The Unfilial Boss Woman

Patrick Anderson, a 27-year-old Black man, 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 his executive office, painted ash gray, to see him.

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

Patrick, dressed in a red-colored pocket shirt and plain black trousers, stared at Jeff like a piece of trash. He did not respond as he stepped from his office seat, picked up his black coat hanging on the chair, and put it on to shield his cool, dark skin from the cold weather.

Patrick adjusted his necktie, snatched his briefcase from the desk and, with a final glance, walked out of the executive office of his luxury hotel, leaving Jeff Hudson speechless.

Furthermore, Patrick owned a vast range of secret businesses in the state, and his mind was preoccupied with thoughts ranging from his parents’ constant pressure to bring home a wife to the list of competitors who wanted to take him down.

Patrick kept multiple identities hidden, and no one knew who the real Patrick Anderson was. He kept his business strategies coded.

Additionally, Patrick breathed out a cold breath as he entered the elevator on the eighth floor. It immediately took him down to the ground floor of his 10-story, 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, rushing to join him, and did not wait. He entered and sat in the back seat while Jeff slid into the driver’s seat and the bodyguards shut the rear door.

Jeff started the engine and drove toward the Anderson residence, not wanting to anger him.

Jeff arrived, drove into the mansion grounds and parked. Patrick stepped out and walked straight toward the front of the mansion. His blood boiled as his black shoes clicked against the cemented ground. He approached the four-story building, entered the living room, and heard his new maid, Loveth Logan, greet him.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome home.”

Patrick paused and stared at Loveth irritably. He did not respond. He walked to the milk-colored couch, dropped his briefcase onto it, removed his black coat and draped it over his shoulder.

Patrick picked up the briefcase again and headed for the elevator, wanting to go up to his rooms.

Just then, his mother, Mrs. Eleanor Anderson, a 70-year-old woman, stepped out of her room on the ground floor. She suffered from kneecap pain. She frowned at Loveth, who was still mopping the tiled floor, then she saw Patrick as the elevator doors opened.

“Son …” Her voice trailed off.

Patrick paused and stared at his mother angrily. He already knew there was nothing else she and his father wanted from him other than an heir.

Patrick had four older sisters, all married. His mother had given birth to him last, 10 years after his immediate older sister.

Patrick clutched his briefcase tighter, frowned and walked back to meet her. She smiled and gave him a warm hug.

“Good evening, Mother,” Patrick said, his greeting rolling out like a whisper.

She smiled. “Welcome, son. How was your day?”

“Fine, Mother.”

They sat on the executive couch.

“Son, when will you finally marry?” she asked. “You know your father and I aren’t getting any younger. Don’t you want us to see the next heir of Anderson Corp.?”

Patrick swallowed. He felt his forehead grow sweaty at the question.

“Son …” Mrs. Eleanor said again.

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

“Okay, son.” She smiled.

Patrick stood to leave, but his mother asked, “What about your fiancée, Willow Albert? Why not make arrangements to marry her at once? What’s the matter, son?”

Patrick breathed out, feeling hot again. He looked away and met eyes with Loveth, who smiled and blushed as she continued mopping.

Patrick’s dark gray eyes scanned Loveth's waist in the pink uniform. She looked beautiful, making him wonder who had purposely employed her.

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

“Mom, Willow traveled without informing me. And as if that’s not enough, she has refused to give me a proper explanation for leaving.”

Patrick forged the story. Of course he could not tell his mother the truth about why he broke up with Willow—the cheap slut who was always horny and fell for any available man.

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

Patrick stiffened and stared at his mother in disbelief.

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

“Okay, my son.” Mrs. Eleanor smiled.

Patrick turned to leave, 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 at Loveth, who was now through mopping. She bowed her head respectfully as she felt his cold, piercing gaze.

“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. I’m already old and cannot work much.”

“Come, Loveth,” Mrs. Eleanor said, signaling to her.

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

Loveth walked forward, bowed her head again and said, “It is an honor to meet you, sir.”

Patrick stood speechless, sinking into deep thought.

'Is this some sort of temptation or setup by my mother?'

'Her eyes shone black like a cat’s. Her nose was 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 snapped him out of it.

“Son, I see you like Loveth. She’s also a very good cook, and 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 good care of you. I have to go upstairs now. I have some important online business meetings to catch up with by 10 p.m. and I need to be ready.”

Without waiting for a response, Patrick turned and walked to the elevator. He entered and went up to the fourth floor.

“Fụck!” Patrick cursed as he stepped out into his sitting room. 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 floor alone. The third and second floors were used by his elder sisters long before they married or whenever they were around.

Patrick kept 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.

He was angered. Nothing irritated him more than the thought of ending up marrying a loose woman.

Patrick took out the wine bottle, opened it, and chugged the wine directly from the bottle, finishing it in one go. He staggered, feeling the effect, and sat on the black stool closer to the bar top. He popped open another bottle.

“I hate you, Willow!” he cursed.

Just then he heard his sitting room door slide open.