Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss (Venus and Aaron) novel Chapter 24

**The Long Didn’t Say by Mark Twain**
**Chapter 24**

**VENUS**

Seriously? He rejected my call once more.

I stared at my phone screen, almost willing it to offer an apology on his behalf. Spoiler alert: it remained silent. So there I stood, files and laptop cradled in my arms, playing the reluctant delivery girl for the same man who treated me like an insignificant piece of corporate fluff.

But here’s the kicker—I owed him. Or rather, my mother’s life depended on him.

The only reason she was nestled in a hospital bed, surrounded by actual doctors instead of curled up on our living room couch, fading away, was due to Aaron Sinclair’s generous checkbook. And that checkbook? It came with strings attached.

I dialed Jude first, my heart racing with a mix of dread and determination. After a few moments of coaxing and a sprinkle of guilt-tripping, he finally relented and transferred me to Aaron’s assistant. She sounded young, perhaps fresh out of college, and I could sense the anxiety in her voice—a palpable fear of losing her job. Adorable, really.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t disclose Mr. Sinclair’s location. That’s confidential,” she said, her tone firm yet trembling.

“Okay, sweetie,” I sighed, trying to keep my frustration in check. “Let me break this down for you. I have the materials he personally requested. Do you really want to be the reason he doesn’t receive them before the shareholders’ meeting?”

That seemed to crack her resolve.

Before I knew it, I was in the back of a cab, racing toward Sinclair HQ. Not Sinclair Tech, mind you—the fortress. The mothership. I had only been there once, during my brief stint working for him, and even then, I was restricted to the second floor.

And now, here I was, showing up without any ID, no appointment, no clearance whatsoever.

Brilliant.

The building loomed before me, a towering structure of glass and steel, radiating an aura of intimidation. I paid the cab driver, squared my shoulders, and strode inside as if I owned the place.

Security let me through the moment I dropped his name—naturally, his name wielded that kind of authority. But the real gatekeeper was stationed behind the reception desk on the boardroom floor. She had perfect curls, immaculate nails, and a smile that seemed to say “no” before I even uttered a word.

“I’m sorry, miss. No ID, no entry,” she stated, her voice as unyielding as her expression.

“I have materials Mr. Sinclair urgently needs for the shareholders meeting,” I replied, trying to maintain a calm demeanor.

“You’ll need to email his assistant or—”

“No. You don’t understand,” I interrupted, my voice steady despite the tension in my grip on the laptop case. “He needs this. His PA is already aware of my arrival.”

She blinked, unfazed by my insistence. “Then why didn’t she inform me?”

Of course.

“Look,” I said, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “if he doesn’t get this, I lose my job. But you? You’ll be the one who blocked a delivery from reaching Aaron-freaking-Sinclair in the midst of a shareholders meeting. Do you really think your position survives that?”

Boom.

She froze, her lips twitching as if contemplating the weight of my words. Finally, she stood up and approached the heavy boardroom doors. She knocked and cracked it open just enough to peer inside.

“We’re in the middle of a shareholders meeting—” a woman snapped from within.

Then came his voice. Calm, cold, effortlessly in control.

I blinked in surprise. “What? I didn’t—”

But he was already retreating back inside, the door closing behind him. Just like that, I was dismissed.

Jane, the receptionist armed with a clipboard and a grudge, shot me a look that conveyed I had just been both promoted and fired in the same breath. She gestured for me to follow, and I complied, my heart racing.

Top floor.

His office was a testament to power—a designer’s dream with floor-to-ceiling windows that presented a skyline so sharp it could cut. Everything was meticulously organized, too pristine, too him.

I perched on the edge of the leather couch, arms crossed, legs crossed, my heart pounding like it had something to prove. Why did he ask me to stay? Was he going to reprimand me? Reassert his dominance?

I glanced around the room, taking in the details. A decanter of whiskey gleamed in the corner, a pair of reading glasses lay casually on his desk, and a framed photo—blurred but unmistakably a woman with long dark hair—caught my eye.

His mother?

I exhaled, still clutching the strap of my bag as if it could anchor me in this whirlwind of uncertainty.

Twenty minutes ticked by.

Then fifty.

And when that door finally swung open, I found myself on my feet before I even realized I had moved.

Aaron walked in, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.