Contract Marriage With My Billionaire Boss

AARON

“She told me I’d fucking lost my mind and walked out,” I ranted, gripping the glass in my hand like it might keep me from exploding. Connor, the bastard, just laughed like I’d said the funniest joke of the year.

“It isn’t funny,” I growled, though part of me knew it kind of was.

“With that kind of approach, what did you expect, asshole?” he asked, finally sobering a little as he took a swig from his beer. “You’ve made her life a living hell for the past few months then out of nowhere, you waltz in and tell her to marry you? And you think she’d just... what? Say yes? Like you’re her Prince Charming or something? You’re fucking delusional.”

I clenched my jaw, but I didn’t argue. Connor’s my best friend for a reason—he doesn’t sugarcoat shit. He never has. Doesn’t mean it’s easy to swallow when he spits the truth straight down your throat.

“You came up with the idea,” I muttered bitterly, “Now I have to come up with Plan B. If I don’t get married within a month, all my hard work, my sacrifices, everything I’ve built, it’ll all go to waste.”

Leave it to my grandfather to still have his claws in my life from beyond the grave. I hope you’re enjoying the show, old man. You always did love theatrics.

The Will was read yesterday—my grandfather’s final punch from the beyond. According to it, I inherit 65% of the business empire, including the company we built together, only if I get married a month after his death. If I don’t, it all goes to my sorry excuse of a father.

That will never happen. Over my dead fucking body.

My grandfather practically raised me. He was the only real father figure I had growing up. I owe him everything. My drive, my grit, my ambition. But the man had a flair for drama, and apparently, he couldn’t rest in peace without one final power move. He knew how I felt about marriage. He knew the trauma my parents’ disaster of a union left behind. And yet, he still went ahead with this absurd condition.

The worst part? It wasn’t just about getting married. No, that would’ve been too easy. It had to be for love. No business deal, no marriage of convenience. And the kicker? No divorce for at least three years. Classic him. Always pushing limits.

So, Connor—brilliant, ruthless Connor—pitched a plan. “Marry your PA,” he said. “Fabricate a love story. You’ve known her long enough to sell it. Tell them you’ve been secretly seeing each other. No one will suspect it, and since you two clearly hate each other’s guts, there's no risk of catching feelings and complicating shit.”

It was a sound plan. Elegant in its simplicity.

Except... she said no.

Of course, she said no.

I downed the rest of my whiskey in one burning gulp. “I know what you’re about to ask. If I hate her so much, why the hell did I hire her?”

Connor raised a brow but didn’t ask. He already knew.

“She wasn’t my choice,” I continued bitterly. “My father hired her. Said I needed someone ‘competent’ watching over me.” That was his way of saying he didn’t trust me. I tried firing her the first week, but the contract was ironclad. The only way she could leave was if she quit. And believe me, I’ve tried to break her spirit. Overloaded her with work, gave her impossible deadlines, made her life absolute hell.”

“She never cracked,” Connor said with a shrug. “She delivers. Every damn time. I’d keep her too.”

“She’s obedient to a fault,” I muttered. “Quiet. Disciplined. Annoyingly professional. She never talks back—until today. Today she grew a spine. The one day I needed her to say yes, she decides she has standards.”

“I was wondering when she would.” Connor smirked. “She picked the wrong fucking time, though.”

“Damn right,” I grumbled.

Before he could say more, his phone buzzed, and he slid off his barstool. “I gotta take this. Be back in a bit.”

I nodded, swirling the remaining ice in my glass, lost in thought.

That’s when I felt it—a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, handsome,” came a sultry voice, sugary sweet and painfully fake. I looked up to see a woman with barely enough fabric on her chest to qualify as a top. Her cleavage was practically in my face. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Normally, I’d say yes. I’d take the distraction, the escape, the body and the night. But tonight wasn’t the night. Tonight, everything felt... wrong.

“Not interested,” I replied, forcing my voice to stay calm.

But she didn’t budge.

“Just one drink, and then maybe—”

My phone rang, cutting her off. I’ve never been more grateful for an interruption.

I excused myself without looking back, stepping out into the cool night air as I answered.

My eyebrows raised at the caller ID. My PA. Interesting.

I picked up.

“About your offer this morning…” Her voice was shaky, hesitant. “Were you... were you serious?”

“Yes.” No hesitation. No need for it.

“I... I’ll take it then.”

I could hear the effort behind her words. The quiet surrender. Something must’ve broken her between this morning and now. I didn’t ask. It wasn’t curiosity holding me back—it was restraint. If she was desperate enough to agree, she’d reached her breaking point.

And I wasn’t cruel enough to dig into that pain.

“Good,” I said, my tone cool and measured. “We’ll discuss the terms and details tomorrow. At the office.”

Then I ended the call and slid the phone back into my pocket.

She said yes.

This might actually work.

Or... it might ruin everything.

But for now, I’ve got a fiancée to make.