A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss novel Chapter 154

Chapter 154

Madison

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Sunday evening brought the kind of rain that New Yorkers both love and hate–the dramatic downpour that transforms the city into something straight out of a noir film–beautiful from behind glass but miserable to navigate.

I stood under the awning of my apartment building, watching sheets of water cascade from the sky.

“Gonna be a while, miss,” my doorman said, eyeing the deluge. “Weather app says it’s getting worse before it gets better.”

I nodded, pulling my phone from my purse to check the time. I’d promised Hazel I’d be at her place by seven; it was already quarter till. After our awkward encounter with Alexander at the café, I owed her an explanation – or at least some version of the truth that wouldn’t reveal the exact nature of

our arrangement.

I stepped to the curb and raised my hand, grateful when a yellow cab immediately splashed to a stop. I darted through the rain, my shoes already soaked by the time I slid into the backseat.

“Where to?” the driver asked, wiping condensation from his windshield.

I gave him Hazel’s address as I shook raindrops from my hair.

The cab pulled away from the curb, windshield wipers working overtime against the relentless downpour.

By the time we reached Hazel’s building, the storm had intensified. Lightning flashed, briefly turning night to day, followed by a crack of thunder that vibrated through the cab.

“That’ll be sixteen fifty,” the driver said, eyeing the downpour with sympathy.

I handed him a twenty. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, miss. Good luck out there.”

I made a dash for the building entrance, my umbrella nearly turning inside out in the wind. The doorman recognized me and buzzed me in without question. I took the elevator, shaking off the worst of the rain before knocking on Hazel’s door.

“It’s open!” she called.

I stepped into her apartment, immediately enveloped by the scent of cinnamon and vanilla. Hazel’s place always smelled like a bakery, even when she hadn’t been cooking.

“You made it!” She appeared from the kitchen, wearing flannel pajama pants and an oversized NYU

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sweatshirt. “I was starting to think you’d bail on me.”

“And face your wrath? Never.” I dropped my purse on the counter. “The rain is insane out there.”

“I can see that,” she said, eyeing my slightly damp appearance. “Want some tea? I just put the kettle

on.”

“Please. Something warm would be perfect.”

I settled onto her couch, tucking my feet under me as Hazel bustled around the kitchen. Her apartment was familiar territory – we’d spent countless nights here during college and beyond, dissecting bad dates and celebrating promotions.

Hazel returned with two steaming mugs, handing one to me as she plopped down on the couch. The scent of chamomile and honey wafted up, warm and comforting against the backdrop of rain pattering against her windows.

“Here you go. Perfect for a stormy night.”

“Thanks,” I said, wrapping my hands around the mug and letting the warmth seep into my fingers.” Just what I needed.”

Hazel tucked her feet under her, mirroring my position on the opposite end of the couch. She blew on her tea, watching me over the rim of her mug with eyes that practically sparkled with curiosity.

“So,” she began, her tone deceptively casual, “I have about a million questions.”

I took a sip of tea, buying myself a moment. “About the Manhattan Project? I can’t share all the details yet, but-”

“No, not about work,” she said, rolling her eyes. “About Alexander Knight and how you’re having sex with him.”

I nearly choked on my tea. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on! After that little scene at the café? The way he was looking at you? The way you reacted when he touched you?” She leaned forward. “Madison Harper, you’re sleeping with your boss, and I want all the juicy details.”

“I think you might be misinterpreting things,” I said carefully, setting my mug on the coffee table.

“I’ve known you since we were kids. Your face turns the exact shade of a tomato when you’re lying, just like it is right now.”

I touched my cheeks, feeling the heat there. Damn it.

“Fine,” I sighed, knowing when I was beaten. “We’re dating. It’s still new, and we’re keeping it quiet.

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Hazel squealed, nearly spilling her tea. “I knew it! Oh my god, Madison! You’re dating Alexander Knight. THE Alexander Knight!” She set her mug down and grabbed a throw pillow, hugging it to her chest. “Tell me everything. How did it start? Is he as good in bed as the tabloids suggest? Does he have a weird fetish? Rich guys always have a weird fetish.”

“Hazel!” I laughed despite myself. “I’m not giving you a play–by–play of my sex life.”

“So you admit there is a sex life to play–by–play,” she said triumphantly.

I grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. She caught it, grinning.

“Come on, Maddie. This is me. Your best friend. The person who held your hair back when you puked after too many tequila shots on your twenty–first birthday. The person who helped you move five times in three years. I deserve details!”

“There’s not much to tell,” I said, trying to sound casual. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together because of work, and things just… evolved.”

“Evolved? That’s the best you can do? Things ‘evolved‘?” She made air quotes with her fingers. That’s like saying the Big Bang was just a little pop.” 1

I rolled my eyes. “What do you want me to say? That he swept me off my feet with his billions and

charm?”

“Did he?”

“No,” I said honestly. “It’s more complicated than that.”

Hazel’s expression softened. “Is it serious?”

I hesitated, unsure how to answer. Our arrangement was serious in the sense that it was a binding agreement with real consequences, but it wasn’t serious in the way Hazel meant it. There were no feelings involved.

“It’s… too early to tell,” I said finally. “We’re taking things one day at a time.”

Hazel studied me, her excitement giving way to concern. “Madison, be careful. Men like Alexander Knight don’t exactly have the best track record with relationships. His dating history reads like the Victoria’s Secret catalog.”

“I know his reputation,” I said, picking up my tea again. “But there’s more to him than what you read in the tabloids.”

“Like what?”

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Like the fact that he’d arranged for my mother to receive the best medical care available. Like how he’d defended me against office bullies without making me feel weak or incapable. Like the moments when his mask slipped, and I caught glimpses of something vulnerable beneath all that power and

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