Falling In Love With My Mother's Man

Rose POV

It was Thanksgiving. One that I really did not want to be a part of. It rained that morning, the patter hitting the rooftop of her house. My boss, Charlotte.

"That was so funny, wasn't it?" She laughed at a joke I'd missed along the way. "And the clients were so excited about how the night turned out. I remember Rose came as a chicken. Right, Rose?"

I thought I heard my name, but I couldn't be so certain. The table seemed to have slowed down as all eyes geared in my direction, waiting. We knew the drill. Charlotte held our lives in her hands. Or at least, our financial lives.

We had to laugh. And respond. Or we might as well kiss goodbye to our jobs. But how could I do that when I'd heard about my mother's illness only a couple of days ago?

"Yeah," I muttered, hoping that sounded passable. I had no idea what we were talking about.

"I think I know what you need, Rose," Charlotte mused, scooting to the edge of her seat. "A good plummeting."

I swallowed. "A good what?"

"Come on," she waved her hands dismissively in the air. "Don't tell me you have no idea what a plummet is?"

I angled my head, really hoping it wasn't what I thought it was.

"Sex," she breathed, rolling her eyes. "You take out the fun in everything and act so holy. I know you're not a damn virgin, Rose, so stop acting like one."

Charlotte was right. I wasn't a virgin. But how was that any of her business? And what was that sudden interest in my personal affairs? No one has asked how the last visit to the hospital was, because no one knew.

The doorbell chimed in that instant, and an unpleasant smile curled her lips downwards. "This shouldn't take a minute," she murmured, before filtering to the door.

Using the opportunity to be as far away from Charlotte as possible, I got on my feet, the legs of the chair scraping the ground, before muttering something about using the bathroom.

Charlotte's house was huge. I'd heard that she was married to a mega-millionaire and signed a prenup to take half of his property at their divorce. They divorced late last year, and she took the company with her.

It was of no difference because I'd never met the real owner before. He put Charlotte in charge, so when the divorce happened, there was no change in leadership.

The banisters of the staircase were lined with gold, and I followed them until I reached the landing, taking the left deep into the hallway until I reached what I thought was the bathroom.

I heard chuckles downstairs as I pushed the door open and stepped in.

It was a room with a bathroom inside it. Behind the closed doors, I was finally able to take a deep breath, but with it came a tremble that shook my hands.

I tried to hold the tears at bay, taking deep breaths.

Cancer.

My mother had cancer.

She took the news so well that it broke every inch of me.

How on earth was that possible? What would I do now? Where would I go?

I tried turning the faucet on, but it wouldn't budge. Nothing moved. I realized it had no twist on top. Rich people drama.

I really needed to wash my hands and my face.

Frustration ebbed through me as I hit every surface around the faucet, my breath coming out erratically. Rapidly.

"Fuck!" I groaned into my palm, feeling the first droplet of tears. I slid to the ground, letting the cold tiles caress my back as the sobs racked through me.

I should have heard it. I should have known. But the moment my head jerked up, it was a second too late. The door had already swung open, and a man with the bluest eyes I'd ever seen was staring down at me.

"I'm sorry," I muttered in one breath, already getting on my feet. "I...."

"Charlotte!" He yelled, his eyes still on me. "Why is there a wailing woman in my bathroom?"

"Shit! No! I didn't... I thought it was...."

"Get out."

I blinked.

"I don't repeat myself, Miss... whoever you are."

I pushed myself off the floor, feeling even worse than before. I was torn between wailing loudly and hurling something at him. But I chose neither, attempting to walk past him. He scared me. That was the truth.

Easily towering over me by over a foot, every inch of his face pristine and expressionless, I knew that he was someone I didn't want to cross.

Someone I shouldn't cross.

So why was the most lethal word on the tip of my tongue?

"And take those minions downstairs with you on your way out," he muttered, his deep baritone piercing through the silence.

The door opened behind us, and Charlotte raced in, her heels clacking against the floor. She stopped when she saw me. "What the hell are you doing in here, Rose?"

Now the tears stung the corners of my eyes all over again. "I was just trying to...I needed to use the bathroom and then ..."

"You should have asked me, dumbass!"

"I was..."

"Just leave, Rose. We'll see at the office on Monday."

Nodding, I risked one last glance at the man before pulling away. He no longer had his eyes on me. They were closed; his lips pressed tightly against each other. I wondered what happened. Something must have.

Running down the stairs, I grabbed my purse from the living room, the tears now flowing freely. The rest of my colleagues tried stopping me, asking me what went wrong. But I didn't trust my tongue to utter anything sensible without wailing like a clueless child.

So I did the one thing I knew how to do best.

I ran.

But not before I heard one of my colleagues whisper, "I heard his girlfriend just got diagnosed with cancer. Do you think that's why he's back? To settle things with Charlotte?"