Mis-Judge By His Secretary

8

Nathan

Ms. Rhea was at it again.

My housekeeper-s***h-chef-s***h-overenthusiastic spectator of my life.

She had done it the first day Eleanor visited, grinning like a cat who had just swallowed a canary, convinced that Eleanor’s presence in my home meant something. She had done it again when I brought Eleanor back here to live, practically humming with excitement as if I had personally given her a subplot in a romance novel.

And now? Now, she was back at it because I had informed her that Eleanor’s mother was coming over.

God help me.

To be fair, this situation was a little unusual. Normally, I ate breakfast alone… either in my office or out on the patio, where I could enjoy my coffee in peace, free from conversation. But today, I figured it would be rude to ignore the guest coming into my house. And, if I was being honest, I wanted to see just how terrifying Eleanor’s mother really was.

Eleanor had painted her as a force of nature, the kind of woman who could bring entire rooms to their knees with a single look. I was… curious. And maybe a little skeptical.

I glanced up from the counter to find Ms. Rhea grinning.

Not just smiling. Grinning. Like she knew something I didn’t.

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you grinning about?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, Judge West.” She waved a hand, but her tone was far too innocent. “I’m just amazed at how much you’ve changed, that’s all.”

I blinked. “Changed?”

She nodded, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “I mean, look at you. Letting Ms. Rhodes stay here, sometimes eating with her, and now her mother is visiting, and you want to sit down and have breakfast with them? That’s huge. Huge. Considering how you never let women set foot in this house before, let alone live here.”

I exhaled through my nose. “Are you not a woman? You live here, don’t you?”

She let out a snort, waving me off. “Oh please. I don’t count, and you know it.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I didn’t have time for this. I had work to do, and more importantly, I had to get dressed. I had only come downstairs to get some work done, not expecting to have a houseguest this morning.

And for some reason, the thought of Eleanor’s mother seeing me in sweatpants and a T-shirt didn’t sit well.

“Whatever you say, Ms. Rhea,” I muttered, shaking my head as I walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs to my room.

Upstairs in my room, I went into the bathroom, wash my hair and showered, and then I stood in my closet with a white towel wrapped around my waist, staring at my collection of polos, pondering on which to wear to match the slacks I had in mind.

Finally, after pondering on it for about a few minutes, I settled on the short-sleeve polo shirt made of a textured fabric I bought in France when I visited from a small village known for their waffle-textured fabrics. It was a black one, so it would suit my black flowy slacks. I wanted to look both relaxed and sophisticated at the same time, but not intimidating.

By the time I came back down, the house was buzzing with energy. Which, in my experience in this house with Ms. Rhea since Eleanor got here, was never a good sign.

I walked into the kitchen just in time to hear the unmistakable sound of Ms. Rhea fussing over Eleanor, who stood near the island, looking deeply uncomfortable.

“I’m fine, really,” Eleanor insisted, as Ms. Rhea practically shoved a plate of fresh pastries at her.

“Eat one, child,” Ms. Rhea scolded. “You’re already nervous as it is, at least don’t do it on an empty stomach.”

Eleanor sighed but took a scone, nibbling at the edge like it might explode if she bit down too hard.

“You look like you’re trying to show your mother the man you love, but you’re worried because he’s some bad boy. It’s just the judge she’s meeting.” Ms. Rhea said.

What did I say about her turning everything into a romantic book? Anyway, I wouldn’t correct her or anything, because that just goes well with my agenda of my father hearing about this more and seeming more real. It seemed foolproof enough.

I leaned against the doorway, watching them for a moment before finally speaking. “Your mother’s not here yet?”

Eleanor jumped slightly, turning to face me. “Not yet. She texted that she’s almost here, though.”

She looked me up and down, eyes flickering over my neatly pressed shirt before snapping back to my face.

“Did you… change?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

I raised a brow. “What?”

“You were in sweatpants earlier,” she said, waving a hand vaguely in my direction. “Now you look like you’re about to preside over a courtroom.”

Ms. Rhea smirked. “Told you he’s changed.” She said, winking at Eleanor and I wondered what she had told her about me, but I didn’t ask.

Instead, I ignored her and answered Eleanor. “I just didn’t think meeting your mother in loungewear would make the best first impression.”

Eleanor blinked. “Right. Of course.”

Something flickered across her face… something unreadable. But before I could ask, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway cut through the room.

Eleanor’s eyes went wide. “Oh God. She’s here.”

Ms. Rhea clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is so exciting.”

I shot her a look, but she just grinned, entirely too entertained by the whole situation.

Eleanor took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and muttered, “Here goes nothing.” She sighed as she walked past me.

I followed her to the front door, watching as she pulled it open to reveal…

A woman.

A woman who looked exactly like Eleanor… just older, sharper, and with an energy that could probably fuel an entire city.

Her mother’s eyes landed on me immediately, narrowing slightly before flicking back to Eleanor. Then I heard Eleanor gasp beside me, and when I looked at her, she was looking at something behind her mother.

Then I saw she was staring at someone instead, a young boy of about twelve? Thirteen? I wasn’t sure. But that wasn’t what made me frown a tad bit. It was the fact that he reminded me of someone I knew, someone I couldn’t place my finger around now.

When Eleanor wouldn’t say anything, I cleared my throat, and then I said. “Welcome, Mrs. Rhodes. I’m Nathan West, Eleanor’s boss. Please, come in.”