The Billionaire’s Forbidden Assistant

Chapter 6 The Woman at Reception

For a second, nobody moved.

Not me.

Not Damian.

Not even Tasha, whose hand was still frozen over the blinking phone line like touching it any longer might make things worse.

Which was funny, because things had already crossed into deeply worse .

“My mother?” I repeated.

Tasha nodded slowly, still pale. “That’s what she said.”

Every nerve in my body lit up.

My mother was not supposed to be here.

My mother was not supposed to know where I worked.

And most importantly, my mother did not do surprises. She did phone calls, guilt, and dramatic silence. She did not show up in glass towers asking reception for me like we were in the middle of a soap opera.

A cold feeling slid through me.

Something was wrong.

Damian reached past Tasha and hit the speaker button on the phone. “Reception.”

The receptionist answered immediately, voice tight. “Yes, Mr. Vale?”

“The woman asking for Nia Carter. Keep her there.”

My pulse stumbled.

“Do not send her upstairs,” he added.

I turned to him. “Excuse me?”

He ignored me. “Is she alone?”

A pause. “As far as I can tell, yes, sir.”

“As far as you can tell is not an answer.”

The receptionist swallowed audibly. “Yes, sir. She’s alone.”

Damian’s gaze slid to the security team still standing a few feet away with my photo and evidence bag. “Have someone stay with her. Quietly.”

“Yes, sir.”

He ended the call.

I stared at him. “You do realize you just handled my mother like a security threat.”

He looked at me without blinking. “That’s because she could be one.”

“That is an insane thing to say.”

“Is it?”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

There was still a photograph of me leaving my apartment sitting in an evidence bag ten feet away. There were still anonymous notes in my drawer. Still flowers downstairs. Still a woman in a cream-lined coat smiling like she knew exactly how badly this could go.

And now a stranger saying she was my mother.

I hated that he had a point.

Even more, I hated that part of me was relieved he was thinking like this when I couldn’t.

“She might really be my mom,” I said.

“Then we confirm that before she gets anywhere near you.”

I folded my arms. “You say things like you’re announcing the weather.”

“And you say things like consequences are optional.”

Tasha made the tiniest choking sound, half laugh and half fear. I didn’t look at her.

I kept my eyes on Damian. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

A flicker of heat crossed his face. “Then stop giving me reasons.”

There it was again.

That dangerous edge between us. Irritation, yes. But something else underneath it. Something that kept showing up at the worst possible times and making it harder to breathe.

I opened my mouth to fire back.

Then stopped.

Because a thought had just hit me hard enough to make everything else fall away.

My mother didn’t know this address.

Not the tower.

Not the floor.

Not even the company name, unless she’d looked it up.

I had never given it to her.

Slowly, I said, “She shouldn’t know where I am.”

Damian’s expression changed immediately.

Not softer.

Sharper.

“How often do you speak to her?”

The question came too fast. Too direct.

I blinked. “Why?”

“How often?”

“Not often.”

His eyes stayed on mine. “When was the last time?”

I hated the answer.

“Three weeks ago.”

“And before that?”

I looked away. “I don’t know.”

That silence told him enough.

Something unreadable passed over his face. Not judgment. Not pity.

Something darker.

More careful.

“Did you tell anyone in your family where you work?”

“No.”

“Friends?”

“No.”

“Your landlord? Neighbors? Anyone who could pass that information on?”

“No.” Then, after a beat, “I posted a picture from the lobby last week.”

Damian went still.

Oh, God.

I closed my eyes. “It didn’t show the company name.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

I looked at him again, already defensive. “It was just coffee and my shoes.”

“It was a location-tagged post?”

I hesitated.

Which was apparently enough of an answer for him.

His jaw flexed.

I wanted to be annoyed at him. I did. But embarrassment was winning.

“It was one post.”

“That’s all it takes.”

I hated that sentence now.

I hated more that it was probably true.

Before I could decide whether to defend myself or disappear forever, one of the security officers stepped closer. “Sir, we can bring the woman to a private conference room on the first floor.”

“No,” Damian said.

“Yes,” I said at the exact same time.

He looked at me.

I looked right back.

“I’m going downstairs.”

“No.”

“You don’t own my legs.”

“Today I might make an exception.”

Tasha covered her mouth.

I ignored her.

Mostly because if I looked at her, I might start screaming.

“This is my mother.”

“This is a woman claiming to be your mother.”

The distinction hit harder than I wanted.

He saw it.

Of course he saw it.

His voice lowered a fraction. “Nia.”

I hated when he used that tone. Calm. Controlled. Like he was trying not to push too hard and failing by being himself.

“She might be real,” I said, quieter now.

“And if she is, she can wait another five minutes.”

I stared at him.

Then at the evidence bag.

Then at the security team.

Then at the office around us that was absolutely pretending not to be obsessed with every second of this.

Finally I said, “Fine. Five minutes.”

The relief on his face was so brief I might have imagined it.

Except I didn’t think I did.

He turned to security. “I want a still pulled from the lobby camera. Get me a close-up of the woman downstairs and cross-check it with the one from the flower delivery.”

One guard nodded and stepped away with the tablet.

I exhaled hard and sat down in my chair because my legs had suddenly stopped feeling trustworthy.

Tasha crouched beside me immediately.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Fair.”

She glanced at Damian, who was now on his phone speaking in that low, clipped voice that meant things were happening in three directions at once. “He’s scary when he likes someone.”

I looked at her so fast she actually leaned back.

“That is not what’s happening.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Babe.”

“No.”

She tilted her head toward Damian without subtlety. “He has been one anonymous-note away from a homicide since breakfast.”

“He’s being controlling because he’s a control freak.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I mean it.”

“Sure.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You are profoundly unhelpful.”

“Because you’re profoundly in denial.”

Before I could answer, Damian ended the call and came back toward us.

Tasha rose at once and slid away like a woman who valued her employment.

Coward.

He stopped beside my desk. “We’re going downstairs.”

I stood.

The whole floor seemed to inhale as we started toward the elevators. Tasha gave me a look that combined panic, excitement, and the absolute promise of interrogation later.

I did not blink twice for her.

I did not even blink once.

The elevator ride down was too quiet.

Just me, Damian, and two security officers standing behind us like this was either the beginning of a murder investigation or an extremely hostile date.

I kept my eyes on the numbers lighting up above the door.

“Say something,” I muttered.

Beside me, Damian glanced down. “About what?”

“This.”

“That narrows it down considerably.”

I let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. “Do you ever stop being impossible?”

“No.”

At least he was consistent.

We reached the lobby.

The doors opened.

And there she was.

My mother.

Really my mother.

Not a stranger.

Not a setup.

Not some terrifying actress with my cheekbones.

My actual mother stood near the far wall in a faded blue dress and low sandals, clutching a handbag to her chest like she’d been regretting this trip since the second she got here. Her hair was pulled back too tightly, and there were shadows under her eyes that hadn’t been there the last time I saw her.

Everything in me dropped at once.

Shock. Relief. Fear. Guilt.

All of it.

“Mom?”

Her head snapped up.

And then her face crumpled.

Not fully.

My mother did not do full emotional collapse in public.

But enough.

Enough for me to cross the lobby before anyone could stop me.

“Nia.”

I reached her just as she grabbed both my hands in hers. Her grip was cold.

Too cold.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “What happened?”

Her eyes moved over my face like she was checking for damage. “You’re alright.”

That was not an answer.

“Mom.”

Only then did she seem to notice everyone else.

The receptionist.

Security.

Damian behind me.

Her spine straightened a little, instinctive pride taking over.

“I didn’t realize you needed bodyguards now,” she murmured.

I turned slightly. Damian had stopped a few feet away, giving us space without leaving.

Watching everything.

Always watching.

“This is my boss,” I said.

Her eyes landed on him.

And immediately sharpened.

Ah.

There it was.

The universal maternal response to a man who looked expensive, unreadable, and far too interested in your daughter.

“Mr. Vale,” I added.

Damian gave a short nod. “Mrs. Carter.”

Missed it.

My mother’s mouth tightened. “Ms.”

That surprised me enough to blink.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Damian did not react. “Ms. Carter.”

She kept her hand linked through mine. “I need to speak to my daughter alone.”

“Not happening,” Damian said.

I turned. “Damian.”

“She arrived unannounced in the middle of a security issue.”

My mother’s chin lifted. “I am not a threat to my own child.”

His expression did not change. “That remains to be seen.”

The silence that followed was nuclear.

I closed my eyes briefly.

Great. Perfect. Exactly how every daughter dreamed of introducing her mother to the man currently taking over her nervous system.

“Enough,” I said, opening them again. “Both of you.”

To my complete horror, they both looked at me.

I squared my shoulders. “She’s my mother. He’s…” I stopped.

Dangerous territory.

My mother noticed.

Damian definitely noticed.

I went on anyway. “He’s trying to help. We are not doing this in the lobby.”

My mother gave him a long, cool look. “You seem very invested for a man who is only helping.”

Heat climbed my neck so fast it felt violent.

Damian’s gaze flicked to me, then back to her. “I don’t do anything halfway.”

That was not a normal thing to say.

That was a line.

A loaded one.

And the fact that he had said it in front of my mother made me want to throw myself through the revolving doors.

She heard it too.

Oh, she heard it.

Because when I looked at her, something had shifted behind her eyes.

Assessment.

Concern.

And, weirdly, recognition.

Like she knew something I didn’t.

“Fine,” she said. “Private room. Five minutes.”

Damian said, “Ten. Door open.”

She almost laughed in his face.

I grabbed both their attention before one of them could get worse. “Conference room. Now.”

We ended up in a small glass-walled room off the side corridor near reception. Not fully private, not fully public. Damian stayed just outside the half-open door with one security guard farther down the hall.

My mother sat across from me at the table, still holding her bag in her lap.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

The room hummed softly with air conditioning and the distant sounds of the lobby beyond.

Then she said, “You look tired.”

I stared at her.

“That’s what you came all this way to tell me?”

“You look thinner.”

“Wow. Incredible. Always a comfort.”

Her mouth pressed into a line.

There it was. Our usual rhythm. Love translated badly. Concern delivered as criticism. A lifetime of almost saying the right thing and landing two inches to the left.

I leaned back in the chair. “What are you doing here?”

This time she answered.

“A man came to the house.”

Every thought in my head stopped.

“What?”

Her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. “Yesterday evening. He asked if you still lived there.”

Ice slid down my back.

“What man?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice was sharp now, anger cracking through the strain. “That’s why I am here, Nia. Because a stranger knew your name. And mine. And he knew enough to ask questions he should not have been asking.”

I felt sick.

“What did he look like?”

“Tall. Baseball cap. Dark jacket. He didn’t say much. Just wanted to know if you came by often, whether you were seeing anyone, where you worked.” Her eyes flashed. “I told him nothing.”

I believed her.

“Did he threaten you?”

“No.”

That answer came too quickly.

I leaned forward. “Mom.”

Her gaze dropped.

My stomach dropped with it.

“What did he say?”

She was quiet for one, two, three painful seconds.

Then: “He said it would be easier if women knew when to stay in their place.”

My blood ran cold.

I stared at her.

She looked up at me then, and there was fear there. Real fear. The kind my mother would rather choke on than show.

“He smiled when he said it,” she whispered. “Like it was advice.”

I pushed back from the table so abruptly the chair legs scraped.

Outside the room, Damian’s head turned immediately.

I held up a hand to stop him from entering.

Then I looked back at my mother.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because you wouldn’t have told me the truth.”

The answer hurt because it was probably true.

“You would have said it was nothing,” she went on. “You always do that. You disappear into your life and call when it’s convenient and act like I should be grateful for scraps.”

I flinched.

There it was.

The old wound.

Not the worst one, maybe. But the most familiar.

“This is not about that.”

“It is always about that.”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Because the terrible thing was, she wasn’t completely wrong.

“I came because I was afraid,” she said, softer now. “And because whatever this is, it has reached me too.”

That landed.

Hard.

The room went quiet.

Beyond the glass, I could see Damian still at the door, one hand in his pocket, eyes fixed on me.

Waiting. Not interrupting. Just there.

A wall if I needed one.

I looked away from him and back to my mother.

“Did anyone follow you here?”

“I don’t think so.”

Not good enough.

The thought flashed so fast it barely felt like mine.

Apparently Damian’s paranoia was contagious.

I rubbed my temples. “You can’t go back to the house.”

She stared. “Excuse me?”

“Not today. Maybe not tonight.”

Her expression sharpened instantly. “You do not get to tell me what to do.”

I almost laughed.

Maybe that was where I got it from.

“See?” I muttered. “Now you sound like him.”

“Who?”

I looked toward the door.

My mother followed my gaze.

And something in her face changed again.

Not softer.

Not harder.

Just… resigned.

Like a puzzle piece had slipped into place in a pattern she didn’t like.

“You need to be careful of that man,” she said quietly.

I stiffened. “Damian?”

“Yes.”

Anger flashed through me before I could stop it. “He’s the one helping.”

“He’s also the kind of man trouble enjoys.”

“That doesn’t even mean anything.”

“It means men with money and families like his do not protect women without a reason.”

Heat flooded my face.

I stood. “You don’t know anything about him.”

Her eyes lifted to mine, and for one startling second I saw something almost like pity there.

“I know enough.”

“No,” I snapped. “You don’t.”

The words came out louder than I intended.

Outside, Damian was inside the room before I fully realized I’d raised my voice.

“Nia.”

“I’m fine.”

His gaze moved between my face and my mother’s.

No one in that room believed I was fine.

Not even me.

My mother rose slowly, dignity gathering around her like armor. “I should go.”

“No,” Damian and I said at the same time.

We looked at each other.

My mother definitely noticed that too.

Damian turned to her. “Until we know who approached your house, you should not leave alone.”

Her eyes cooled. “I wasn’t asking for permission.”

“No,” he said. “You weren’t.”

The tension between them could have powered the building.

I cut in before it got worse. “She can’t go back.”

My mother looked at me sharply. “Nia.”

“You said it reached you too.”

“I will not be hidden away like some frightened old woman.”

I took a breath. “Then don’t think of it that way.”

“Think of it as what?” She asked.

I looked at Damian again.

He was already watching me.

Waiting.

It hit me then, clear as glass.

There was really only one option he would allow.

And the fact that I knew that without asking was its own problem.

My mother followed my silence, then his face, then mine again.

Her eyebrows rose. “No.”

I sighed. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I do.”

Damian spoke before I could. “You can both stay at my place.”

The room erupted.

Absolutely erupted.

My mother laughed once in pure disbelief. “Absolutely not.”

I said, “That is a terrible idea.”

Damian said, “It’s the safest one.”

My mother looked at me. “You are not staying at some man’s apartment.”

I looked at Damian. “See?”

He looked back at me. “You say that as though it helps.”

I put a hand over my eyes.

This could not be my life.

Then the security guard at the door got something in his earpiece and went still.

Damian noticed instantly. “What is it?”

The guard touched the earpiece again, listening.

Then said, “Sir, reception says there’s been another delivery.”

Every muscle in my body locked.

“For whom?” Damian asked.

The guard looked at me.

Then at my mother.

His face drained.

“For both Carter women.”

The room went silent.

Truly silent.

Like even the air had gone cold.

My mother’s hand found mine under the table.

For the first time all day, I think we were both afraid in exactly the same way.

Damian’s expression went flat with fury.

“What kind of delivery?” He asked.

The guard swallowed. “A gift box, sir.”

I heard myself say, “Don’t open it.”

He was already moving.

So was I.

And when Damian caught my wrist before I could rush past him, his grip was warm and fierce and impossible to misunderstand.

“Stay here,” he said.

I looked up at him, heart hammering.

He looked down at me like he was already two steps from losing control.

Then he said, very quietly, “This is the last time anyone gets close enough to frighten you.”

And God help me, that scared me almost as much as the box.