Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 146: Not His Type

Marcus

The door to my office slams open, startling me from the stack of proofs I’ve been reviewing. A woman stands in the doorway. I recognize Josh and Hailey’s friend, who had annoyed me earlier.

What the fuck is she doing in my office?

Before I can react, she steps inside and deliberately closes the door behind her with a soft click. frёeωebɳovel.com

"Can I help you?" I ask, setting down my pen and leaning back in my chair.

Rebecca strolls toward my desk with the confident swagger of someone who’s never been told no.

"Actually," she says, perching herself on the edge of my desk without invitation, "I think we can help each other."

I raise an eyebrow, studying her.

She’s a small thing, barely reaching my chin even in those ridiculous heels.

Her dark hair cascades in messy waves around a heart-shaped face that’s pretty in that obvious, uncomplicated way, the kind that doesn’t particularly interest me. My gaze involuntarily drops to her chest, which seems almost comically disproportionate to her petite frame.

The tight sweater she’s wearing does nothing to disguise breasts that are frankly too large and heavy for my taste. I’ve always preferred women with more subtle curves and athletic builds, like Hailey’s photographer’s frame, all lean muscle and purpose.

I force my eyes back to her face, annoyed at myself for even noticing. She’s attractive, objectively speaking, but so aggressively not my type that it almost amuses me.

"I’m waiting," I say coolly, making no effort to hide my impatience. "What exactly do you think we can help each other with?"

Rebecca smiles, a slow, deliberate curve of her lips. "I know what you’re doing with Hailey."

"Do you now?" I keep my expression neutral, though something sharp and defensive stirs in my chest.

"Mmhmm." She slides a fraction closer on the desk, invading my space with casual confidence. "And I think you’re going about it all wrong."

I lean back, putting distance between us. "Enlighten me."

"You’re too direct. Too... obvious." She gestures vaguely. "Women like Hailey don’t respond to that. They need subtlety. Mystery."

I almost laugh. "And you’re an expert on what women like Hailey want?"

"I’m an expert on what she doesn’t want," Rebecca counters, crossing her legs. "And right now, that’s you."

The bluntness catches me off guard, though I’m careful not to show it. "What makes you think I care what Hailey wants or doesn’t want?"

Rebecca’s eyes narrow slightly. "Because you keep trying. And men like you don’t try unless they’re invested."

I study her for a moment, this small, brash woman with her too-large breasts and too-confident smile.

There’s something almost refreshing about her directness, even if her appearance does nothing for me.

"Why are you here, Rebecca? Really?"

She hops off my desk, smoothing her skirt. "I’m offering you a deal."

"A deal," I repeat, skeptical.

"Yes. You back off from Hailey, and I’ll help you save face. Make it look like you lost interest, not like you were rejected. Preserve that precious ego of yours."

I can’t help it—I laugh, the sound sharp and genuine. "That’s your offer? To help me ’save face’?"

"Would you prefer I tell everyone how pathetically you’ve been chasing after a woman who’s clearly taken?" she asks sweetly.

My laughter dies in my throat.

I rise slowly from my chair, letting the silence stretch between us. Rebecca watches me carefully, her smug little smirk flickering just slightly.

"You came into my office," I say, voice low and measured. "Closed the door. Sat on my desk. And now you’re threatening me?"

Rebecca doesn’t flinch. If anything, her chin lifts a notch higher. "It’s not a threat, Marcus. It’s a favor. You strike me as a man who doesn’t like to lose. I’m simply giving you a way to bow out gracefully."

I step closer, enough that I see the way her fingers tighten subtly against the fabric of her skirt. She’s bluffing. Or maybe not bluffing, but certainly overestimating her position here.

Who does she think she is?

"And what exactly do you get out of this generous offer, Rebecca?"

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips—a nervous habit, I’d guess, though she’s trying to play it off as seductive. "You."

"Me." I’m close enough now to smell her perfume—something fruity and young that screams department store rather than boutique. "You want...me?"

I stare at her for a moment, a slow chuckle building in my throat. The sheer audacity is almost admirable.

"That’s quite the proposition," I say, walking around her in a slow circle. "You, Josh’s best friend, suddenly want me? The man you just accused of predatory behavior?"

Rebecca holds my gaze, unflinching. "I never said I had good taste in men."

"No, you certainly didn’t." I stop directly in front of her. "Let me make sure I understand. You are offering yourself as what...a consolation prize? A distraction to keep me away from Hailey?"

"I’m offering a mutually beneficial arrangement," she says, crossing her arms. "You get someone who actually wants your attention, and Hailey gets to do her job without her boss making things awkward."

I lean against my desk, studying her with new interest. Not because I find her attractive—though she’s pretty enough in that obvious way, but because her boldness is unexpected.

"And Josh? What does he think of this little scheme?"

"Josh doesn’t control what I do." She is smiling.

"Ah," I say, smiling too. "He has no idea you’re here."

"He knows exactly where I am," she counters. "I am a big girl. I don’t need his permission to decide who I will and won’t sleep with."

I can’t believe this girl.

"Sorry, but you are not type," I say bluntly.

Rebecca’s smile falters for just a fraction of a second before hardening into something sharper. "Excuse me?"

I shrug, moving back to my chair with deliberate casualness. "You asked for honesty. I’m giving it to you. You’re not my type."

"Really?" Her voice drops, taking on a dangerous edge.

"And what exactly is your type, Marcus? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like unavailable women who want nothing to do with you."

The barb hits its mark, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I lean back in my chair, fingers steepled. "Clever. But still not my type."

Rebecca steps closer to my desk, palms flat against the surface as she leans forward. "You know what I think? I think you’re lying. I think you’re so used to women throwing themselves at you that you don’t know how to handle someone calling your bluff."

"Is that what you think you’re doing? Calling my bluff?"

"I think you’re scared," she says, voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Scared that if you admit you’re attracted to me, it means you’re not as hung up on Hailey as you pretend to be."

I study her face, the flush in her cheeks, the way her breathing has quickened slightly. She’s either an excellent actress or she actually believes what she’s saying.

"You’re fishing," I say finally. "Trying to figure out if I’m genuinely interested in Hailey or if it’s just the chase I enjoy."

Rebecca straightens, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "So which is it?"

I stand again, this time moving around the desk until I’m close enough to see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. She doesn’t back away, though I notice her hands clench slightly at her sides.

"You want to know what I think, Rebecca?" I reach out, letting my fingers ghost along her jawline. She shivers despite herself. "I think you came in here with a plan to seduce me away from Hailey. But now you’re realizing you might be in over your head."

Her breath catches, but her voice remains steady. "You’re avoiding the question."

"No," I say, dropping my hand. "I’m answering it. Hailey interests me because she’s brilliant, talented, and refuses to be impressed by anything I have to offer. You..." I let my gaze travel over her deliberately. "You’re trying too hard."

The words land like a slap. Rebecca’s face flushes deeper, but instead of backing down, she steps even closer.

"Maybe," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "Or maybe I’m exactly what you need."

Before I can respond, she rises up on her toes and presses her lips to mine.

The kiss is aggressive and desperate, with all teeth and tongue and misplaced confidence. For a moment, I’m too surprised to react.

For a brief moment, I give in to the kiss, my hands finding her waist as I pull her closer. Her breasts press against my chest, soft and plump.

I am lost in the damned kiss before I regain my sense to break away, firmly setting her at arm’s length.

"That’s enough," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

Rebecca stares up at me, a smirk teasing her lips.

"A momentary lapse in judgment," I say, straightening my tie. "One I don’t intend to repeat."

She lets out a throaty life. "I think your cock disagrees with the fact that I am not your type."

I follow her gaze downward and curse silently. The betrayal of my body is undeniable, straining against my tailored slacks. Rebecca’s eyes gleam with triumph, her earlier rejection forgotten.

"Not your type, huh?" she purrs, stepping closer again.

I back away, putting the desk between us. "Physical reactions are involuntary. It means nothing."

"Really?" She raises an eyebrow. "Because it seems to mean something pretty specific from where I’m standing."

I adjust my jacket, trying to regain composure. "This conversation is over, Rebecca. Whatever game you’re playing stops now."

She laughs, the sound rich and knowing. "It’s not a game if we both win, Marcus."

"Get out," I say, my voice low but firm. "Now."

Rebecca’s smile doesn’t falter as she backs toward the door. "Fine. But we both know I’ll be back. And next time..." her eyes flick downward once more, "you might not be so quick to send me away."

The door closes behind her with a soft click. I sink into my chair, running a hand through my hair.

What in god’s name just happened?