The Unfilial Boss Woman

Patrick Anderson, a 27-year-old black man, stood up from his executive office seat; he was through with the day's work.

At 8 p.m. sharp, his personal assistant, Jeff Hudson, knocked and stepped into his 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 plain black trousers, stared at Jeff like a piece of trash and didn't respond. He stepped away from his office desk, picked up his black coat hanging on his chair, and wore it to prevent the cold weather from hitting his cool dark skin and freezing him.

Patrick adjusted his necktie properly and snatched his briefcase from his office desk.

With a single 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, and his mind was preoccupied with thoughts—from his parents, who had been disturbing him about bringing home a wife, to the list of competitors wanting to take him down and out of the business world.

Patrick had kept multiple identities hidden, and none knew who the real Patrick Anderson was, as he kept his business strategies coded.

Furthermore, Patrick breathed out a cold breath as he entered the elevator on the 8th floor, which immediately took him down to the ground floor of his 10-storey multimillion-dollar hotel. His bodyguards stood aside, guarding him as he stepped out and walked towards the black Prado Jeep ready to take him home.

Patrick stared back at Jeff, who was rushing to join him in the Prado Jeep, and didn't wait. He entered and sat in the back seat while Jeff approached, slid into the front driving seat, and his bodyguards shut the back door.

Jeff ignited the Jeep engine and drove out, taking Patrick home to the Andersons' residence, careful not to anger him.

Jeff arrived and drove into the mansion premises and parked. However, Patrick stepped down and walked straight towards the frontage of their mansion.

Patrick was angered, and his blood constantly boiled hot as he clicked his black shoes on the cemented ground and approached their mighty 4-storey building mansion.

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

Patrick paused and stared at Loveth irritably. He didn't respond and walked straight towards the milk-coloured couch in the living room, dropping his briefcase on it. He took off his black coat and hung it over his shoulder.

Patrick picked up his briefcase and walked straight towards the elevator, wanting to go up to his mega rooms.

However, Mrs Eleanor Anderson, a 70-year-old woman, stepped out from her room below; she suffered kneecap pain. She stared at Loveth, still mopping the tiled floor irritably, and frowned. Then she saw Patrick about to enter the elevator as the door dinged open.

"Son..." Her voice trailed as she called him back.

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

Patrick had four older sisters, all married, as his aged mother had birthed him lastly, ten years after his immediate elder sister's birth.

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

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

"Fine, mother." Patrick sat with his mother on the executive couch, and she asked him, "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 as he felt his forehead sweaty at his mother's question.

"Son..." Mrs Eleanor called for Patrick's 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 smiled at Patrick, and he stood up to leave, but she asked him, "Son, what about your fianceé, Willow Albert? Why not make arrangements to go marry her at once? Or what's the matter?"

Patrick breathed out, feeling hot at her question. He stared away and made eye contact with their new maid, Loveth, who smiled at him, blushed, and continued mopping the tiled floor happily.

Patrick's dark-grey eyes scanned Loveth's waist in her pink maid uniform, and she looked so beautiful, making him wonder who had purposely employed her to work in their mansion.

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

"Mom, Willow travelled out without informing me about it. And as if that's not enough, she has refused to give me a proper explanation for leaving me and our relationship." Patrick fabricated that, as of course he couldn't tell his mother the truth related to why he broke up with Willow—the cheap slut who was twenty-four hours horny and fell for any available rod that wanted 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 back at his mother's face unbelievably.

Forcing a fake smile and menacing laughter, Patrick 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 at Patrick, and he turned to leave and return up to his executive room on the fourth floor. But her voice stopped him again.

"Patrick, 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 was now through mopping the tiled floor. She bowed her head low and respectful to him as she felt 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, as I'm already old and cannot work much."

"Come, Loveth." Mrs Eleanor stopped talking, stared at Loveth, and signalled for her to come.

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

Loveth walked forward into Patrick's view and bowed her head low to him again.

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

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

Her eyes were so shining black like a pussycat. Her nose very pointed, her lips naturally pink without lip gloss, and her long natural blonde hair packed into a ponytail.

Her skin looked so flawless, like milk and honey mixed together. Patrick saw he took time assessing Loveth's beauty until his mother's words finally snapped him out of his assessment.

"Patrick, 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 to his mother, "Fine, mother. Good to see she's taking good care of you. I have to go upstairs now, as I have some important online business meeting to catch up with by 10 p.m., and I need to be ready for it."

Without his mother's response, Patrick turned and walked away from them, heading back to the elevator. He entered and went 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. Without warning, the two maids hastly ran out and left the fourth-floor sitting room.

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

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

Angered, Patrick knew there was nothing that irritated him more than the thought of ending up marrying a loose bitch.

He took out the alcoholic wine bottle, opened it, and chugged down the wine directly from the bottle's mouth, finishing it in one go.

Patrick staggered, feeling the wine's effect on him. He sat back on the black stool closest to the bar top, popping open another wine bottle.

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