The Unfilial Boss Woman

Patrick Anderson, a 27-year-old man with dark skin, stood up from his office seat once he finished the day's work.

At 8 p.m. sharp, his personal assistant, Jeff Hudson, knocked and stepped into his office 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 he was a piece of trash and did not respond.

He stepped away from his desk, grabbed his black coat hanging on the chair, and slipped it on to shield his body from the biting cold that might otherwise freeze him.

After that, he straightened his necktie and snatched his briefcase from the office desk.

With a final glance, Patrick strode out of his office on the eighth floor of his luxurious hotel, heading home and leaving Jeff Hudson speechless.

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Patrick owned a vast array of secret businesses in the state, and his mind buzzed with a whirlwind of thoughts, from his parents' nagging demands to finding a wife, to the roster of competitors plotting to drag him down and oust him from the business world.

Patrick had maintained multiple hidden identities, and no one knew who the real Patrick Anderson was, since he encoded his business strategies.

Exhaling a frosty breath, Patrick entered the elevator on the eighth floor, which whisked him down to the ground level of his ten-story, multimillion-dollar hotel in the state.

His bodyguards stood by, guarding him as he stepped out and headed toward his black Prado Jeep, which waited to carry him home.

Patrick glanced back at Jeff, who rushed to join him in the Prado Jeep, but he did not wait; he climbed in and settled into the back seat.

Jeff approached and slid into the front driver's seat as his bodyguards closed the back door.

Jeff started the Jeep's engine and drove out of the hotel, ferrying him home to the Andersons' residence, determined not to anger him.

Jeff arrived and pulled into the mansion's premises, parking the vehicle while Patrick stepped out and marched straight toward the mansion's entrance.

Patrick seethed with anger, his blood boiling as his black shoes clicked against the cemented ground and he approached their imposing four-story mansion.

Patrick entered the living room, where his new maid, Loveth Logan, greeted him. "Good evening, sir. Welcome home."

Patrick paused and glared at Loveth irritably, offering no response. He strode straight toward the milk-colored couch in the living room, tossed his briefcase onto it, he shrugged off his black coat, and draped it over his shoulder.

Patrick then retrieved his briefcase and headed straight for the elevator, eager to reach his master bedroom.

Just then, Patrick's mother, Mrs. Eleanor Anderson, a 70-year-old woman who suffered from knee pain, emerged from her room downstairs.

She glared irritably at Loveth, who still mopped the tiled floor, then frowned upon seeing her son about to enter the elevator whose doors had just opened with a ding.

"Patrick..." Her voice trailed off as she called him back.

Patrick paused and stared at his mother angrily, already knowing she and his father expected nothing more from him than to produce an heir.

Patrick had four older sisters, all married, since his aged mother had given birth to him last, ten years after his immediate elder sister's arrival.

Patrick clutched his briefcase tighter as he frowned and walked back to meet his mother. She smiled at him as he approached and enveloped him in a warm hug.

"Good evening, Mother," Patrick's greeting slipped from his lips like a whisper. His mother smiled at him and replied, "Welcome, son. How was your day today in the office?"

"Fine, Mother," Patrick said as he sat on the couch beside her. She asked him, "Son, when will you marry? You know your father and I aren't getting any younger, or don't you want us to see the next heir of the Anderson Corporation?"

Patrick swallowed hard as sweat beaded on his forehead from his mother's question.

"My son..." Mrs. Eleanor called to draw his attention, and he 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 said with a smile.

Patrick stood up to leave, but she asked him, "Son, how about your fiancèe, Willow Albert? Why not arrange to marry her at once, or what's the matter?"

Patrick exhaled sharply as heat rose within him from her question again. He looked away and locked eyes with their new maid, Loveth.

She smiled at him and blushed while she continued mopping the tiled floor happily.

Patrick's dark gray eyes scanned her waist in her pink maid's uniform. She looked so beautiful that he wondered who had deliberately hired her to work in their mansion.

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

"Mom, Willow left without informing me. And as if that weren't enough, she has refused to give me a proper explanation for abandoning me and our relationship," Patrick lied, because he could not tell his mother the truth about why he had broken up with Willow Albert—the cheap slut who stayed horny 24/7 and fell for any available rod eager to thrust into her secret cave.

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

Patrick stiffened and stared at his mother's face in disbelief.

Forcing a fake smile and subtle laughter, he replied, "I'm tired, Mom. I will get back to you, and probably next week, I will look for a bride, since that's what you want."

"Okay, my son," Mrs. Eleanor said with a smile.

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

"My 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 glanced back at Loveth, who had now finished mopping the tiled floor. She lowered her head respectfully to him as she felt his cold, piercing gaze upon her.

"How do you see Loveth? Your eldest sister, Isabel Owen, recommended Loveth's services to us, and she's like a daughter to me; she helps me a lot, as I'm already old and cannot work much."

"Come, Loveth," Mrs. Eleanor said, interrupting herself to stare at Loveth and signal for her to approach.

"Loveth, meet my only son, Master Patrick Anderson, sole heir to the Anderson Corporation."

Loveth stepped forward into Patrick's view and lowered her head to him again.

"It's an honor to meet you, sir," she said, but Patrick stood speechless as he sank into deep thought.

Was this some sort of temptation or setup by his mother? Her eyes shone black like a panther's. Her nose pointed sharply, her lips glowed pink without lip gloss, and her long natural blonde hair was tied into a ponytail.

Her skin looked so flawless, like a mixture of milk and honey.

Patrick lingered, assessing Loveth's beauty, until his mother's words snapped him out of it.

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

"Hmm..." Patrick's eyes narrowed at Loveth. He looked back at his mother's face and replied, "Fine, Mother. Good to see she's taking good care of you. I have to go upstairs now, as I have an important online business meeting to attend by 10 p.m., and I need to prepare for it."

Without waiting for his mother's response, Patrick turned and walked away from them toward the elevator.

He entered it and rode up to the fourth floor.

"Fụck!" Patrick cursed as he stepped out of the elevator and 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, and without warning, the two maids scurried out and vacated the fourth-floor sitting room.

Patrick occupied the fourth floor alone, while the third and second floors had belonged to his elder sisters long before they married or whenever they visited.

Patrick hurled his black coat and necktie onto the nearest couch and dropped his briefcase beside it. He approached his sitting room bar to retrieve a bottle of wine.

Patrick seethed with anger, and nothing irritated him more than the prospect of marrying a loose woman.

He uncorked the wine bottle in his hand and chugged its contents straight from the mouth, draining it in one gulp.

Patrick staggered, already feeling the wine's effects. He slumped onto the black stool nearest the bar top and cracked open another bottle.

"I hate you, Willow!" Patrick cursed. Just then, he heard his sitting room door slide open.