Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You Chapter 119: Date Night

Hailey

I am getting ready for my date with Josh, if it even is a date.

Maybe it’s just a friend thing, two people at loose ends in an overwhelming city, grabbing dinner together. Is that what he ant?

My heart races at the thought. Was he expecting sothing more? Was I?

I pull a black dress from my suitcase and drape it over the chair, staring at it as if it might provide answers. Casual or dressy, casual or dressy. Why is it so hard to decide?

I want to look nice, undeniably nice, but not like I’ve tried too hard, not like I’ve been planning this since he showed up in New York. My heart pounds with uncertainty, and I wonder again what he ant.

I turn my attention back to the dress, now looking woefully formal, then glance at the clock in a panic. I wonder what he is doing in his room?

Ti ticks away, and an hour later, I finally settle on a yellow sundress that is the perfect combination of elegance and casual. I smooth it over my hips, spin in the mirror, and feel a flutter of hope.

Is this the right choice?

Just as I’m putting the finishing touches of makeup, I hear a soft knock. I freeze, lipstick poised in mid-air. My heart pounds as I open the bedroom door.

Josh stands there, leaning casually against the doorfra, looking... devastatingly handso.

He is dressed in a dark button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and jeans that sohow look designer-level cool without trying too hard. His hair is still damp from a shower, curling just slightly at the ends, and he slls faintly like soap and sothing woodsy and clean.

His eyes sweep over , lingering for a beat longer than necessary, and then he smiles, slow and crooked. "You look..."

I raise an eyebrow. "If you say ’yellow,’ I will slam this door."

He chuckles. "I was going to say beautiful. But now I’m tempted."

I try not to blush, and fail. "You clean up okay yourself."

"Only okay?" He pretends to be wounded, placing a hand over his heart. "I ironed my shirt for you."

"Liar."

"Okay, I thought about ironing it," he admits. "Then, I decided wrinkles add character."

I shake my head, laughing softly. There’s an ease between us that wasn’t there earlier. Maybe we’re both trying to forget how close today ca to tragedy. Or maybe we’re just trying to grab a piece of sothing normal while we can.

"Ready?" he asks, offering his arm.

I hesitate just long enough for him to notice, and his smile falters slightly. "We don’t have to go out, Hailey. We can order in. Or just—sit and talk. Whatever you want."

His voice is softer now. Sincere.

"No," I say, slipping my hand through his arm. "Let’s go."

The city air is cooler than expected as we step outside, the sky blushing with the last hints of sunset. Josh hails a cab with an ease that makes think maybe he’s spent more ti in New York than he lets on. We don’t say much on the ride over, both of us caught in so strange in-between—the rush of sothing that feels new and terrifying, yet oddly inevitable.

When we arrive at the restaurant tucked away on a quiet street in SoHo, I glance at him in surprise. "How did you find this place?"

He shrugs. "Asked the concierge. I wanted sowhere quiet. But elegant."

Inside, the lighting is low, the tables lit with soft amber candles. There’s music playing, low and jazzy, the kind that makes everything feel a little cinematic.

We’re seated near the back, a cozy corner where we’re half-hidden from the rest of the room. Josh watches across the table, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his water glass.

"This is nice," I say, trying to ignore how aware I am of every little movent he makes.

He nods. "Yeah. It is."

The waiter cos and goes, and soon we’re left with our als and a bottle of wine neither of us really needed but sohow felt right. It’s only after a few sips that Josh finally speaks again.

"I’m glad you didn’t tell to leave."

I pause with my fork mid-air. "I tried."

He smirks. "Yeah. But you didn’t an it."

I open my mouth to argue—and stop. "No. I didn’t."

He leans forward slightly. "I ca here on a whim, Hailey. I didn’t expect to end up on cara."

I giggle. "A lot of people would kill to be on your position." I wince as I rember Josh almost getting squashed by a light. "Oh shit...I didn’t an..."

Josh laughs softly, the sound low and reassuring. "Don’t worry. I get it. ’Kill’ is a figure of speech... unless it’s the jealous blond with the cheekbones from hell."

I let out a shaky breath, half a laugh. "His na is Yakov. And yeah, he didn’t seem thrilled about you getting attention."

Josh raises an eyebrow. "You noticed that too, huh?"

I nod, playing with the stem of my wine glass. "It was kind of hard to miss. He glared at you like you personally offended his bone structure."

Josh chuckles. "Well, to be fair, I am taller."

I smile, but there’s an anxious twist in my chest. "Do you really think soone ant for that light to fall?"

His face sobers. "I don’t know. But it didn’t feel like an accident. And the rigging guy—Milo?—he looked rattled. Like he knew sothing but didn’t want to say."

The playful ease between us wavers, replaced by the undercurrent of danger that’s been lurking since Josh showed up in New York.

"You should’ve gone ho after it happened," I whisper, more to myself than to him.

"I should’ve," he agrees. "But I didn’t want to."

I et his eyes and see it there—unflinching and honest. Whatever this is between us, it’s real to him too. I don’t know what to do with that, but it makes feel a little less alone.

"I need a minute," I say, rising from the table. "Just going to freshen up."

Josh nods, his eyes lingering on mine a mont too long. "I’ll be here."

I navigate through the dimly lit restaurant toward the restrooms at the back, my mind still processing everything. The accident, the sabotage accusations, and now this dinner that feels dangerously close to sothing more than friendship.

As I approach the narrow hallway where the restrooms are located, I hear sothing that makes slow my steps. A rhythmic thumping against the wall, followed by a muffled moan.

I freeze, my hand halfway to the won’s restroom door.

Another moan, distinctly female, followed by a deeper, masculine groan. "Yes... right there..."

My cheeks flush hot with embarrassnt. Soone is definitely having sex in the bathroom.

I stand awkwardly in the hallway, unsure what to do. Turn around? Wait? The sounds grow more intense, less restrained.

"Oh god... harder... please..."

Oh god...

This is ridiculous. I glance back toward our table where Josh sits, checking his phone, completely unaware of my predicant. I can’t just stand here listening to strangers’ intimate monts.

But I really do need to go to the bathroom!

I knock tentatively.

After a minute or two, the door swings open.

My mouth drops open as I stare into Marcus’s intense eyes.

His steel-gray hair is mussed, his usually impeccable shirt wrinkled and hastily buttoned. Behind him, a woman I vaguely recognize as one of the makeup artists from the shoot peeks over his shoulder, her lipstick sared.

"Ms. Jason," Marcus says, his voice perfectly even despite his disheveled appearance. "What an unexpected coincidence."

I stand frozen, mortified, as the makeup artist slips past us both and hurries down the hallway without making eye contact.

"I—I was just—" I stamr, gesturing vaguely toward the restroom.

Marcus straightens his collar with a practiced motion. "Yes, well. The facilities are now available." His expression remains completely neutral, as if we’ve rely bumped into each other at a coffee shop.

"Thank you," I manage, my voice barely audible.

As I step past him into the restroom, he leans slightly closer. "I trust this encounter will remain between us, Ms. Jason?"

I nod quickly, unable to form words.

"Excellent," he says. "Oh, and your lighting plan for tomorrow’s shoot? Make it more dramatic. The client wants edge." With that, he turns and walks away as if nothing unusual has happened.

I lock myself in the bathroom stall, pressing my hands against my burning cheeks. Did that really just happen? Did I seriously catch Marcus Winters—the Marcus Winters having a bathroom quickie in a SoHo restaurant?

After splashing cold water on my face, I take several deep breaths before returning to our table. Josh looks up as I approach, his expression imdiately concerned.

"You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Worse," I whisper, sliding into my seat. "Marcus."

Josh’s eyebrows shoot up. "Here? Now?"

I lean forward, lowering my voice. "In the bathroom. With one of the makeup artists."

"No way." Josh’s eyes widen, a grin spreading across his face. "Seriously?"

I nod, still shell-shocked. "They were... you know." I make a vague gesture with my hands.

Josh nearly chokes on his wine. "Holy shit. What did he say?"

"He acted like it was the most normal thing in the world. Then gave notes on tomorrow’s lighting."

Josh bursts out laughing, drawing glances from nearby tables. "That’s amazing. The man is a legend."

"It’s not funny," I hiss, though I can feel laughter bubbling up inside too. "I can never look him in the eye again."

"Sure you can," Josh says, reaching across the table to take my hand. "Just don’t picture him with his pants down."

"Josh!" I smack his arm, but I’m laughing now too, the tension of the day finally breaking. "He told not to tell anyone, so you better keep your mouth shut!"

Josh smirks. "My lips are sealed."