enough for me to catch: "You say that now, but wait until we get to Paris..."

I shake my head, cheeks burning, heart thudding with anxiety, excitement, and something dangerously close to hope.

~-~

Three Days Later – Paris

The cab ride from Charles de Gaulle is a blur of gray skies, old stone buildings, and honking scooters. ••

"Marais," the driver says, pulling up to a narrow cobblestone street. "Voilà."

I push open the door and immediately regret not wearing a jacket. It’s colder than I expected for Paris in late spring, the kind of damp chill that seeps straight into your bones. Josh grabs both suitcases and leads the way inside the building Marcus’s assistant secured for us.

The apartment is sleek and modern, tucked into a centuries-old shell. White walls, high ceilings, industrial fixtures. There are two bedrooms—thank god—and a kitchen I doubt we’ll have time to use. I drop my bag and stretch, trying to unkink my spine.

Josh tosses his duffel onto the couch and turns toward me, looking far too good for someone who hasn’t slept in 14 hours.

"So," he says. "Room assignments?"

I give him a look. "Don’t even think about it."

He holds up his hands. "Just trying to keep things simple. You know, like the simple joy of a shared bed. Efficient. Environmentally friendly."

"You’re insufferable."

"But charming."

"Debatable."

He smirks. "That didn’t seem debatable three nights ago."

I blush. "That night was..."

Josh winces. "Don’t say it was a mistake."

"I was going to say a surprise," I counter, crossing my arms. "But now I’m wondering."

He exhales, half-relieved, half-sheepish. "Okay. Surprise I can live with. Mistake would’ve crushed my already fragile ego."

"Fragile?" I laugh. "Please. Your ego could survive a nuclear blast."

"That’s because I’ve got excellent emotional insulation." He grins, then adds with a more serious note, "But for the record, I don’t regret it."

I don’t say anything right away.

I finally say, "Neither do I."

Josh nods once, slowly, then gestures toward one of the bedrooms. "Okay, then. I’ll take the one on the left, before my excellent self-control is compromised any further."

I smirk. "Don’t flatter yourself."

He winks. "Too late."

He disappears into his room with his duffel, and I’m left standing in the quiet apartment with the buzz of Paris just beyond the windows and the memory of that night looping far too clearly in my mind.

My phone buzzes so I look down. A text from Tammy.

Tammy: We are taking it easy tonight. Take a nice nap and be ready for the shoot tomorrow.

From behind his door, I hear the soft creak of a suitcase unzipping, followed by a muffled curse that makes me smile. I’m supposed to be focusing on lighting angles, mood boards, client preferences—not on the fact that I’ve seen that man shirtless in more than just a professional setting.

I toss my phone onto the cushion beside me and stand, pacing toward the window.

Josh comes out a few minutes later in sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt, hair slightly damp, probably from splashing water on his face. He freezes when he sees me by the window.

"You okay?" he asks.

I nod, not turning. "Yeah. Just... processing."

"Want me to shut up and give you space?"

"Actually," I say, glancing at him over my shoulder, "I think if you left me alone with my thoughts right now, I’d start rearranging the shoot schedule in alphabetical order."

He laughs softly, padding over. "So what’s the plan then? Power nap? Wine and people-watching? Existential crisis over room-service crepes?"

I give him a look. "All tempting options."

Josh leans against the window beside me. "We’re here, Hailey. You made it happen. Just... breathe for a sec, okay?"

I do. Inhale. Exhale. The pressure doesn’t disappear, but it settles—just a little.

Then he adds, with a teasing glint, "Plus, if you short-circuit from overthinking tonight, who’s going to yell at me on set tomorrow?"

"Oh don’t worry," I say, grinning. "I’ll have enough energy left to boss you around."

His eyes flick to mine, warm and knowing. "Can’t wait" he says and I feel his hand sliding over my waist.

I gasp softly as he lifts me effortlessly, like I weigh nothing at all and sets me gently on the wide window ledge.

The glass is cool against my back and his body warm against mine.

"Josh..." I breathe.

He rests his hands lightly on either side of me, caging me in. His head tilts, watching me.

"You are tense," he says quietly. "Let me relieve some of the tension for you."