Chapter 155
Madison
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Lightning flashed outside, briefly illuminating the room in stark white light before plunging it back into the warm glow of Hazel’s lamps.
“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” she said, her expression unusually serious. “And if he hurts you, remember that I know people who can make bodies disappear.”
I snorted. “Your cousin who works at the morgue isn’t going to help you dispose of a billionaire’s body.”
“You’d be surprised what Derrick would do for a case of good beer.” She grinned, and then her expression turned mischievous. “So, when do I get to officially meet him? As your boyfriend, I mean. Not as your boss who’s pretending not to be your boyfriend.”
“About that,” I said, setting my mug down. “I need you to keep this between us. No social media, no telling your coworkers, no ‘accidentally‘ running into us again.”
Hazel’s eyebrows shot up. “Why the secrecy? Is he ashamed of you or something?”
“No! Of course not,” I said quickly. “It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like? Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like he wants to keep you hidden away like some dirty little secret.”
“It’s not his request, it’s mine,” I clarified, feeling defensive. “I don’t want people at work thinking I slept my way into my new position.”
“Is he serious about you?” she asked bluntly. “Or is this just another fling for him?”
I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, “We’re taking it slow, figuring things out.”
“That’s not an answer, Madison.”
“It’s new, Hazel. We’re still getting to know each other outside of work.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Look, I just don’t want my professional reputation affected by my personal life. Is that so hard to understand?”
Hazel studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I get it. Office politics are brutal, especially for women. And dating the boss…” She whistled low. “That’s like playing career Russian roulette with all chambers loaded.”
“Exactly,” I said, relieved she understood. “So you’ll keep it quiet?”
“My lips are sealed,” she promised, making a locking motion over her mouth. “But you have to give
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me something. Is he as good in bed as everyone speculates?”
I felt my cheeks heat up involuntarily.
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“Oh my god, he is!” Hazel squealed, clapping her hands together. “Look at your face! You’re practically glowing!”
“I’m not discussing this,” I said firmly, but I couldn’t keep the smile from my lips.
“You don’t have to say a word. Your face says it all.” She leaned back, looking smug. “I knew it. The control freaks are always the best in bed.”
“Can we please change the subject?” I begged, pulling a throw pillow over my face.
“Fine, fine,” she relented, still grinning. “But someday, when you’re ready to spill the beans, I want every delicious detail.”
I lowered the pillow, grateful for the reprieve. “Thanks for understanding about keeping it quiet.”
“What are best friends for if not to keep your scandalous affair with your billionaire boss a secret?” She winked. “Besides, this gives me exclusive gossip rights when you two finally go public.”
“If we go public,” I corrected.
“When,” she insisted. “A man doesn’t look at a woman the way he looked at you in that café if he’s planning to keep her a secret forever.”
I didn’t have a response for that. Instead, I changed the subject to safer territory. “So, how did your Tinder date go? The one with the guy from accounting?”
Hazel groaned dramatically, flinging herself back against the couch cushions. “Don’t even get me started on Brad from accounts payable.”
“That bad?” I reached for my mug, hiding my smile behind it.
“Worse.” She sat up, eyes wide with remembered horror. “First, he showed up twenty minutes late. Then he spent the entire appetizer round talking about his fantasy football league.”
“Maybe he was nervous?” I offered.
“Oh, it gets better. When the main course arrived, he told me he was on this new diet where he only eats protein and cruciferous vegetables. He sent back his pasta because it had carbs.”
I burst out laughing. “The horror.”
“I know! Who orders pasta at an Italian restaurant and then acts shocked when it contains pasta?” She shook her head. “But the pièce de résistance came when he asked if I wanted to split the check
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because he ‘forgot his wallet‘ but conveniently had Apple Pay set up on his phone.”
“No,” I gasped.
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“Yes! And then-” She was interrupted by a particularly loud crack of thunder that made us both jump. The lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely.
“Perfect,” Hazel muttered in the darkness. “Just perfect.”
I fumbled for my phone, turning on the flashlight. “Do you have candles?”
“In the kitchen drawer next to the stove,” she replied, using her own phone to navigate toward a closet. “I’ll get the emergency lantern.”
A few minutes later, we had transformed her living room into a cozy haven of flickering candlelight. The rain continued to pound against the windows, but inside, wrapped in blankets with our tea refreshed, it felt almost magical.
“Anyway,” Hazel continued as if there had been no interruption, “this genius suggested we go back to his place after dinner because he didn’t want to miss the game.”
I nearly spit out my tea. “Please tell me you didn’t go.”
“Do I look like someone who makes good decisions?” She grinned. “Of course not. I told him I had an early meeting and took myself home to a date with N*****x and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.”
“A much better choice,” I agreed.
“Speaking of choices,” she said, giving me a pointed look, “have you tried that new Thai place yet? The one on 9th?”
“Pad Thai Palace? Not yet. Is it good?”
“Amazing. Their drunken noodles are to die for.” She tucked her feet under her. “We should go some time. Maybe you could bring Mr. Tall, Dark, and Secretive.”
I rolled my eyes. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “So when are you seeing him again outside of work?”
“Tomorrow,” I admitted. “He’s taking me to dinner after work.”
“Ooh, fancy dinner or casual dinner?”
“I don’t know yet. He just said to dress nice.”
“That means fancy,” Hazel declared. “Where do billionaires take their secret girlfriends for fancy dinners? Private dining rooms at Michelin–starred restaurants? Exclusive clubs with no signage?
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Their private jets for dinner in Paris?”
I laughed at her ridiculous suggestions, even as my stomach fluttered at the memory of our last dinner together. “I doubt we’re flying to Paris for pasta.”
“With Alexander Knight? I wouldn’t be so sure.” She leaned forward, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “Have you been to his place yet? I bet it’s like something out of a movie.”
I hesitated, remembering the penthouse with its floor–to–ceiling windows and the private mansion with its hot tub under the stars.
“You have!” Hazel squealed, reading my expression. “Tell me everything! Does he have a robot butler? A bed the size of my entire apartment? A shower with seventeen different jets?”
“No robot butler,” I said, smiling despite myself. “But the rest isn’t far off.”
“I knew it!” She looked triumphant. “Is he as bossy in the bedroom as he seems like he would be?”
My cheeks flamed instantly, and I buried my face in a throw pillow.
“Oh my god, he is!” Hazel crowed. “Madison Harper! I never would have guessed you’d go for the domineering type.”
“Can we please talk about literally anything else?” I begged, my voice muffled by the pillow.
“Fine, fine,” she relented, still grinning. “But just know that your face tells me everything I need to
know.”
As the storm raged outside, we fell into the comfortable rhythm of friendship, laughing and talking late into the night. We dissected reality TV shows, debated the merits of various ice cream flavors, and reminisced about our college days when our biggest concern was making it to class on time after
a night out.
For a few hours, I could almost forget about the complicated arrangement I’d entered into with Alexander Knight. Almost.
Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.
