Page 19 of The Billionaire Alpha's Assistant

Chapter Seven

Alex

I awaketo the sound of voices downstairs and the slamming of a door. A warm bubbly laugh echoes through the cavernous house, and I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s a weird designer rich-person clock, and I can’t figure out what it’s supposed to be saying, so I pick up my phone instead.

It’s seven a.m.

Confused, I get out of bed and start to pull some clothes on. Rafael didn’t ask me to do anything last night after he showed me to my room. I asked his chef to make me some mac and cheese, and then I spent the evening going through Rafael’s emails. I typed up his important messages and slid the brief under his door.

Raking a hand through my tangled hair, I slip into the hallway and follow the sound of lively chatter down to the enormous kitchen. The voices are speaking in Spanish, I realize, and I wish that I’d retained more from the two years of Spanish I took in high school.

“Eso es demasiado, mija.”

“No, Mama. I told you. You always put in a half stick more than the recipe says!”

I poke my head around the corner and see that the immaculate magazine-ready kitchen has been transformed. Grocery bags, Tupperware, and dishes wrapped in foil are scattered across nearly every surface, and the delicious aroma of butter, brown sugar, and pumpkin fills the room.

A plump older Hispanic woman is lecturing a petite twentysomething in Spanish. The younger woman has dark curly hair and Rafael’s dark-brown eyes. She must be his sister, the ballerina, which means the older woman has to be his mother.

There’s also a man with them — a beefy athletic-looking white guy who looks as though he’s had his nose broken at least a couple of times. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a tight-fitting T-shirt. They all look exceedingly normal to be Rafael’s relatives.

I take a deep breath, preparing to introduce myself, but then someone breezes past me into the kitchen.

Rafael.

He’s dressed more casually than I’ve ever seen him in jeans and a thick ivory sweater. The jeans must be some pricey designer brand, but still. The man is wearing jeans!

All three newcomers turn to look at him, and the older woman’s eyes light up.

“¡Ah, mi amor!”

“Morning, Mamá. Good to see you.”

“Rafael, I can’t find anything in your fancy kitchen,” sighs the sister, Elena. She holds up a shiny metal sticklike object. “I mean, what is this?

“Good morning to you, too,” says Rafael in a deadpan voice. “And I think that’s an immersion blender.”

“You’re such a know-it-all,” Elena says with an eye roll, coming over to hug her brother. Her head barely reaches his chest, and he picks her up and twirls her around. Then he and the guy go in for a bro-hug, and I can’t help but stare.

Around these people, Rafael almost seems like a normal person.

“¿Quien es esta?” asks Rafael’s mother.

Everyone goes quiet. I realize I’ve been watching their little reunion from the kitchen entryway. I smile and raise a hand in a wave, cringing inwardly at my own awkwardness.

Growing up, it was always just me and my dad. I’m not used to the whole big-family thing.

“Mamá, this is Alex, my new assistant.”

“Ah,” says Rafael’s mother, smiling warmly at me.

“Alex, this is my mother, Juana.”

“It’s really nice to meet you,” I say, stepping forward so I can shake the woman’s hand. But Rafael’s mother ignores it completely and pulls me into a warm embrace.

“I’m Elena,” says Rafael’s sister, edging in once her mother releases me. “And this is my m—” She breaks off, glancing at her brother. “My fiancé, Jake.”

The tall athletic-looking guy takes my hand and shakes it. Jake’s hand is huge and rough, and he’s got this easygoing smile that immediately helps me relax.

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