A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss novel Chapter 276

Chapter 276

Madison

Mom tilted her head. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I’m going to change and make dinner. Any requests?”

“Something that doesn’t involve quinoa or kale,” she replied, shuffling back to the couch. “I’ve had enough health food in the hospital to last a lifetime.”

I smiled despite myself. “I’ll see what I can do.”

In my room, I changed into comfortable leggings and an oversized NYU sweatshirt, letting my hair down from its tight bun. My scalp thanked me instantly. After washing off my makeup, I headed to the kitchen to assess our dinner options.

The refrigerator offered limited inspiration: some chicken breasts, vegetables, and half a block of cheese. I pulled out the chicken and started chopping onions and bell peppers, my mind drifting to Alexander. The way he’d looked at me in his office earlier, with that intensity that made my knees weak. The gentleness in his voice when he asked about Mom.

“Need help?” Mom appeared in the doorway, interrupting my thoughts.

“Absolutely not.” I pointed my knife at the living room. “Back to your reality shows. Doctor’s orders.”

She rolled her eyes but retreated. “What are you making?”

“Chicken fajitas,” I called after her. “Without kale, I promise.”

I sautéed the vegetables and chicken with some spices I found in the back of the cabinet. The familiar rhythm of cooking helped clear my head. No Alexander. No complicated arrangement. Just dinner for my mom and me.

Twenty minutes later, I carried two plates to the coffee table. Mom sat up straighter, eyeing the food with approval.

“This looks edible,” she said, impressed.

“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.” I handed her a plate and sat beside her.

We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the TV playing softly in the background. Mom took a second bite and nodded appreciatively.

“Not bad at all.” She pointed her fork at me. “You should invite Alexander over for dinner sometime.”

I nearly choked on my food. “What? No.”

“Why not?” She looked genuinely confused. “You said he liked your cooking.”

“That was different,” I mumbled, pushing a piece of chicken around my plate. “That was a work thing.‘”

Mom gave me a knowing look. “Is it because you’re embarrassed of our apartment?”

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“No!” I protested though the thought had crossed my mind. Alexander’s penthouse could fit four or five of our apartments inside it. “It’s just… he’s busy. Always working.”

Mom took another bite of her fajita, skepticism written all over her face. “Everyone has to eat, Madison.”

“He has meetings and conference calls with international clients at odd hours. The man barely sleeps.” I stabbed a piece of chicken with unnecessary force.

“So invite him early,” she suggested, as if it were the most obvious solution in the world. “I’m sure he can make time for his girlfriend if you give him enough notice.”

“Mom, it’s not that simple.”

“What’s not simple about dinner?” She gestured around our modest living room. “It’s not fancy, but it’s home.”

“You can’t cook,” I blurted out, immediately regretting my words when I saw her expression.

Mom’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me? Who taught you how to make these fajitas?”

“That’s different. You’re supposed to be resting, not hosting dinner parties.”

“Fine, then you can cook.” She shrugged, reaching for her glass. “Or we can order in. I’m not picky.”

I sighed, knowing I was fighting a losing battle. Mom had that determined look in her eyes, the same one she wore when convincing me to apply to college despite our financial situation.

“Maybe after some days,” I conceded. “When you’re feeling better, and I’m not drowning in work.”

Mom’s face lit up with victory. “Perfect! Next weekend?”

“I didn’t say ”

“Next weekend it is.”

“Fine. Next Saturday. But don’t get your hopes up; he might have to cancel.”

“He won’t,” she said with surprising confidence. “Not if you ask him nicely.”

The suggestive tone in her voice made me flush. “Mom!”

“What?” She blinked innocently. “I just meant use your professional persuasion skills. What did you think 1 meant?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, gathering our empty plates. “Absolutely nothing.”

Mom laughed. “You’re too easy to tease, sweetheart.”

In the kitchen, I rinsed the dishes, my mind racing with images of Alexander sitting at our small table, his designer suit out of place among our mismatched chairs. Would he agree to come?

When I returned to the living room, Mom had found a comedy special on N*****x. She patted the spot next to

her on the couch.

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“Come laugh with your old mother. The doctor said laughter is the best medicine.”

“Pretty sure he prescribed actual medicine,” I said but settled in beside her.

“Details, details.” She waved dismissively. “Oh, this guy is hilarious. He does this bit about dating apps that’ll make you cry.”

I curled my legs underneath me, grateful for the distraction. The comedian on screen was in the middle of a story about a disastrous blind date.

“…so there I am, covered in spaghetti sauce, and she says, ‘This isn’t going to work. I’m gluten–free.‘”

Mom burst into laughter, clutching her side. “Oh, that’s gold!”

I smiled, more at her enjoyment than the joke itself. It felt good to see her happy, to have her home instead of in that sterile hospital room.

As the comedian launched into another bit about modern dating disasters, my mind drifted to my own complicated situation. What would Mom think if she knew the truth? That her daughter wasn’t actually dating Alexander Knight but was essentially his contracted girlfriend?

The arrangement had seemed so straightforward at first. A business deal with clear terms. Yet here I was, sitting on my couch, contemplating how to maintain this elaborate lie.

I couldn’t tell her now, not when she was finally home, finally laughing again. The truth would only worry her, making her wonder about my choices and the lengths I’d gone to for her medical care.

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