A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss (by Gregory Ellington) novel Chapter 392

Chapter 392

Alexander

The thought repeated itself, echoing in my skull like a drumbeat.

Madison had a kid.

A son, based on the haircut, the clothes, the way he moved with that particular brand of boyish energy.

The boy couldn’t have been more than four or five. Maybe younger. Hard to tell with kids. They all looked the

same to me.

Four or five years old meant Madison had gotten pregnant shortly after leaving Knight Industries. Maybe even before she left?

Was she married? The question slammed into me with uncomfortable force. I’d assumed she was single based on Leo’s report about Christopher, but that didn’t mean anything. She could have gotten divorced. Could have a partner who wasn’t in the public record. Could have done any number of things in five years.

The kid tugged at her hand again, still talking, oblivious to the tension radiating from his mother.

Christopher Allen’s face flashed through my mind. Single, successful, regular at her café. Was he the father? Had Madison been seeing him before she left New York? During our arrangement?

No. That didn’t make sense. Madison wasn’t the type to cheat. She’d been too honest, too direct, even when it inconvenienced her.

But then why would she lie about dating him?

Unless she wasn’t lying. Unless they really were together and this was his kid from a previous relationship.

Except that felt wrong too. The way Madison held the boy’s hand, the protective stance of her body, the softness in her face when she looked down at him. That was maternal love, not stepmother affection.

This was her son.

The question was whose son?

I scanned my memory for any mention of Madison dating someone before she worked for me. There had been that friend, Jackson. And she’d never mentioned anyone serious.

Had she met someone immediately after leaving? Gotten pregnant right away? It was possible. People did it all the time. Met someone, fell in love, started a family.

The thought made my chest feel tight.

Or maybe she’d had a one–night stand. That seemed even less like Madison, but desperate situations led to desperate choices. Maybe she’d needed to feel something after leaving New York. After our arrangement ended so badly.

The kid looked up at her, saying something about chocolate cake.

Mom.

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He’d called her Mom.

Definitely her biological son then. The timeline worked. Barely. Five years since she left, the kid looked four or five. The math checked out.

I tried to picture Madison pregnant. Failed completely. Tried to imagine her with a newborn. That image was even more impossible. Madison Harper, who’d organized my entire life with ruthless efficiency, dealing with diapers and midnight feedings and all the chaos that came with a baby.

She’d managed it alone, apparently. No mention of a husband or partner in Leo’s report. Just her, her mother, and the café.

And this kid.

The boy was still animated, his free hand gesturing wildly as he explained something to Madison. She smiled down at him, that soft expression transforming her face into something beautiful and unfamiliar.

I’d never seen her look like that. Not in all the time she’d worked for me, not during our arrangement, not even in the brief moments of vulnerability we’d shared.

This was a side of Madison I didn’t know existed.

Something about the kid nagged at me. Something familiar in the way he moved, the tilt of his head, the enthusiasm in his gestures. Like I’d seen it before but couldn’t place where.

Must be a common thing with kids. They all gestured like tiny windmills.

Madison’s eyes met mine again across the parking lot. Her face had gone pale, her body rigid with what looked like fear.

Fear of what? That I’d judge her for having a kid? That I’d cause problems? 1

Or fear that I’d figure something out.

The thought lodged itself in my brain and refused to leave. What would Madison be afraid of me figuring out? That she’d moved on? I already knew that. That she had a family now? That was obvious.

Unless there was something else.

The restaurant door opened. Anthony stepped out, his wallet presumably retrieved. He glanced at me, then followed my gaze to where Madison stood frozen with her son.

Anthony moved closer, not saying anything, his attention fixed on the kid. I watched my friend’s face carefully, looking for clues about what he was seeing that I wasn’t. 1

Before I could speak, Madison grabbed the boy’s hand and practically dragged him toward a car parked three spaces over. She moved with urgency, fumbling with her keys as she opened the door.

The kid protested, his voice carrying across the parking lot. “But Mom, you said we could look at the fountain!”

“Not tonight, baby. We need to go home.”

She buckled him into a car seat with practiced efficiency, her movements quick and precise. The same way she used to handle everything. Methodically. Thoroughly. Leaving nothing to chance.

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I found my voice. “Who is that kid?”

Madison straightened, her hand on the car door. For a second, I thought she might ignore me completely. Then she turned, her expression unreadable.

“I thought you knew who he was.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Before I could process them, before I could respond, demand clarification, or do anything except stand there like an idiot, Madison climbed into the driver’s seat.

The car’s engine started. She backed out of the space with careful precision, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

I watched the taillights disappear into evening traffic.

“Did you hear what she said?” I turned to Anthony.

He was still staring at the empty parking space where Madison’s car had been, his expression troubled. “Yeah, I heard.”

“What did she mean?”

“I don’t know.” Anthony ran a hand through his hair. “But I need to tell you something. Remember when I mentioned seeing Madison’s mother at the café? And there was a boy with her?”

I nodded, impatient. “You said he was helping behind the counter.”

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