First, though, I need to know how she’s feeling about all of this. With the threat of Brad’s blackmail looming over us, demanding all our attention, I’ve barely gotten a chance to talk to her about the wedding, the contract, and especially the baby-making that needs to happen. We need to discuss this elephant in the room like mature, responsible adults.

“So, how do you feel about kids?” I ask.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Kids?”

I nod slowly, now confused as well as nervous. Why is she so shocked?

“I, um . . . well, I guess I haven’t really thought about them,” she stammers.

My stomach grows uneasy. How in the fuck has she not thought about it? This is Olivia, the woman who weighs every decision with a list of pros and cons. Her childhood letters to Santa were probably formatted in official memo style with bulleted requests.

“Why? You’re not thinking about . . .” She’s so flustered that she leaves the rest of her sentence unfinished.

Of fucking course I’m thinking about it. We have a contractual obligation to fulfill. Period.

Then realization slams into me all at once.

Holy. Fuck.

“On the day of our wedding, did you read the contract or did you just sign it?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral.

She shrugs, curling her legs under her on the couch. “Signed it. I already knew what it said. Dad and Prescott must have explained everything a hundred times at all those meetings we had.”

I never expected Olivia of all people to sign a contract without reading it. I’m so stunned that I just stay quiet as the minutes tick past and we continue sipping our wine.

I try to calm down and think through this. But I’m stumped. The contract is finalized now—we’re legally bound. We’ve been legally bound for almost a week at this point. And now that I’ve been quiet about it for so long . . . how do I tell her without making it seem like I was lying all along?

Plus, I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’ll rip up the contract and storm off, and the deal will fall apart. I can’t let that happen. No inheritance means no second chance from the board. Which, in turn, means that everyone at Tate & Cane—innocent people like Rosita, who depend on the jobs we provide—will be royally fucked.

I can’t let anything happen to jeopardize this deal. I can’t afford to take even the smallest risk. I’ll just have to win Olivia over with my charm and let it all happen naturally. Well, as natural as impregnating your fake wife can be.

Besides, even if I told her about the heir clause and she miraculously didn’t go nuclear, that would just put pressure on her to get pregnant for our company’s sake. Having a kid wouldn’t be a free choice. It’s better if I pitch her the idea on its own merits.

I’m up to the task, right? I’ve already done something similar; she used to hate my guts, and it took me less than a month to woo her into marrying me. Changing her mind about kids will be a lot tougher, but I just have to take things up another notch. Really put my back into it. Be my most charming, appealing self. If anyone can make a woman fall in love, deep enough to start a family . . .

But Olivia isn’t just any woman. I suppress a despairing groan. Fuck me sideways . . . I’ve got my work cut out for me.

What in the hell do I do now?

“So, what else is on the agenda, Mr. Tate?”

Olivia smiles warmly at me like she has no idea about the inner war I’m waging. I’ve refilled her wineglass twice, and something tells me she’s feeling tipsy and carefree.

That makes one of us.

I stack the empty plates, carry them into the kitchen, and pile them in the sink. Then I just stand there, my hands gripping the edge of the countertop. I need a minute. I feel like the apartment is closing in on me.

Before I make any big decisions about how to approach this problem, I need to think carefully. But with my head spinning and Olivia waiting expectantly in the other room, I can’t do that here. I have to take things one step at a time.

So the question is: what the hell do I do right now?

“Noah? Are you coming back?” she calls.

I take a deep breath and return to her side. Realizing I can’t let this unpleasant surprise distract me from my plan, I decide to push forward. Tonight was supposed to be about getting her to relax, unwind, and trust me. There’s no point in ruining the whole evening by thoughtlessly blurting out everything. I’ll figure out a graceful way to tell her later.

“You’ve been so wound up from work. We both have,” I say as I sit back down.

She nods, agreeing.

“Tonight I was hoping we could set all that aside and chill together.”

She smiles at me. “Very good idea. I don’t chill nearly enough.”

Part of me is almost shocked that she’s going along with this so easily. The rest of me is still busy reeling from the realization that she has no idea I’m supposed to get her pregnant within the next three months. Actually, it’s more like two months now.

Olivia sets her wineglass on the table and rolls her shoulders, sighing softly.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Just a little tight, is all.”

I inhale through my nose. I have to shove the pregnancy stuff to the back corner of my brain. We’re a long way off from Olivia letting me pump her full of my semen anyhow, so why am I stressing about it now? The first step is showing her how compatible we can be.

And that starts now.

I smile at her. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”