I Texted My CEO Husband "Dick"

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I just texted my contract husband that Im doing a dick on Christmas morning.

I am sitting in a frozen boardroom, drowning in Q4 projections while the rest of the world unwraps presents. My phone buzzes against the mahogany. Its Julian. The man I married for a merger. Ordering coffee. What do you want? I dont have time for this.

My eyes are glued to the projector, fingers flying across the glass to tell him Im busy with a slide presentation. I meant to type: I am doing a deck. But Autocorrect is a saboteur. The message delivers before I can stop it.

Silence.

Then, the three little typing dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

Finally, his reply hits me like a slap.

Should I make that two cups then?

Chapter 01

I hadnt seen Julian in two days.

Id been away on business, and the moment my heels hit the tarmac, my only priority was collecting what I was owed.

When I reached his office, the air was sub-zero. Julian was tearing a subordinate to shreds, his face a mask of cold, corporate indifference.

I sat outside, crossing my legs, waiting for the storm to pass.

Then he looked up. Saw me.

The transformation was instant. The ice shattered. The ruthless CEO evaporated, replaced by pure, unadulterated Golden Retriever energy. The corners of his mouth twitched, fighting a losing battle against a grin.

"How long have you been there?" He scrambled up from his desk, practically tripping over his chair to get to me.

I didn't answer.

I walked in.

Click.

I locked the door behind me, leaning back against the wood with my hands behind my back.

"What do you think of this dress?" My voice dropped an octave. Smoky. Deliberate.

He blinked, completely oblivious to the trap. His eyes crinkled at the corners, warm and unsuspecting. "Its beautiful. You look amazing."

I pushed off the door. One step. Two.

He read the intent in my eyes and faltered, backing up until his shoulders hit the wall. His lashes fluttereda nervous, tell-tale tic.

"Greer... babe... I have a board meeting in thirty minutes..."

I reached out. Wrapped my hand around his silk tie.

Yanked.

He stumbled forward, forced to bow his head. My lips grazed the sensitive shell of his ear.

"Thats a shame," I whispered, letting the words vibrate against his skin. "Because underneath this..."

I paused. Let the silence heavy the air.

"Im not wearing a single thing."

I saw it happen.

The hitch in his breath. The way his chest expanded, straining against his dress shirt. His Adam's apple bobbeda jagged, desperate swallow. The sound of his breathing turned rough, fractured.

I lowered my eyes, feigning a retreat. "But if you're busy..."

I turned.

Wham.

A warm, large hand clamped around my waist. Iron-tight.

"Don't," he rasped. His voice was wrecked. Gravel and need. "Don't... go."

I smirked.

My finger found the button on the wall.

The smart glass turned opaque.

After the wedding, my mother sat me down for "The Talk."

"The next two years are critical for the Vance family portfolio," she lectured. "You and Julian cannot split. The merger depends on stability."

"You didn't mention the after-sales service," I countered. "I thought I just had to say 'I do' and look pretty."

In our circle, marriage is usually a business transaction. You merge assets, then go sleep with whoever you want. My parents wrote the playbook on it.

I had even pitched this to Julian before the wedding: A power couple in the boardroom, strangers in the bedroom.

Mom frowned, her jaw working. "Greer, listen. There is no such thing as a man who doesn't want to cheat. There are only men who can't."

She leaned in. "At this point, you only have one option..."

I nodded slowly.

Message received.

On the surface? I wouldn't interfere with his life.

Behind closed doors? I would drain him dry.

Interference.

If he was too exhausted to think, he couldn't stray. It was the only way to secure the two-year timeline.

As the saying goes: The land never tires, only the ox dies of exhaustion.

I set the KPIs immediately.

To ensure health and marital stability, the quotas were strict: Twice on workdays. Three times on weekends. Minimum.

Weve been married a year. Julian is a well I draw from whenever I please.

Our stock prices doubled. The elders are thrilled.

Im glowing. My skin is flawless, my body thriving.

Julian? Hes getting leaner by the day. His abs are sharper, his v-line more defined, carved out by sheer exertion.

Whoever invented marriage was a genius.

Thirty minutes later.

I was satisfied. Recharged.

I smoothed my skirt, checking my reflection in his office mirror. "I'm heading back to my office."

"Huh?"

Julian was on the floor. Kneeling on the plush carpet, shirt unbuttoned, tie missing. His eyes were red-rimmed and hazy, blinking up at me with pathetic, adorable confusion.

I touched up my lipstick. I looked like a succubus who had just consumed a soul.

Battery at 100%.

I grabbed my bag. "We still have a balance to settle tonight. Don't be late."

I barely made it to my desk when my phone rang.

Julian.

"Greer... hey. I, uh, forgot to ask earlier. Did you make a decision on the project bid?"

He was talking about the massive contract his firm was competing for. They were one of the finalists.

Two companies had made the shortlist. I had agonized over the decision for days.

Chapter 02

The decision had been made yesterday.

"We went with Vertex," I said, my voice crisp. "Their quote was higher, but their branding aligns better with our luxury demographic."

I inspected my fresh manicureblood-red tipswondering if I should wear the black slip dress for drinks with the girls later.

"But we prepared for months, Greer." Julian's voice cracked. Just a fracture, but I heard it. "Can't you reconsider? Please?"

"No."

"But... we just..." He trailed off. The silence on the other end was thick with hurt.

"We just what?" I snapped. "Fulfilled our marital contract? Are you suggesting the CEO of the Huntington Group needs to sleep his way into a deal?"

I hung up before he could answer.

Why was he so obsessed with this one contract? He had an empire. He didn't need my scraps.

I hated explaining myself. The fact that I even gave him a reason was a courtesy I didn't extend to anyone else.

Business is business. Pleasure is pleasure.

Why couldn't he understand the separation of church and state?

Julian had been moody lately.

Specifically, his performance in bed had become... mechanical. Lackluster.

I complained to Margo over brunch.

"Let me get this straight," Margo said, lowering her mimosa. "You slept with him."

"Yes."

"Then immediately rejected his company's bid."

"Yes."

"And then expected him to rock your world again that night?" She looked at me like I had grown a second head.

"We don't love each other, Margo. It's a merger. What's the problem?"

I took a bite of my avocado toast. Logical. Rational.

Margo rolled her eyes so hard I thought theyd get stuck.

"The problem isn't that you're cold, Greer. It's that you're freezing, then boiling, then freezing again. It's emotional whiplash."

"He's your husband, not a ledger."

She pulled out her phone. "And frankly, if the guy can't sleep, how do you expect him to perform?"

She slid the phone across the marble table. "Porter sent me this."

Porter was Margo's boyfriend and Julian's best friend.

The photo was candid. Julian, sitting in a sterile waiting room, head in his hands. He looked wrecked. Dark circles, slumped shoulders.

The sign on the door behind him read: Sleep Medicine Clinic.

I felt a twinge of guilt.

It lasted exactly five seconds.

Empathy for men is a slippery slope to misery. Being heartless is my survival strategy.

"Wake up, Greer," Margo sighed. "I know it's an arranged marriage, but Julian treats you like gold."

"Does he?" I scoffed.

"He buys you gifts every month. I haven't seen you repeat a designer bag since the wedding."

"I can buy my own bags. I don't even care about them. He just wants me to look the part so people don't think the family is cheaping out on me."

"Okay, fine. What about the scar on his arm?"

That... I remembered.

A few months ago, I got into a minor car accident.

Julian was in London. He flew back immediately, skipping a massive summit. He took care of me for three days straight, no sleep.

Then he tripped on the stairs carrying my water, smashed a vase, and sliced his arm open.

I almost fell for it. I almost thought he actually cared.

Until I heard him on the phone with Connor, his assistant, while I was "sleeping."

If she dies, the merger is dead in the water.

That cold splash of reality saved me. He rushed back for the deal, not for me.

"I'm not a judge," Margo said, interrupting my flashback. "You two are a mess. Figure it out."

"But he is your husband. If he's sick, show some compassion."

She was right about one thing.

Tonight was Harold's birthdayJulian's grandfather.

I had to play the part of the doting wife.

The whole family thought we were the perfect couple. A match made in heaven.

Time to put on a show.

Chapter 03

Julian didn't pick me up that night. I drove to the estate alone.

When I arrived, he was standing under the portico, a silhouette against the stone pillars.

He wore a Chesterfield coat that hugged his broad shoulders, tapering at the waist to accentuate a lean, powerful build.

My throat went dry. I swallowed, hard.

I walked up and took his hand.

He didn't pull away. He didn't speak, either. He just let me hold it, his fingers cool and passive.

Silent mode. Just like in bed lately.

Still angry, then.

I remembered Margo's lecture about compassion. I squeezed his hand, forcing a tone of concern.

"I heard you haven't been sleeping. I found a sleep specialist in the city. I'll take you."

I paused, leaning closer. "And I had Martha brew you some calming herbal tea. You need to drink it tonight."

He flinched. Just a micro-movement.

His eyes darted to mine, rimmed with sudden, raw red. Then he looked away, staring into the dark garden, his jaw tight.

Silence.

Fine. If we're acting, I'm winning an Oscar.

Dinner was a performance. I toasted to Harold, clutching Julian's hand like a lifeline.

The family ate it up. Knowing glances. Smug smiles. Look at the happy couple.

Julian's five-year-old niece, Nora, stood by his chair, hands shoved deep into her pockets.

"Why are you standing like that, sweetie?" someone asked.

"Hmph," she huffed, her voice high and pouting. "No one to hold hands with. So hands go in pockets."

The table erupted in laughter.

Julian finally cracked. The corner of his lip twitched upward. He reached out with his free handthe one I wasn't holding hostageand scooped her onto his lap.

Click.

An aunt snapped a photo.

"Oh, look at that. A preview of when they have their own."

Harold stroked his white beard, beaming. "Ideally sooner rather than later."

Everyone nodded in agreement. The atmosphere was warm, fuzzy, and suffocating.

I kept my smile plastered on. Heh. Heh.

Inside, I was screaming.

Julian's grip on my hand tightened. Hard.

I looked up. He was staring at me. His gaze was intense, burning. The tips of his ears were a flushed, betraying pink.

I looked away, guilt pricking at my conscience.

Two years. A baby?

My hair has split ends. I can't even keep keratin intact, let alone a human.

That night, Julian drank the tea like a good boy.

And then, during our scheduled "maintenance," he turned off silent mode.

He was... enthusiastic.

Borderline feral.

Note to self: What exactly was in that tea?

Afterward, he collapsed against my shoulder, his breathing heavy, his skin damp. His voice was a low rumble against my collarbone. "Greer... are you free Saturday night?"

"I can't," I said, staring at the ceiling. "I'm blocking out the whole end of the week. I'm still trying to pin down Maddox for a meeting. I have to be available the second his team says yes."

"..."

He went rigid.

Then he reached over and clicked off the lamp.

Darkness.

My pursuit of Maddoxthe A-list movie starwas purely professional. But it was a nightmare.

One of our biggest contracts was up for renewal. The client, Veronica, had recently taken over.

Rumor had it Veronica was a middle-aged iron lady. No vices. No weaknesses.

Except one.

Maddox.

She was a superfan. In her wilder days, she funded fan clubs, flew across the country to intercept him at airports, and bought out entire theaters for his premieres. Obsessed didn't cover it.

Since he hit the A-list, shed gone quiet. Her social media was a ghost town, except for one pinned post:

Your happiness is my sunshine. Maddox.

It was the ultimate "I love you enough to let you go" vibe.

To secure the renewal, I needed to deliver Maddox.

I had been harassing his agent daily. My PR team was bombarding them with partnership offers.

Result? Radio silence. Rejection.

Lying there in the dark, the frustration bubbled up.

An 80-million-dollar deal was slipping through my fingers.

"Ugh." I pulled the duvet over my head and let out a long sigh.

Too much stress. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to sleep.

Just as I drifted off, I felt movement.

Julians arm, heavy and warm, slowly withdrew from under my neck.

Chapter 04

The next morning, Julian was leaving for work while I was nursing my espresso.

He paused at the door, his back to me. "Is meeting Maddox really that important to you?"

His voice was flat. Unreadable.

I nodded vigorously. "Crucial."

Eighty-two million dollars crucial.

He lowered his gaze, a faint, bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Fine. I'll make a call."

"Really?" My jaw dropped.

"Yeah. His agent is my college roommate's aunt."

I scrambled out of my chair and sprinted toward him.

He watched me come, a flicker of hope lighting up his dull eyes. He opened his arms slightly, bracing for impact.

I skidded to a halt at the entryway.

Snapped my legs together.

Bowed a perfect ninety degrees.

"Thank you, CEO Huntington, for your benevolent assistance!" I shouted, my voice booming.

Slam.

The door shut in my face.

I stood there, frozen in my bow.

What? Was my form off?

Was my gratitude insufficient?

Aside from the bedroom, we had always maintained a respectful, professional distance.

What was his problem?

Thanks to Julian, I secured Maddox for Saturday night.

The date was a smashing success. Veronica took nearly a thousand photos.

She posted sixty times on her story.

Maddox was in sixty-nine of them.

I was in one.

And that was only because I was accidentally in the background of a selfie.

Proof that dignity is optional when money is involved.

In the photo, my face was distorted in a sycophantic grin as I watched them. I looked desperate. I didn't care.

I even excused myself halfway through, giving them "private time."

The night cost me six million dollars and every ounce of my energy.

But it worked.

Veronica, previously hesitant, signed the renewal contract over dessert.

I was ecstatic. I dialed Julian immediately to share the victory.

The phone rang.

And rang.

Then, a female voice answered.

Sweet. Sugary. Sickening.

"Hello? Are you looking for Jules?"

Oppa?

The intimacy of the nickname hit me like a slap.

Background noisethumping bass, clinking glassesflooded the line.

My mind went blank.

Suddenly, the phone was snatched away. A male voice replaced the girl's. "Greer? Hey, it's Dean. Julian is wasted. Can you come get him?"

When I arrived at the club, the VIP booth was a sea of men.

I didn't ask about the girl. I just wanted to get Julian out of there.

He was a puddle.

Slumped on the leather sofa, face flushed a deep, drunken crimson. But when he saw me, his eyes crinkled into a goofy, lopsided grin.

I tried to hoist him up. He wouldn't budge.

Instead, he turned to his friends, slurring loudly.

"See? See, boys? I told you! My wife loves me the most in the whole world!"

He pointed a shaky finger at me. "I got drunk, and she came to get me! None of you have anyone coming to get you. You're all pathetic!"

His friends exchanged awkward glances, nodding along. "Yeah, yeah, Julian. Greer loves you. Now go home."

They tried to help me lift him.

Julian planted his feet. Dead weight.

"You're patronizing me!" he wailed. He turned to me, grabbing my hand. "Wife! Tell them! Tell them if you love me!"

Wife.

He never called me that.

I felt a sudden, strange heat rise in my cheeks. "I... I love you," I mumbled.

Ugh. Gross.

Goosebumps erupted all over my arms.

I tugged on his arm again. Still an anchor.

Julian beamed, swaying slightly. "Now tell them... who's more handsome? Me or Maddox?"

A crowd was gathering. Phones were out.

For the first time, I felt completely helpless against him.

I stayed silent.

He gripped my wrist tighter. His eyes filled with tears, swimming with desperation.

"Say it, wifey!"

His voice cracked on the last syllable.

He looked terrified of the answer.

"You," I said quickly, soothing him like a toddler. "You're the most handsome. Hands down. Way better than Maddox."

"Did you hear that?!"

He scooped me up in a bear hug, spinning me around in the middle of the club.

"My wife says I'm hotter than the movie star! My wife says I'm the best!"

Chapter 05