Page 10 of Working For A Billionaire

The concerned look on my new assistant's face as she enters my office is my first clue that my day is about to get more stressful.

"What is it, Mrs. Thatcher?" I ask without looking up from the papers in front of me.

"Mr. Rutherford, your uhm… mother is here to see you," she says. "I just saw her getting off the elevator."

I look up at my assistant, then through the window facing the waiting area, and see my mother walking towards my office. My stomach turns as she gets closer, and the change in Mrs. Thatcher makes perfect sense. Even though she’s been here only two weeks, she’s also learned who the biggest predators are in this jungle.

"Thanks for the heads up, Mrs. Thatcher."

"You're welcome, Mr. Rutherford," she replies, before returning to her desk.

My mother strolls into my office, raising the temperature about twenty degrees. Someone once told me it feels like throwing the devil into an ice cave. It melts instantly. I chuckled the first time I hear it. Now, it’s almost prophetic. As usual, she is dressed in a pantsuit with her hair pulled back in a bun, resembling a headmistress of a strict boarding school.

"Good morning, mother. How are you doing?" I ask, feeling my muscles tensing up.

"Does it really matter?" She scoffs, sitting down on the couch near the door. "Nobody is ever fine, even though everyone insists they are. I don't know why people bother asking."

"You're right, mother." I reply, holding up my hands in defeat. "To hell with people. Now, how may I help you?"

She glares at me with those steel blue eyes, her stare piercing my skin and burrowing deep inside me. "An update on the Anderson deal."

I let out a heavy sigh. "I'm working on it."

"Yes, so I've heard." She says with a smirk. "Are you getting anywhere with him?"

"Not as much as I had hoped, but like I said, I'm working on it." I respond, sitting back in my chair. "He will realize it's the best decision for his company eventually. Now that it has taken off, there are some decisions he won't be able to make on his own."

"Your plan to follow him to Las Vegas wasn't so brilliant after all."

The satisfied look on her face is enough to make me want to scream. She seems to enjoy my failures. I don't remember exactly when it started. I’ve always wondered what it’s like to have a mother who actually wants you to succeed and isn’t competing with you. I guess I’ll never know.

"I spoke to him again there, but I also found out which companies he is looking to buy. That's why I know he is going to need my help."

She lets out an exaggerated sigh, clearly bored with what I have to say.

"I suppose we will just have to wait and see." She says, standing up from the couch. "Well, I must be going. I have appointments all afternoon."

Relief washes over me. "Well thank you for stopping by, mother."

"Of course. If I didn't come here, I would never see my only child," she says as she exits the room, leaving a cloud of expensive perfume behind her. She’s always liked people knowing when she was present somewhere.

I try to focus on my work, but it’s difficult. All I can think about is the fact that I’m going to become a father. That occupies every waking moment of every waking hour. I’m not even pissed anymore. There’s no point. It changes nothing. I’m just going along with it, trying to see benefits in this.

As usual, I get very little work done by the time I head home. My life has taken a sudden turn into chaos since meeting Riley. At first, that rage in me blamed her for everything. But she’s right. It takes two to tango. She didn’t make this baby alone. I helped. And I enjoyed helping her.

So now, we’re both trying to navigate in this uncharted territory, hoping that we will somehow make it work, while in reality, it all seems hopeless. Still, I can’t help but feel the need to protect her and that little baby inside of her. It is my own flesh and blood, after all. It’s like there are two forces in me, fighting, and I don’t even know which one is winning.

Everything is happening so fast. I'm not sure how to feel about it all. This week alone we had the trip to the doctor, the confirmation of her pregnancy, asking her to move in with me, and then watching her bawling her eyes out thinking that her life is over.

I know the feeling. I want to comfort her, but I don't know how. Instead, I stood frozen, watching her cry while trying to figure out what to say or do.

That evening, I find her on the sofa, cuddled under a blanket she bought from home, some old, worn-out looking thing. I already offered one of the ones we have here, which are new and unused, but she refused them. There is a book in her lap, and she seems focused on it.

She lifts her head from the book and smiles upon seeing me. She looks slightly pale, but other than that, alright.

“Oh, hey,” she smiles.

“Hey,” I smile back. “How are you?”

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