Chapter 11

Present Time, France

"Bloody hell, Mary. Are you fucking someone?" Amaya grumbled under her breath.

"What? Of course not. What made you—"

"Then where the hell have you gone yesterday? I called you many times and you did not answer your phone."

"I was at a meeting. Yes, I'm in a meeting. With my ex-boss, he wanted me back. I have signed a contract." Mary replied as her friend ordered something from the waiter. They were here at their favourite coffee shop after their morning gym class.

"Really? With Tyler? I thought you hated your playboy-whore of a boss?" Amaya raised her eyebrows at her and ordered her coffee.

"I need a job, girl, and this pandemic is... well, I need money, and he offered me my old job."

"Christ! You did, didn't you?"

"Who me?" she scoffed. "Of course not! Wait, what do you mean?"

"You fuck him? Didn't you? You fuck your ex-boss!" Amaya smiled.

"Of course not. I am not crazy!"

Amaya smiled wickedly at Mary. Having turned up for gym class the next day in the same clothes as the previous day, Mary couldn't blame Amaya; she was running out of yoga pants, and she was too busy thinking about her secret husband to do her laundry.

Mary smiled and took another sip of her morning cappuccino. Thinking about how open-minded and crazy her friends were, she just hoped she had Amaya's confidence. Of course, she was a hell of a dancer with her troop of beautiful dancers. Not that she didn't have it, but Mary was not as confident as Amaya was. After their years in the boarding school, Jane marries her lover, Amaya pursues her dancing career, and she works as a secretary for the Johnson Hotel’s CEO.

Amaya, however, was a part-time dancer with a look to die for: tall and petite with remarkable blue eyes that seemed to convince anyone that she was nothing but kind and gentle. Amaya was their arts, entertainment, and fashion guru. Mary was jealous, but at the back of her mind, she knew Amaya had a few more boundaries than she did. Jane, however, was the opposite. She was the shortest and a little chubby, married, and had two incredible daughters. Well, for the rest, she was happily married and fortunate enough to have a wonderful, rich husband. But she and Amaya knew better. She was never happy in the bed department.

Mary, on the other hand, was the boring one. She was the prim and proper type and had been boyfriendless for two years now, not that she wanted to risk another heartache again. After all, her ex, Jasper, was nothing but a jerk who left her for some whore, emptied their life savings, and she had been heartbroken for a couple of years now, and since then, she has succumbed to her haven, to her tedious self, never ever dating again.

"Yes, Amaya, I won't deny it. The man was hot. But he was not my type, and he was just my boss, and no, we did not have sex for Christ's sake, so stop this nonsense." The truth was, he was not her type at all. Someone who changes a girlfriend every other week! Hell no! Husband or not, it's none of her business. They made sure of that. In fact, it's been two years since the incident, and they never even talk about it.

She was just his secretary and nothing else. She was just her secretary for two years, and they never went from business to personal. But what happened yesterday in his suite was unexpected. It never occurred to her that he was that. that huge and that sexy while being so naked. Yes, she saw him naked a long time ago, but it was a nightmare she had long forgotten, and she hadn't thought about it in two years until last night, when some of their super-alcohol-intoxicated sexcapade flashed through her mind. Just a few memories made her blush.

Amaya smiled wickedly. "Aha! You are definitely fucking again. You are blushing, Mary. Oh my, wait till Jane knows about this." Her friend mumbled, smirked, and took her phone and texted Jane.

Mary grumbled, "Hey, hey! I told you I wasn't blushing. I mean, I wasn't having sex. Can we not talk about that here in the cafe, Amaya?"

"Convince me, Mary! Convince me that Tyler fucking Johnson is not your type!"

Mary rolled her eyes. "Girl, the man hated my guts and I hated him. If that couldn't convince you, then I don't know what is. I am not his type, and he is not my type, period. And how many times do I have to tell you this?"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes, I never lie to you, and I'm not about to start doing it. So forget my boring life and tell me yours. How are your days with the new guy?" Mary asked, trying to change the subject, and Amaya was happy to talk about it as she listened to her friend and sipped their coffee.

"He wasn't really into it, but he was here on holiday, and I enjoyed myself immensely!" Amaya replied.

"Seeing him again tonight?"

"Fuck no! You know me, I've never gone there twice! Awful sex is often not improved upon, so why waste the memory of extraordinary sex?"

“Lie!” Amaya scoffed.

"You know me very well, so yeah, don't ask about my love life, Mary. I don't have time for that.”

“Why am I not surprise—”

From her side, a voice came: “Mary, hurry up, would you? The boss is in a shitstorm mood again. He is online." Ashton grumboled. He was an IT personnel who lived in the nearby apartment, cramming with his laptop on his left hand and a tablet on the right.

Last night, Mr. Johnson called Ashton and told him to give Mary a new laptop and a tablet. After all, she would start her home job next week at his bloody mansion, and today, Ashton would update her about their boss's whereabouts, schedules, and calendars. The man, however, looked exhausted. He had taken off his glasses and was rubbing the bridge of his nose. He went around the table and explained the different calendars, and online he was working with the bosses after quick pleasantries. A few colleagues had dialled in from home, which was more than acceptable. However, he preferred the trek into the coffee shop each day since the pandemic required them to work at home. "Mary, here is your laptop and the tablet. It's all new; everything is there.”

“Okay.”

“You are also connected to the internet wherever you are, and Mr. Johnson told me to inform you that he has already arranged a new phone and card in your name."

Amaya raised her brows while busy on her phone, obviously listening to them. Mary knew her friend would ask her later about it.

"Ok. Copy that. By the way, are you okay, Ashton? You look dead." Mary wondered if the man ever slept. He looked like he was about to collapse at any moment.

She had only known Ashton as surly at best, and she found herself grateful that she had never been on the end of one of his temper rants. It was such a shame, as he was one of the sexiest men she had ever seen. Mary knew he was law-mad and had had a promising career in his teenage years before he decided to deviate into information technology. He was the embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome and, until this year, had had an ex-model as a wife and produced three beautiful children. Now, looking at the man, who obviously needed a week of sleep, she wondered if he was that busy. But Mary's self-trance was halted when her phone started ringing and their boss, Mr. Johnson himself, was on the other line.

"Hello?"

"Where are you, Mary?"

Since when did he call her by her first name?

"Home!" Mary sounded defensive, but she also hoped she sounded convincing despite the lie.

"Get yourself sorted; I'm taking you to the hospital!"

"What? Why?"

"My grandfather is sick again. He is looking for you."

"Worse?" Mary ushered Ashton to turn off the laptop as he nodded, took his things, and walked away, and she could not help but think how strange he really was.

"Yes, he is getting worse," Mr. Johnson replied.

"Ok, I'll be ready. Message me when you're at the cafe next door." She ended the call and started fixing her things.

Amaya raised her brow at her and asked, "Mary, who was that? What happened?” She almost spat out her mouthful of coffee, coughing as some went down the wrong hole.

"Yes. Mr. Johnson needs me, some sort of emergency. I'll tell you later. I need to go now."