A Secretive Deal with My Billionaire Boss (by Gregory Ellington) novel Chapter 413

Chapter 413

Madison

“YES!” Hazel’s shriek nearly deafened me. “Oh my god, this is amazing! You won’t regret this, I promise. Well, maybe you’ll regret it a little when you meet Oliver’s Aunt, but mostly you won’t regret it!”

“You’re selling this really well.”

“I’m excited! My best friend is coming to New York! This is the best news I’ve had all week.” She paused. “Wait, are you bringing Ethan?”

“I guess so. You said it was family friendly.”

“It is! Perfect! Bring that adorable kid of yours. Oliver will love meeting him again.”

“Okay.”

“And Madison? Thank you. Really. This means a lot.”

The sincerity in her voice made my throat tight. “You’re welcome.”

“I have to go. I’ll text you all the details! Love you!”

“Love you too.”

She hung up before I could change my mind.

I set down my phone, suddenly aware that both my mother and Ethan were staring at me.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re going to a party!” Ethan bounced in his seat. “Can I come? Aunt Hazel said I could come!”

“Yes, you can come.”

“YES!” He pumped his fist in the air. “When? Now? Are we leaving now?”

“Not now. The day after tomorrow.”

“That’s so long!” He slumped dramatically. “That’s like a million years!”

“It’s two days.”

“Same thing.”

I turned to my mother. “Do you want to come? To the party?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “No, no. You young people go have fun. I’ll stay here and hold down the fort.”

“Are you sure? It’s in New York. We could make a day of it.”

“I’m sure.” She returned to her newspaper, but I caught the small smile on her face. “Take Ethan. Let him see the city. Have some fun for once instead of working yourself to death.”

“I don’t work myself to death.”

“You absolutely do.” She flipped a page. “When’s the last time you went anywhere that wasn’t work or the hospital or the grocery store?”

I couldn’t remember. That felt significant.

“Exactly,” my mother said, reading my silence. “Go to the party. Eat good food. Dance a little. Remind yourself that you’re still

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young and not eighty.”

Ethan abandoned his orange juice and raced over to me, grabbing my hand. “We’re going to New York! Like real New Yorkers! Can we see the tall buildings? And the parks? And maybe King Alexander’s kingdom?”

“What?”

“King Alexander! Remember? The fancy man from the café!” Ethan’s eyes sparkled. “He said he lives in a really tall building with a hundred floors! Can we count them?”

Heat rushed to my face. Of course. Of course, Ethan would remember that conversation and bring it up now.

“We’ll see,” I managed. “But the party isn’t anywhere near his building.”

“But we could visit! He said I could visit anytime!” Ethan tugged at my hand. “Please? I want to count all the floors! He was SO nice! And really tall!”

“Alright,” I said, kneeling down to Ethan’s level. “We’ll try. But I can’t make any promises about when, okay?”

“Okay!” He threw his arms around my neck, squeezing tight enough to cut off my breathing. “You’re the best mom ever!”

I hugged him back, my chest tight with emotions I couldn’t quite name. Over his shoulder, I caught my mother’s eye. She smiled, then returned to her newspaper as nothing significant had just happened.

I loaded our bags into the trunk while Ethan bounced beside me like a spring wound too tight.

“Are we really going to New York? Really, really?”

“Yes, really.” I double–checked the snacks I’d packed. Goldfish crackers, juice boxes, and his favorite dinosaur fruit snacks. Everything a four–year–old needed for a road trip. “But you have to promise to be good when we get there.”

“I’m always good!”

“Ethan.”

“Okay, I’m mostly good.” He climbed into his car seat without being asked, already staring out the window like the city might appear through sheer willpower.

The drive took longer than usual. Traffic backed up near Hartford, then again closer to Manhattan. Ethan entertained himself by counting cars, then trees, then giving up and asking approximately three hundred questions about tall buildings.

“How tall is the tallest building?” Ethan asked, his eyes wide with curiosity and excitement.

“Very tall.”

“Taller than the sky?”

“Nothing’s taller than the sky, baby.”

“What about space? Is space taller than the sky?”

“Space is past the sky.”

“So buildings can’t go to space?”

“Not yet.”

“But maybe someday?”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Maybe someday.”

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As we crossed into Manhattan, Ethan pressed his face to the window, his breath fogging the glass.

“Look, Mom! Look at all the buildings!” His voice went up three octaves. “They’re so tall! There’s a million of them!”

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