A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss novel Chapter 115

Chapter 115

Alexander

Sunday morning greeted me with perfect golfing weather: clear skies, mild temperature, and just enough breeze to make things interesting. It was the kind of day that almost made me forget the past

week’s chaos.

I lined up my shot on the third hole, feeling the familiar weight of the club in my hands. The ball sailed through the air in a perfect arc, landing just shy of the green.

“Not bad,” Anthony said, leaning on his club. “But watch this.”

His swing was too aggressive, sending the ball veering right into a sand trap. I couldn’t help but

smirk.

“Shut up,” he muttered before I could say anything.

“I didn’t say a word.”

“Your face said plenty.” He grimaced, watching his ball’s unfortunate resting place. “Damn it.”

I chuckled, climbing into the golf cart. “Maybe stick to medicine. Your patients can’t run away when you butcher them.”

The course stretched before us, immaculate green against the Manhattan skyline. As Anthony struggled with his sand shot, my mind drifted to Madison. Her soft skin, those shy glances that drove me wild. She’d be coming to my penthouse this evening; the thought alone had me adjusting

my stance.

“Earth to Alexander.” Anthony waved his hand in front of my face. “Where’d you go? You’ve been spacing out all morning.”

“Just thinking about work.” I positioned myself for my next shot, focusing on the game rather than the images of Madison that threatened to distract me.

“All work and no play…” Anthony trailed off, watching my ball land perfectly on the green. “Though your game hasn’t suffered.”

“Some of us have natural talent.”

“And some of us have natural humility. Clearly not you.”

We played through several more holes, and the competitive rhythm was familiar and comfortable. Anthony cursed colorfully when I sank a difficult putt, and I pretended not to notice when he improved his lie on the rough of the seventh hole.

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“By the way,” Anthony said as we approached the ninth, “you never rescheduled for that dinner you postponed last month. The guys were asking about you. How about this evening?”

ן

I kept my expression neutral. “Got some plans.”

“Plans? You?” Anthony raised an eyebrow. “How about tomorrow evening?”

“Senator Williams‘ fundraiser event. On a superyacht.” What I didn’t tell him was that I had zero intention of actually attending.

“Since when do you voluntarily attend political fundraisers?” Anthony looked genuinely confused.” You hate those things.”

“Business necessity. Have to maintain certain relationships.”

“Right.” Anthony didn’t look convinced but didn’t press further. “Next week, then?”

“Sure.” I nodded, lining up my next shot. “Next week works.”

The rest of the game passed with easy banter and increasingly wild shots as Anthony tried and failed to catch up to my lead. By the time we finished the eighteenth hole, I’d won handily, and Anthony was complaining about a non–existent wrist injury.

“Same time next week?” I asked, stowing my clubs in the trunk of my Aston Martin.

“Only if you promise to play with your eyes closed.” Anthony slammed his trunk shut. “Give me a fighting chance.”

“I could play with one arm tied behind my back and still beat you.”

“Fuck off.” He laughed, shaking his head.

I watched Anthony drive away in his car, the engine roaring as he sped off. Typical Anthony, he couldn’t stand losing even at golf. I climbed into my own car, feeling the familiar leather seat conform to my body as I started the engine.

The drive back to my penthouse was quick, Sunday traffic being mercifully light. I tossed my keys onto the marble counter and headed straight for the shower, letting hot water wash away the sweat and tension from the golf course.

After drying off, I chose a casual outfit of dark jeans and a navy button–down. As I rolled up my sleeves, I noticed my phone blinking with a missed call.

Leo.

I called him back immediately.

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“About time,” he answered on the second ring. “I’ve got news.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good. I found our bartender’s address in New York. The guy’s name is Tyler Phillips.”

My interest piqued. “The one who disappeared after that night?”

“The very same. I’m heading to his place now. Want in?”

“Text me the address.”

“Already did. See you there.”

I grabbed my keys and headed back out. The address Leo sent was in a rundown part of town, not exactly where I’d expect to find someone who worked high–end events. When I arrived, Leo was already leaning against his car, sunglasses on despite the building’s shadow.

“Fancy seeing you in this neighborhood,” he smirked.

“Let’s get this over with.”

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