Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 10

**The Long Didn’t Say by Mark Twain**

**Chapter 10**

**VENUS**

Z(47)

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Mr. Sinclair, though undeniably a bit of a jerk, had a point.

Honestly? I wasn’t the kind of girl who pampered herself like most of my peers did. It wasn’t that I didn’t adore shopping, makeup, skincare, or those blissful spa days. Oh, how I relished the thought of indulging in all of that! The reality, however, was that I simply couldn’t afford such luxuries.

It had been an eternity since I last set foot in a salon. My once vibrant, dark hair had succumbed to a lackluster state, now dull and fraught with split ends. My wardrobe? Ancient relics from a bygone era. And my shoes? Let’s just say they bore the scars of a battle long fought.

I had always been somewhat content with my appearance. At 5’8″, I towered over many girls my age, my waist-length black hair typically gathered into a casual ponytail. My frame was delicate, and my brown eyes? They were unremarkable, easily forgotten unless someone took the time to truly look.

So, when I received that call for a spa appointment, I was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. I mean, I was on the verge of losing my sanity with joy. In a flurry, I drafted my resignation letter and made my way to his office, eager to hand it over.

To my surprise, he attempted to be cordial. Which, of course, sent my nerves into overdrive.

I was just about to make my escape, one step away from the sweet taste of freedom, when I heard him call out, “Venus, wait.”

Every head in the reception area turned in unison, and who else could it be but Mr. Sinclair?

You’d have to be new to this place not to know that he never, ever used anyone’s first name. Especially not mine. It was practically office folklore how much he despised me.

“You forgot your phone,” he said, striding over with my device in hand. My phone—cracked screen and all. Fantastic.

“Oh, thank you,” I mumbled, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. Great, I probably resembled a tomato ripe for picking.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his smile a stark contrast to his usual icy demeanor. And before I could fully grasp what was happening, he leaned down and planted a kiss on my cheek.

Gasps. Actual gasps echoed throughout the reception area.

I stood there, frozen in disbelief, my mind racing like a computer struggling to connect to Wi-Fi—buffering, buffering—until the realization hit me: this was a fake relationship. He was likely trying to soft-launch it.

Okay, time to play my part.

“Stop it, people are watching,” I nudged his arm, feigning annoyance, trying to keep the charade alive.

“Let them,” he shrugged, nonchalantly. “Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

We exited the building, striding through the parking lot like a power couple straight out of a glossy magazine, the eyes of the world glued to us. I felt a desperate urge to vanish into thin air.

As we reached the lot, I hesitated, my heart racing.

“I, uh… I don’t have a car,” I stammered.

My phone buzzed again.

Jude.

I sighed, finally answering.

“Is it true?!” he exclaimed, his excitement palpable.

“Is what true?” I feigned ignorance, but we both knew what he was asking.

“You and Mr. Sinclair. There are rumors flying through the office like grenades.”

“Grenades?” I laughed, the absurdity of it all washing over me.

“Ashley hasn’t stopped talking. I need the juicy details, now!” he squealed, his typical enthusiasm shining through.

“I’ll fill you in later. I’m heading to see my mom,” I promised.

“Don’t keep me waiting, Venus. My heart might just give out,” he warned dramatically.

“Dramatic, as always,” I chuckled, ending the call.

Yeah… this was shaping up to be one hell of a story.