The Unfilial Boss Woman

Patrick stood up from his executive office seat; he was through for the day’s work. At 8 p.m. sharp his personal assistant, Jeff Hudson, knocked and stepped into the executive office painted ash-grey to see him.

“Good evening, boss. Are you leaving for home now?” Jeff asked.

Patrick, dressed in a red shirt and black trousers, stared at Jeff like a piece of trash. He did not respond. He stepped away from his office seat, picked up the black coat hanging there, and put it on to keep the cold wind from hitting his dark skin and freezing him to death. He adjusted his necktie, then snatched his briefcase from the desk.

With one final glance, Patrick walked out of the executive office of his luxurious hotel, heading home and leaving Jeff Hudson speechless.

Patrick owned a vast range of secret businesses across the state. His mind stayed preoccupied with many thoughts—his parents who had been disturbing him, the need to bring home a wife, and the list of competitors who wanted to take him down and remove him from the business world.

Patrick had kept a series of multiple identities hidden. No one knew who the real Patrick Anderson was; he kept his business strategies coded.

Furthermore, Patrick breathed out a cold breath as he entered the elevator on the eighth floor. It took him straight down to the ground floor of his ten-storey multimillion-dollar hotel. His bodyguards stood aside, guarding him as he stepped out and walked toward the black Prado jeep waiting to take him home.

Patrick stared back at Jeff, who was rushing to join him. He did not wait. He entered and sat in the back seat while Jeff slid into the front driving seat. The bodyguards shut the rear door.

Jeff started the engine and drove out, taking Patrick home to the Anderson residence, careful not to anger him.

Jeff arrived, drove into the mansion grounds, and parked. Patrick stepped down and walked straight toward the front of the mansion.

Anger burned in Patrick; his blood boiled as his black shoes clicked against the cemented floor. He approached their mighty four-storey mansion.

Patrick entered the living room. His new maid, Loveth Logan, greeted him. “Good evening, sir. Welcome home.”

Patrick paused and stared at Loveth irritably. He gave no reply. He walked straight to the milk-coloured couch, dropped his briefcase onto it, took off his black coat, and hung it over his shoulder. Then he picked up the briefcase and headed for the elevator, intending to go up to his rooms.

Just then, Mrs. Eleanor Anderson, a seventy-year-old woman, stepped out from her room below. She suffered from kneecap pain. She stared irritably at Loveth, who was still mopping the tiled floor, then frowned when she saw Patrick about to enter the elevator whose doors had just dinged open.

“Son…” Her voice trailed as she called him back.

Patrick paused and stared at his mother angrily. He already knew there was nothing else she and his father expected of him other than giving them an heir.

Patrick had four older sisters, all married. His mother had given birth to him last, ten years after his immediate elder sister.

Similarly, Patrick clutched his briefcase tighter, frowned, and walked back to meet his mother. She smiled as he approached and gave her a warm hug.

“Good evening, mother,” his greeting rolled out like a whisper.

His mother smiled. “Welcome, son. How was your day at the office?”

“Fine, mother.”

Patrick sat with her on the executive couch. She asked, “Son, when will you finally marry? You know your father and I aren’t getting any younger. Or don’t you want us to see the next heir of Anderson Corporation?”

Patrick swallowed. He felt his forehead grow sweaty at his mother’s question.

“Son…” Mrs. Eleanor called again.

Patrick replied, “Mom, don’t worry about your death yet, okay? I will think about a bride soon—probably this week or next.”

“Okay, my son.” Mrs. Eleanor smiled.

Patrick stood to leave, but she stopped him.

“Son, how about your fianceé Willow Albert? Why not arrange to marry her at once? What’s the matter, son?”

Patrick breathed out, feeling hot at the question again. He stared away and met the eyes of their new maid, Loveth. She smiled and blushed, continuing to mop the tiled floor happily.

Patrick’s dark-grey eyes scanned Loveth's waist in the pink uniform. She looked so beautiful, that he wondered who had purposely employed her to work in their mansion.

He loosened his necktie, rolled it in his palms, and shifted his gaze back to his mother.

“Mom, Willow travelled out without informing me. And as if that weren’t enough, she has refused to give me a proper explanation for leaving me and our relationship.”

Patrick forged that story. Of course he could not tell his mother the truth about why he had broken up with Willow—the cheap slut who was horny around the clock and fell for any available rod that wanted to thrust into her secret cave.

“But son, I spoke to Willow yesterday and she told me you both are fine and still together.”

Patrick stiffened and stared back at his mother in disbelief.

Forcing a fake smile and a menacing laugh, he replied, “I’m tired, Mom. I will get back to you. Probably next week I will look for a bride, since that’s what you want.”

“Okay, my son.” Mrs. Eleanor smiled.

Patrick turned to leave and return to his rooms on the fourth floor, but her voice stopped him again.

“Son, have you met Loveth Logan? She’s the new maid from Westwood, and her mother is one of the charitable women contributing to building the economy.”

Patrick paused and stared back at Loveth, who had finished mopping. She bowed her head respectfully, feeling his cold piercing gaze on her.

“How do you see Loveth? Your eldest sister, Isabel Owen recommended her services to us. She’s like a daughter to me and helps me a lot, since I’m already old and cannot work much.”

“Come, Loveth.” Mrs. Eleanor signalled for her to approach.

“Loveth, meet my son, Master Patrick Anderson, sole heir to Anderson Corporation.”

Loveth walked forward into Patrick’s view and bowed her head again.

“It is an honour to meet you, sir,” Loveth spoke.

Patrick stood speechless, sinking into deep thought.

*Is this some sort of temptation or set-up by my mother?*

*Her eyes shone black. Her nose was sharp and pointed, her lips naturally pink without gloss, and her long natural blonde hair was packed into a ponytail. Her skin looked flawless, like milk and honey mixed together.* Patrick took his time assessing Loveth's beauty until his mother’s words finally snapped him out of it.

“Patrick, I see you like Loveth. She’s also a very good cook. I cannot help but feel younger and love her the more.”

“Hmm.” Patrick’s eyes finally narrowed at Loveth. He replied, “Fine, mother. Good to see she’s taking care of you. I have to go upstairs now. I have an important online business meeting to catch up with by 10 p.m. and I need to be ready for it.”

Without waiting for his mother’s response, Patrick turned and walked away. He entered the elevator and went straight up to the fourth floor.

“Fụck!” Patrick cursed as he stepped out of the elevator into his sitting room on the fourth floor. The two maids there quickly greeted him. “Good evening, boss. Welcome home.”

“Shut up and get out!” Patrick thundered.

Without warning the two maids ran out and left the fourth-floor sitting room.

Patrick used the entire fourth floor alone; the third and second floors had been used by his elder sisters long before they married, or whenever they were around.

Patrick dropped his black coat and necktie onto the nearest couch, dropped his briefcase, and walked to the bar in his sitting room to take out an alcoholic wine.

Similarly, Patrick was angry. Nothing irritated him more than the thought of ending up marrying a loose, bìtchy woman.

Patrick took out the red wine bottle, opened it, and chugged the contents straight from the mouth, finishing it in one go.

Patrick staggered under the wine’s effect, sat back on the black stool closer to the bar top, and popped open another bottle.

“I hate you, Willow!” he cursed.

Just then he heard his sitting-room door slide open.