Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 134: One Time Thing

Hailey

I can feel Marcus’s gaze burning into my back as Josh pulls me closer on the dance floor. The music throbs around us, but all I can think about is Marcus’s proposition, his audacity, the way he looked at me like I was just another conquest.

"You okay?" Josh asks, his voice low in my ear. "You seem anxious."

I force a smile. "I’m fine."

Josh glances over my shoulder, his jaw tightening. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing worth repeating." I press closer to Josh, trying to lose myself in his warmth, in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my palm.

Josh studies my face for a moment, then nods, though I can tell he’s not convinced. His hand slides to the small of my back, protective, possessive in a way that should bother me but doesn’t.

"Want to get out of here?" he suggests. "We could grab a late dinner somewhere quieter."

The thought is tempting—escaping the pulsing lights, the watchful eyes, Marcus’s calculated stare. But running feels like letting him win.

"Not yet," I say, lifting my chin. "I want to dance with you. I want to celebrate. We earned this."

Josh’s smile softens. "We did, didn’t we?"

"Damn right." I loop my arms around his neck, letting the music guide us. "Your first modeling gig, my big break with Luxe. Nothing can take that away."

"And don’t forget there isn’t anyone trying to kill me at the moment," Josh reminds me and I laugh.

"Thank god for that," I say.

As we move together, I feel some of the tension drain from my shoulders. Josh has that effect on me—grounding me when everything else feels chaotic. His hands on my waist are steady, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You know," he says after a while, "I never expected any of this when I followed you to New York."

I raise an eyebrow. "You mean the modeling career? Or the psycho model trying to kill you?"

He laughs, spinning me gently. "Both. But I was thinking more about this." He pulls me back in, closer than before. "About us."

My heart skips. "Is there an us?"

"I’d like there to be." His voice is soft but certain. "Wouldn’t you?"

I smile up at him. "I think I do."

Josh’s grin is immediate, boyish and bright, like he’s been holding his breath waiting for that answer. He leans down, pressing a quick, feather-light kiss to my temple.

"I am glad," he murmurs.

I rest my cheek against his chest, letting the music sway us. For the first time tonight, Marcus slips out of focus.

And maybe that’s what I need right now.

Josh threads our fingers together and gives my hand a small squeeze. "So how about that dinner?"

I nod. "Let’s go before the universe decides to throw something else at us."

We weave through the crowd, laughter and music chasing our heels. The moment we step out into the night, the cool air rushes around us, crisp and full of promise. Josh hails a cab, and I slide into the backseat beside him, our thighs pressed close.

As we pull away from the building, I glance once over my shoulder.

Marcus’s eyes meet mine through his wine glass.

He raises his glass in a mock toast, that damn smirk still etched on his face. He doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t even look surprised.

He looks... intrigued.

I look away.

Josh rests a hand on my knee, his touch light. "You sure you’re okay?"

"I am," I say.

And for now, I really am.

But deep down, something in me knows this isn’t over.

Just what I need in life. More drama.

~-~

The next morning arrives with merciless sunshine and a knot in my stomach. I dress in black jeans and a loose sweater.

The studio is quiet when I arrive, most of the crew gone now that shooting has wrapped. I find Marcus in the editing bay, hunched over a monitor, his silver hair catching the blue light of the screen.

"You’re early," he says without looking up.

I hover in the doorway. "Better than late."

He gestures to the chair beside him, still focused on the images. "Sit. I need your input on the final selects."

I hesitate before taking the seat, making sure to leave ample space between us. The chair feels too close, the room too small.

"These turned out beautifully," Marcus says, scrolling through the shots. "Your eye for composition is... exceptional."

"Thanks," I reply, my voice clipped. I point to one of the images. "I like this one for the opener."

Marcus nods, his shoulder brushing mine as he leans forward. I tense, shifting away slightly.

"Jumpy today?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Just focused," I counter, keeping my eyes on the screen.

He turns in his chair, studying me. "About last night—"

"I’d rather not discuss it," I interrupt, my cheeks burning despite my resolve.

Marcus’s lips quirk into that infuriating half-smile. "I was just going to say you look lovely when angry. It brings out the fire in your eyes."

I feel my jaw tighten. "That’s inappropriate."

"Is it?" He leans back, completely at ease. "I’m simply observing what makes you a good photographer. Passion. Intensity."

"Can we please just focus on the work?" I gesture toward the monitor, desperate to redirect.

Marcus holds my gaze a moment longer before nodding. "Of course."

We spend the next hour reviewing images. When his hand accidentally brushes mine as we both reach for the mouse, I practically leap out of my chair.

"I need coffee," I announce, standing abruptly. "Do you want some?"

"I’d love some," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Black, like my soul."

I roll my eyes despite myself. "Dramatic."

"You have no idea," he replies, and I rush out of the room.

He really is infuriating.

At the break room, I take a moment to breathe.

I pour two coffees, his exactly how he asked for it.

Why does he get under my skin like this?

Why does every word feel like a challenge, every glance like a dare?

I walk back slower than necessary, mentally building walls I hope will hold this time. But the moment I step into the editing bay again, Marcus is already standing, arms folded, watching the door like he knew I’d hesitate.

"Here you go," I say flatly, holding out his coffee.

He takes it with a grin, his fingers brushing mine for a beat too long. "Thank you."

Marcus sips his coffee and shifts closer again, just barely, just enough that I feel it.

"You know," he says, voice quieter now, "you surprise me."

"How flattering," I say dryly.

"I mean it. Most women I pursue do not turn me down so swiftly," he says.

"I guess I am not most women," I say, meeting his gaze.

He holds it, eyes glinting. "Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about you."

I inhale sharply.

"You don’t get to say things like that," I whisper.

"Why not? I mean them." He leans forward, close enough I can smell his cologne—earthy, clean, expensive. "What if I tell you I am not seeing you as a one-time thing?"

I stand abruptly, pulse pounding. "This isn’t happening, Marcus. I am with Josh."

Marcus stays where he is, unflinching, his eyes never leaving mine. "Are you? Or are you just trying to convince yourself you are?"

My fists clench at my sides. "Don’t twist this."

"I’m not." He sets his coffee down slowly, deliberately. "I see the way you look at him. But I also see the way you look at me."

My heart is hammering now, loud and angry in my chest. "You think you can manipulate everyone with charm and money and pretty words, but I’m not for sale, Marcus."

"I see," he says.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I snatch it like a lifeline.

It’s a text from Josh.

Lunch later? Miss your face.

I exhale shakily and type back quickly: Absolutely. Can’t wait. Then I slide the phone away and meet Marcus’s stare.

"Let’s get back to work, Marcus," I say, steadying my voice.

For once, he doesn’t smirk.