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The date wasn’t as bad as I imagined. Venus was… interesting. Smart, too. She steered clear of overly personal questions, which I appreciated.
I noticed she tried to keep eating, even when she clearly couldn’t manage more than a few bites. And the wine? Yeah, she was a lightweight, her cheeks and nose had already gone pink. The tipsier she got, the freer she spoke. It was… kind of endearing.
I pulled up to her neighborhood, but the second I took it in, I changed my mind. It looked sketchy as hell–unsafe, even. She’s probably lived there her whole life, but something about it didn’t sit right with me. Gut instinct.
So I drove to my penthouse in the Upper East Side instead.
She was fast asleep by then, peaceful in a way I hadn’t seen before. I didn’t want to wake her. Carefully, I lifted her out of the car, carried her up, and laid her on the guest room bed–always kept ready. I left a glass of water on the nightstand, closed the door, and let
her rest.
I went to the library to wrap up some work. About three hours later, I turned in for the night.
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6 a.m. hit, and I was up again. Gym session, standard. I glanced at the guest room door–still shut. She was out cold. I trained for two hours, took a cold shower, chugged a protein shake. Still no movement from her room.
Just as I was about to dive back into my day, my phone buzzed.
Connor.
Yoo.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“Oh, it is a good morning. Check your phone.”
Curious, I opened the link he sent.
AARON SINCLAIR AND A MYSTERY WOMAN?
That was the headline.
The photo showed us outside Élan Noir last night–Venus leaning on me, me helping her into the car. Her face wasn’t fully visible, but mine? Crystal clear,
The article speculated wildly:
1
Aaron Sinclair was spotted outside the high–end Élan Noir restaurant. But he wasn’t
most eligible bachelor finally off the market–or is this just one of his many conqualone. Who’s the mystery woman? Is New York’s
It listed names of women I’d supposedly been linked to before. Lazy journalism.
“What the hell is this?”
“I see you took my advice, Connor said, smug as ever.
“Shut up,” I grumbled.
“It’s good publicity, but you can’t announce your engagement now. It’ll look~”
know. I cut him off, sighing as I ran a hand down my face.
Just then, I heard footsteps.
1 looked up and there she was, walking into the kitchen, looking like a damn mess, Hair wild, eyes heavy with sleep, still wearing last night’s dress. And somehow, she managed to make that look good.
1/2
11:07 AM p p.
Chapter 17
My dick stirred. Perfect.
0:
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I’d left her in the dress to avoid any sense of violation. It didn’t look uncomfortable, and stripping her would’ve crossed a line. Even in sleep, she deserved dignity.
“Good morning,” she rasped.
Jesus.
That voice. That sleep–drenched rasp? Easily the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
Down, boy.
I was starting to think this whole contract marriage thing? Might just be the worst idea of my life.
Or the best kind of torture.
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