Page 36 of Her Filthy Cold Billionaire Boss

He turned to face me as if he’d sensed my presence and the temperature dropped by ten degrees.

I stopped mid-step, uncertain whether I was even supposed to be in here or if I’d mistaken the time, but he’d already locked onto me. His jaw ticked. I’d seen it a few times now, but never quite like this. Today, Gareth wasn’t just annoyed. He was ready to murder someone and use their bones as fertilizer for his prized roses.

“Ms. Blake,” he said, the words freezing me in place as every bit of warmth and excitement drained from me. “How kind of you to join me. Do you have a moment?”

The “Ms.” sent an electric pulse down my spine. He only got formal when he was about to eviscerate someone. Besides, I didn’t really have a choice but to join him, though I expected a very different response.

What had I done wrong?

“I- of course,” I said, but it sounded more like a question than an answer.

“Sit.”

I sat, sinking onto an expensive-looking white chaise lounge as he pulled over a leather armchair as if it weighed nothing. But he didn’t sit.

No, he loomed. Towering over me with an expression that could refreeze the polar icecaps and probably the oceans, too. “We have a problem.”

I swallowed, heart beating erratically as panic closed in like a noose at my throat. “I assume you’re about to tell me what it is?”

He didn’t smirk, but his eyes did something close. “Would you like to explain why I received a phone call from my uncle at six-thirty this morning? Or why he’s now under the impression that he’s a guest of honor at our little event?”

I tried to keep my poker face, but my pulse was in my ears. “I- thought it was a family reunion. Isn’t that the point of a reunion? To invite…family?”

He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees. “My uncle has not set foot in my company in fifteen years. He’s a liability. He’s a drunk, a pathological liar, and he owes half of Europe money. You invited him without consulting me.”

“Technically, I invited everyone on your mother’s side,” I said, trying not to shrink under his glare. “That’s what I thought you wanted.”

“What I wanted,” he echoed, his face puckering as if the words were poison.

I pressed on, emboldened by the flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You tasked me with coordinating the event. That means managing the guest list, which was, might I add, only available by cross-referencing the old staff directories and your digitalcontacts. If you didn’t want certain people here, maybe redact your files more thoroughly.”

His eyes narrowed. “You went through my personal contacts.”

I shrugged, a little too breezily. “I went through your work calendar and the linked accounts. It’s called efficiency.”

He made a sound at the back of his throat, equal parts disgust and admiration. “You could have asked.”

“You would have said no,” I said. “Then I’d have to lie to you. I don’t like lying to you.”

He looked away, out the window, the skin at his temples flushed. A vein stood out at his throat. “You do realize you’ve just turned a manageable crisis into a public relations nightmare? When my uncle shows up and starts pitching pyramid schemes to the staff, it’s not my reputation on the line. It’s yours.”

“That’s what NDAs are for,” I said, before I could think better of it.

He turned back to me, eyes glassy with disbelief. “You think this is funny?”

I knew better than to say yes. I also knew better than to say no. So I just met his gaze and let the silence – broken only by the pouring rain outside - expand between us, daring him to blink first.

He didn’t. Instead, he said, “You’re reckless.”

My whole body went hot, then cold. “And you’re a control freak.”

I regretted it immediately. But instead of detonating, he just laughed, a short, joyless bark that sounded like it hurt. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “But I can’t afford to be otherwise.”

I found my hands clenched in my lap. “Look, if you want me to retract the invitation-”

He waved it off, impatient. “It’s too late. Damage done. We’ll have to manage the fallout.” He stood, pacing theperimeter of the room, fingers trailing over the lemon tree’s leaves in a huge white pot in the corner of the room. “I have to know, Eden. Why did you do it?”

The way he said my name made something inside me shudder. I wanted to lie. I wanted to tell him it was for optics, for morale, for the sake of a fuller guest list. But the truth was, I’d done it because I hated the idea of a family reunion where half the family was missing. I hated the idea of Gareth alone in his glass house, pretending he didn’t want to see the people who’d abandoned him. I hated that he could be so smart and so blind at the same time.