Page 43 of Baby For My Bossy Fake Fiancé

Lying with unwanted thoughts in my head wasn’t doing it for me. So I decided to tour the mansion.

Or at least what I could of it.

Grabbing my black bag. And the ring—I couldn’t forget— I sauntered out of the room.

The hallway was a light shade of brown, just like every other place. I noticed its warmth yesterday. But I was too tired to register anything.

My sandals softly clicked on the floor as I continued my inspection. When I neared his study, I made extra efforts to step lightly.

I didn’t know where he was. If he was in or out. But I wanted to avoid him for as long as I could. I released a breath once I passed the study.

I scanned the area once I reached the point of the divide. The walls beside me continued in a straight line till as far as my eyes could see. The west wing.

A cloud of dread rested above my head, and I immediately shook it off. Bringing my eyes away from the wing.

To my left was a sweeping staircase with an ornate wrought iron railing. The walls close to it were adorned with a few works of art that spoke of refined taste. Directly ahead, a vast living room opened up before me.

As I walked through, I sprawled my fingers to lightly graze the railing. Smooth and authentic was the only way to describe the feeling.

A small gasp escaped my lips when I reached the tail of the stairs.

Bathed in natural light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. The living room boasted plush velvet sofas. Armchairs were arranged around a meticulously crafted coffee table.

Rich, dark wood panelling adorned the walls. Blending with the ash-coloured silk drapes that cascaded down from the ceiling.

He woke up in a masterpiece like this every day and was still cranky at the office?

I didn’t have time to dwell on the question when I heard a sound. It sounded like pots clattering, and I immediately knew it was from the kitchen.

Trudging carefully, I entered. Like the rest of the place, it was beautiful. But unlike the rest of the place, there was a woman there.

“Brenda?” I called out tentatively. She wore an apron and a chef’s cap. Surely she was the cook Fred had spoken about.

Instantly she whipped her head to me. “Oh, gracious.”

The ‘r’ in her remark was excessively pronounced. French?

“You must be Renee.” I didn’t need any other affirmation to know she was French. The accent was thick amidst her words.

“Yes, I am,” I eyed her hand on her chest. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

She had pale skin, stood around 5’9, and seemed to be around the same age as Fred. Early fifties.

“It’s fine, honey. I was just surprised to see someone. Forgive me, but I had forgotten Fred told me about you.”

Surprised to see someone?

She turned to the shelf, bringing out a pot. “You know, I had thought it was the boss.”

“Oh?”

“Uh uh. I barely see him, so it would have been really awkward if he was the one.”

Barely? I watched as she cracked an egg. “I’m making pain perdu. I apologize that the food is not made already, and you seem to be going out. But this is the time I come on weekends and-”

I drowned out her words as I glanced back at the living room. She barely saw him?

“Ummm. Do you mean Mr- the boss doesn’t eat?”

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