A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss novel Chapter 111

Chapter 111

Madison

The page loaded agonizingly slowly, each pixel revealing what I was certain would be my professional funeral.

But the face that appeared wasn’t Alexander’s. And the woman wasn’t me.

“Tech Giant Joseph Walden Caught in Steamy Affair with Assistant”

Relief flooded through me so intensely that I actually laughed out loud. Not us. Thank god, not us.

I scrolled through the article, reading about how this Joseph person–CEO of some software company I’d never heard of–had been photographed kissing his assistant on a yacht in the Mediterranean. The article was filled with salacious details and anonymous “insider” quotes about their “torrid office romance.”

My phone buzzed again with another message from Hazel: “There’s more! Check these out!” She

sent three more links to similar stories.

“Media Frenzy: Billionaire CEO–Assistant Relationship Rocks Corporate World”

“Office Romance Gone Public: The Risks of Dating the Boss”

“Power Imbalance or True Love? The Ethics of Executive–Assistant Relationships”

I clicked through each one, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside me. Relief that none of these were about Alexander and me, but also a creeping sense of dread. This could be us. This could so

easily be us.

The last article featured comments from workplace ethics experts discussing the “problematic nature” of such relationships, with phrases like “abuse of power,” “career advancement through sexual favors,” and “predatory behavior” jumping off the screen.

I texted Hazel back: “Wild story. The poor woman’s going to be eaten alive by the press.”

Her response came quickly: “Right?? Everyone at her company probably thinks she slept her way to the top. Career suicide!”

My mind flashed to my suggestion about dates. God, what was I thinking? We couldn’t just casually stroll into restaurants together or visit tourist spots. One photo, one tweet, one Reddit post, and I’d be exactly like this woman splashed across gossip sites, my professional reputation in tatters.

“Gold–digging slut” would be the kindest comment I’d receive.

I set my phone down and rubbed my temples. Was this arrangement worth it? The money for Mom’s

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care, absolutely. But the rest of it–the sex, the tension, the way my body responded to him like it was programmed specifically for Alexander Knight–that was the complicated part.

And now I was asking for dates? Real girlfriend experiences? What was I thinking?

The woman in these articles was being crucified for the exact same thing I was doing, except I had literally signed a contract for it. I might as well have written “Professional Girlfriend” on my LinkedIn profile.

I scrolled back through the articles, checking the publication dates. The Joseph Walden story was from last week, but the others were older–one from five months ago, another from nearly a year ago. Each followed the same pattern: powerful man, younger female assistant, scandal, public shaming, career implosion.

My phone buzzed again with another message from Hazel: “OMG, MADISON, THIS JUST DROPPED!! You need to see this NOW!!! It’s really interesting!!”

Another link. Another headline with the same formula: “CEO’s Secret Relationship with Personal Assistant Revealed?”

My heart stopped. The article had been posted ten minutes ago.

I tapped the link with shaking fingers, my entire body going cold. This couldn’t be happening. Not yet. Not when I hadn’t even figured out what I was doing.

The page loaded, and there he was, Alexander Knight in all his glory, a photo clearly taken at some charity event, looking devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo. But next to his photo…

It wasn’t me.

I blinked, certain I was hallucinating. But no, the woman in the photo beside Alexander’s wasn’t me at all. She had dark hair cut in a sleek bob, wide brown eyes, and a professional smile. I recognized her immediately, Penelope Jacobs from Accounting. We’d shared an elevator maybe twice in my entire time at Knight Industries.

What the actual hell?

I devoured the article, which cited “anonymous sources close to the CEO” claiming Alexander had been spotted having intimate dinners with Penelope and that she’d been “fast–tracked for promotion “despite “limited qualifications.” The piece speculated about when their relationship began and whether company policies had been violated.

Relief washed over me; it wasn’t my face plastered across the internet. But that relief quickly curdled into something uglier. Alexander and Penelope? When had that happened? Was our arrangement not

as exclusive as he’d insisted?

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I re–read the article, searching for concrete evidence. There was none, just innuendo and speculation based on them being seen at a restaurant together. For all I knew, they could have been discussing quarterly tax filings.

But the seed was planted. I couldn’t stop picturing Alexander with Penelope, touching her the way he touched me, making her feel the things he made me feel.

“This is insane,” I muttered, scrolling back to the photos. Looking more closely, I realized they weren’t even photographed together. Someone had just placed two separate headshots side by side to create the impression of a couple.

I texted Hazel back: “It looks like clickbait to me. Those photos aren’t even from the same event.”

Hazel: Still… be careful with rich people. They play by different rules. Especially when it comes to dating.

I frowned at my phone. Was she trying to warn me about something? Did she suspect?

“Okay, will do,” I replied, keeping it casual. No need to give her more to speculate about.

I tossed my phone aside and flopped back against the couch cushions, my mind racing. If this article about Alexander and Penelope was true–and that was a big if–then technically, he’d breached our contract. Exclusivity was the one thing he’d been absolutely clear about.

The penalty clause would kick in. I’d get the money for Mom’s care without having to… well, without having to do all the things I’d been doing with him.

I was not desperate for that to happen. After all, the arrangement was just business–a transaction, a

contract.

But something uncomfortable twisted in my stomach at the thought of Alexander with Penelope. His hands on her waist. His lips on her neck. His voice in her ear, murmuring all those filthy promises

he’d made to me.

“Stop it,” I muttered, grabbing the nearest real estate book and forcing my eyes to focus on the page. “You don’t have feelings for him. You can’t have feelings for him.”

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