Page 74 of Bossed By Three Billionaire Brothers

“Let’s find out. She’s still here, right?”

Seth nodded. “Just saw her right before I came up. She’s still in the kitchen cleaning up dinner. Almost done, I think.”

“Then let’s do this.” I cleared my throat. “House, call Mathilde and tell her to come to my office.” The lights responded.

It didn’t take long at all before a soft knock sounded at the door. I tapped a key on the keyboard, turning off the screen over the fireplace.

“Come in.”

Just the sight of Mathilde was enough to send a spike of rage through me. I sipped my whiskey and worked through the anger, not wanting to blow up at her just yet.

She stepped into the room, a look of total innocence on her face. “What is going on?” I guessed by the expressions plastered on our faces it didn’t take a genius to realize that she’d walked into something bad.

I started it off.

“Mathilde, I’m not one to bullshit. So, I’m going to ask you one question—are you unhappy working for us?”

Her eyes flashed. What she said next was of the utmost importance. She was either going to lie or come clean.

“No. Is there something wrong?”

I sighed in disappointment, turning to the guys and seeing that they wore the same expression. I tapped the key to turn the screen over the fireplace back on.

Mathilde turned to see what was on it, the look on her face falling when the reason for the meeting became clear. Moments hung in the air, and I had no doubt she was beginning to realize how screwed she was. Finally, she turned back to me, panic on her face.

“It is not what it looks like.”

I snorted, unable to believe that.

“Not what it looks like?” Seth asked, his words tinged with anger. “How the hell is it not what it looks like? We’ve got photos of you meeting with some tabloid assholes.”

“Not to mention that we looked into your texts, found clear proof that you were communicating with people associated with the tabloid who released the photos.”

Her eyes flashed with indignant anger. “You went through my texts?”

I raised my palm. “Spare me the outrage. We only went to those lengths when we had proof that you were the one who did it. Now, here’s the deal—you’re fired—that’s not up for debate. Whatisup for discussion is whether or not we call the police and press charges. Unless you’ve got a damn good excuse for all of this.”

Her eyes flashed again, the anger melting away, replaced by pure panic. “I have a reason!”

“Let’s hear it.”

She pursed her lips together for a moment, tears forming in her eyes.

“It is my grandson, Gerard.”

“What about him?” I asked.

She closed her eyes, tears trickling down that she quickly wiped away.

“Over the spring,” she began. “There were protests in Paris, protests he was involved in. I told him time and time again to not get involved in such things, that they would only lead to trouble. But you know how young men are.”

When we said nothing, she continued.

“Anyway, he became wrapped up in this bad news group, hoodlums who vandalized government buildings. One day, during these protests, he and the group attacked one of the buildings with, how you say, Molotov cocktails.”

“Good God,” I said.

More tears formed in her eyes, and she wiped them away as quickly as she could.

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