VENUS
“You’re breaking up with me before we even tie the knot?”
My tone was playful, but a sliver of nervous laughter slipped through, uninvited.
Damn. It’s only been a week.
I’d already sold the whole story to Jude and he bought it without a second thought.
Now I’m getting dumped?
I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all.
This man was impossible. Beautiful, powerful, and utterly infuriating.
“No,” he said flatly. “Although I did consider it… several times.”
I gasped, eyes going wide.
Excuse me?
20 vouchers
“And yet,” he continued, completely unaffected, “you’re accompanying me to a charity event on Thursday. As my plus one.”
“Finally. Some action.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m bored out of my mind just lying around and eating all day.”
Sure, I’d visited my mom and even checked in on Jude once or twice but he didn’t need to know that.
Why pay med house cat.
Let him think I was moping like a
“So, the event’s for charity?”
*Something like that.” He waved a hand, disinterested. “Yes. But really, it’s just a chance for the elite to parade around–wealth, clothes, jewelry… men, women.”
“Oh?” I raised a brow.
Being surrounded by snobby, rich people? I could handle that.
At least, I hoped I could.
“Is there anything else I should know about this glamorous little affair?”
“Yes, Caroline–” he started, but his phone buzzed, cutting him off.
“Yes?” His voice instantly sharpened, clipped and professional.
Cold. The switch was seamless. Impressive, really.
“You didn’t think to inform me a board meeting was scheduled before I left the office?”
His tone could’ve frozen lava.
Ouch. Someone was about to get flayed alive over speakerphone,
“Who even hired you? Jesus, you can’t do anything right.”
4 winced on behalf of the poor soul on the other end of that call.
I’d seen him chew people out before, sure but never with that razor–sharp edge. Not at me.
Not yet, any way
He might’ve made my life miserable, loaded me with tasks that would drown an ordinary assistant but I always delivered. Every Single Time.
1/2
11:07 AM PP
Chapter 22
Because failure, to him, was a declaration of incompetence. And I wasn’t incompetent.
“No. Don’t do anything,” he barked. “Tell them I’ll be there in five.”
He ended the call and rubbed a hand over his face, exasperated.
“Problem?” I asked cautiously.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” he muttered, his scowl deepening.
Yikes.
Mental note: stop asking questions when his jaw is clenched like that.
20 vouchers
Without another word, he handed me a sleek, black–glittered invitation card. His fingers brushed mine, briefly before he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.
I stared after him for a moment, then looked down and flipped the card open.
Black–tie event. Charity Gala. Proceeds to benefit homeless shelters.
Well. At least it was for a good cause.
Not that any of those glammed–up socialites cared. It was just another excuse to sip champagne and post filtered pictures of faux generosity online.
As I dropped the card onto the coffee table, something caught my eye.
Right where Mr. Sinclair had been sitting just moments ago, his laptop and a thick file lay untouched.
I stepped closer, heart skipping.
It was the laptop—the one he never, ever walked into a meeting without. His security blanket. His weapon of choice.
And I would know. I was his PA, remember?
The file beside it labeled in bold: New AI Tech Proposal.
Oh no.
He forgot them.
I moved quickly, rushing out to the balcony, hoping he was still nearby…
But the street below was empty. His car was gone. Of course it was.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair.
Looks like it’s up to me to save the day.
Again
And whether he liked it or not–he owed me. Big time.
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