Page 7 of Filthy Rich Bosses

As I hang up, I look at Lulu, who's watching me with her head tilted. "Well, girl," I say, burying my fingers in her fur, "looks like we're moving to some big shot’s mansion tomorrow. Temporary insanity or stroke of luck? I guess we'll find out."

Chapter 4

Chase

I'm lounging against the kitchen counter, crunching into a crisp apple as I watch the chaos unfold around me. The house is buzzing with activity, staff scurrying about like ants preparing for winter. And at the center of it all is Grayson, looking like he's about to pop a blood vessel.

Well, today should be entertaining at the very least.

"Juniper! Where are those contracts?" Grayson barks, his usually perfect hair slightly disheveled.

I can't help but smirk as Juniper practically trips over herself to hand him a stack of papers. "Right here, Mr. Harrington," she simpers, batting her eyelashes.

Ugh. I wrinkle my nose at her obvious fawning. Can't she see he's not interested?

"These are the wrong contracts!" Grayson snaps, shoving the papers back at her. "Get me the revised drafts. Now!"

Poor Juniper looks like she's about to cry as she scampers off. I almost feel bad for her. Almost.

As I take another bite of my apple, I watch Douglas directing the staff like a military general. "Make sure the guest room is spotless," he orders. "Fresh linens, flowers, all the things."

I have no fucking clue what's going on, but I'm loving every second of it. Who could this mystery guest be to get Grayson so worked up?

Honestly, I’m at a loss. No one comes here besides me, Grayson, and Cole. I mean Juniper makes a very unpleasant appearance if Grayson is working from home, but she never stays.

My mind is conjuring up all kinds of fun scenarios. Grayson knocked up some young little thing and now he needs to house her until she pops out his spawn. Or, maybe he’s feeling extra charitable and he picked up someone in need to join the Old Ass Bachelor Club.

"You look like you're enjoying the show," Douglas comments dryly as he passes by.

I grin, juice dribbling down my chin. "What can I say? I live for the drama."

Grayson whirls on me, blue eyes flashing. "If you have nothing better to do, get the hell out of the kitchen!"

"Yes, sir," I salute mockingly, tossing my apple core in the trash.

Grayson storms off, and I poke through the pantry, looking for something else to eat.

I'm lounging against the kitchen counter, idly scrolling through my phone and mindlessly eating some crackers, when the front door swings open. My jaw nearly hits the floor.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

This absolute bombshell of a woman strides in like she owns the place. She's tiny—can't be more than five foot three —but her presence fills the room. High cheekbones, piercing greenish-blue eyes, and hair the color of black cherries. But it's herexpression that really catches my attention—a perfect resting bitch face that screams, “don't mess with me”.

"Damn," I whisper under my breath.

Then I notice the little furball trotting beside her. It's the weirdest, most adorable dog I've ever seen—like someone shrunk a pitbull and gave it hound dog coloring.

I'm so distracted by this unexpected vision that it takes me a moment to register the luggage she's hauling.

"Wait, what?" I mutter, pushing off the counter. "She'sthe one staying here?"

Grayson appears out of nowhere, looking harried. "Ms. Morrow, thank you for coming on such short notice," he says, his tone clipped but polite. "If you'll just sign these documents, we can get you settled."

The woman—Ms. Morrow, apparently—raises an eyebrow but takes the offered pen. “I’m not signing a damn thing until I’ve read through it. I know how you people work.”

You people? Oh, this is going to get really interesting. I watch the vein in Grayson’s forehead become more and more pronounced as she slowly reads through every. Single. Page.

As she (finally) signs, Grayson turns to me. The warning in his eyes is clear as day: behave or I’ll behead you.

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