When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 62

Amelia

My head was still buzzing, like a swarm of bees had taken up permanent residence inside my skull. Last night's champagne really packed a punch. I tried to bury my face deeper into the pillow, seeking just five more minutes of merciful darkness.

"Amelia, get up! We're going to be late!" Olivia's voice cut through my hangover haze like a scalpel.

I forced one eye open to see her frantically rummaging through the closet, creating a hurricane of clothes and hangers. The sound of each metal hanger scraping against the rod sent fresh waves of pain through my temples.

"Liv, what are you looking for?" I managed to croak, my mouth feeling like I'd swallowed sand.

"Clothes! We can't exactly attend a bidding event in our pajamas, can we?" She emerged from the depths of the closet triumphantly holding up two dresses. "Found them! Julian bought these for us—matching dresses. You wear the gold one, I'll take the white."

I reluctantly sat up, wincing at the sunlight streaming through the windows. The gold dress Olivia tossed onto my lap was stunning—elegant yet understated, with a subtle shimmer to the fabric. Julian really did have impeccable taste, right down to remembering my exact size.

"Go wash up!" Olivia practically pushed me toward the bathroom. "If Julian finds out we're late because we were hungover, he'll never let me hear the end of it!"

I stumbled into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. The shock of it helped clear some of the fog from my brain. I stared at my reflection—puffy eyes, tangled hair, and the unmistakable pallor of someone who'd had one too many drinks. With trembling hands, I applied some foundation, nearly dropping the bottle in my haste. A silent prayer ran through my head: please don't let me screw this up for Julian.

Just as I was debating between two lipstick shades, my phone rang with a shrill tone that felt like a nail being driven into my skull.

Julian. Shit.

I answered with shaky hands. "Hello?"

"Are you two ready yet? I'm downstairs." His voice was calm but tinged with unmistakable impatience.

My heart sank. "We'll be right down! Just finishing up!" I hung up before he could respond and yelled to Olivia, "Julian's already downstairs!"

"Fuck!" Olivia exclaimed, hopping on one foot as she tried to put on her heel. "We're so dead!"

We grabbed our purses, stuffing in essentials, and made a mad dash for the elevator. Our heels clacked loudly against the hardwood floors of the hallway, each step echoing my rising anxiety.

Inside the elevator, I frantically tried to smooth down my hair, checking my reflection in the mirrored wall. "Do I look okay?" I asked Olivia.

"You look fine," she assured me, though her attention was on her phone as she fired off a quick text. "Just try to look like we didn't drink half a liquor store last night."

The elevator doors opened to the lobby, and I immediately spotted Julian standing near the entrance. Unlike us, he looked immaculate in his tailored black suit, not a hair out of place.

"I'm so sorry, Julian," I said, approaching him with genuine remorse. "It's entirely my fault. I had too much to drink last night and overslept. I made Olivia late too."

Julian looked at me for a moment, then simply shook his head. "It's fine. The car's waiting. We can still make it on time."

Liam was already in the driver's seat when we climbed into the back of Julian's sleek black Audi. The car pulled away from the curb and headed toward Manhattan, weaving through the morning traffic.

I stared out the window, watching the Manhattan skyline come into view. My stomach churned with a mixture of hangover nausea and anxiety. This would be my first time attending any kind of business event, even just as a guest. The thought of being surrounded by corporate types made me nervous.

"Julian, I have a shift at the hospital this afternoon," I said quietly, worried about adding more complications to his day.

He caught my eye in the rearview mirror, his expression softening slightly. "Don't worry. I'll make sure you get to the hospital on time."

The car then pulled up to the Manhattan Convention Center, and my momentary peace evaporated. Through the tinted windows, I could see a line of luxury vehicles—Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, Teslas—their gleaming exteriors reflecting the morning sun. Even more jarring was the cluster of photographers stationed at the entrance, cameras poised to capture everyone who walked through those doors.

"Is this really just a bidding event?" I turned to Julian, unable to hide my bewilderment.

Julian straightened his tie, unfazed. "The scale is a bit larger than expected, but it's fine."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. This was Julian's world, not mine, but I'd agreed to come, and I wouldn't embarrass him by showing my discomfort.

As we stepped out of the car, the cameras immediately started flashing. I instinctively lowered my head, keeping close to Julian as he navigated us through the crowd with practiced ease. Olivia, accustomed to the spotlight, walked with confidence, occasionally flashing a smile at the cameras.

We had barely made it through the grand entrance when a middle-aged man approached us. He had a distinguished air about him—salt-and-pepper hair, intelligent eyes, and an understated but obviously expensive suit.

"Mr. Bennett!" he greeted Julian warmly, extending his hand.

"Mr. Astor, good to see you," Julian replied, shaking his hand with a respectful nod.

I stood beside Julian, offering a polite smile. There was something oddly familiar about this man, a certain calmness in his demeanor that resonated with me.

Strangely, I noticed his gaze lingering on me for a second longer than normal, a flicker of something—recognition?—passing across his features before his expression returned to polite interest.

"It's a pleasure to see you here, sir," Julian said politely.

That man smiled. "Indeed, Julian. It’s good to see you. Speaking of which, I'm hoping to grow Astor Medical in New York. Hoping to partner with some young entrepreneurs."

Julian extended his hand again. "Perhaps we'll have the opportunity to collaborate in the future."

I could tell Julian respected this man, which made me curious about his standing in the medical industry.

"And who might this be?" Mr. Astor turned his attention to me, that strange look flickering in his eyes again.

Julian made the introductions. "Mr. Astor, this is my friend, Amelia Thompson. Amelia, this is Mr. Astor, founder of Astor Medical.

I extended my hand with what I hoped was professional poise. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Astor."

"If I may ask, Ms. Thompson, where are your parents from?" he inquired, catching me off guard.

The question seemed oddly personal, but I maintained my smile. "They're both from New York, sir."

"I apologize for prying," he said smoothly. "You just look familiar. Thank you for indulging my curiosity."

I laughed lightly. "No problem."

Mr. Astor nodded politely and excused himself.

"Julian, who was that?" Olivia whispered once Mr. Astor was out of earshot. "He seems important."

"Medical equipment giant based in Boston," Julian replied quietly.

I nearly choked. The polite, unassuming man was a medical equipment mogul?

"Damn, I guess the richest people really are the most understated," Olivia mused. "Unlike those wannabes who flex with their daddy's credit cards."

"Olivia Bennett, stop picking up slang from those trashy reality shows," Julian sighed, walking ahead of us.

Olivia stuck her tongue out at her brother's back, pulling such a comically childish face that I couldn't help but laugh genuinely for the first time that day.

We followed Julian into the main exhibition hall, which was already filled with people in business attire, mingling and networking. The setup was sleek and modern—round tables arranged strategically around the room, each with elegant information packets and bottled water. A massive banner reading "Advanced Bidding Conference" hung above the stage.

I was observing the room, trying to get my bearings, when I felt it—a presence behind me, the sound of familiar footsteps with their distinctive rhythm. My heart skipped a beat.

No. It couldn't be him.

I turned around instinctively and found myself staring directly into those piercing blue eyes I knew all too well.

Ethan Black.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment as we locked eyes. He looked exactly the same—impeccably dressed in a custom navy suit, his posture perfect, his expression unreadable.

Ignoring a sea of empty chairs, Ethan crossed the room and sat down right next to me.

I stared at him, irritation flaring. "There are plenty of other seats available," I said, my voice low but sharp.

Ethan's eyes met mine, his expression giving nothing away.