The boss's maid

Untitled Episode.The Accident

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*Chapter 6: The Accident -

It happened on a Friday. The day Wilson Group was signing the biggest merger in company history.

I was carrying a silver tray with 12 cups of coffee into the 60th floor boardroom. My job was simple: Serve. Smile. Disappear.

Don’t look at Henry. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t exist.

But the $5000 carpet had other plans.

My heel caught. The tray tipped.

Time slowed down.

Hot coffee arced through the air in slow motion. It splashed across the $50 million merger contract. It soaked Henry Wilson’s crisp white Tom Ford shirt. It stained the mahogany table that cost more than my mom’s hospital bills.

The room went dead silent.

12 executives. All in $3000 suits. All staring at me. The maid.

“I’m so sorry! Sir I’m so sorry!” I dropped to my knees, grabbing napkins with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

One executive, Mr. Davis, slammed his fist on the table. “Do you have any idea who you just humiliated? This is Henry Wilson! You’re fired! Security!”

“Out.”

One word. Ice cold.

Henry didn’t yell. He didn’t stand. He just said it.

Everyone scrambled. Chairs screeched. Briefcases snapped shut. In 10 seconds the room was empty.

The door clicked shut.

Just us.

Coffee was dripping from Henry’s collar down to the floor. The contract was ruined. The deal was probably ruined. And I was ruined.

“Are you hurt?”

That was the first thing he said.

“What? No, I— Sir I’m so sorry I’ll pay for the shirt and I’ll work extra shifts and please don’t tell my mom—”

“Anita.” He crouched down in front of me. Right there on the floor. The billionaire CEO of Wilson Group, on his knees next to his maid.

He took the napkin from my trembling hand.

“Breathe,” he said softly. “I’m not angry.”

“Why?” I whispered. Tears were burning my eyes. “Why aren’t you yelling? You should fire me. I deserve it.”

“Because you’re more scared than I’ve seen you in 6 months.” His voice was low. “And because if I fire you, I’ll have to watch someone else serve me coffee tomorrow. And I don’t want to.”

My heart stopped.

Rule #1 of our contract: No touching. No personal conversations.

Henry stood up slowly. Coffee dripped from his shirt onto the floor. He walked to the window. The entire urban skyline of Port Harcourt was behind him.

“Go clean up,” he said, back to me. “We’ll have legal reprint the contracts. The deal isn’t dead.”

I nodded and ran.

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9:17 PM.

My phone buzzed.

`Henry: My place. Overtime. You owe me a shirt.`

I should’ve said no. This wasn’t in the contract.

But 6 months. $50,000.

His penthouse door opened.

And there he was.

No suit. No tie. No CEO mask.

Grey sweatpants. Black t-shirt. Hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it.

*Urban. Powerful. And completely human.*

“You ruined my shirt,” he said. But there was no anger.

“I can’t afford to replace it, sir.”

“Then pay me back in dinner.” He stepped aside. “I ordered. To apologize for making you come this late.”

“You’re apologizing... to me?”

“Opposite attraction,” he said with a small, tired smile. “That’s what HR wrote in my file when I signed the contract. Powerful billionaire. Broke maid. Forced to live together 6 months.”

We sat on the floor. No dining table. Just takeout containers and the Port Harcourt skyline glittering behind us.

*Workplace Drama* followed us home.

His phone buzzed. Again. And again.

He flipped it over. The name on the screen: `Victoria`.

I looked away.

“The board wants me to marry her,” Henry said suddenly.

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.

“To secure the merger,” he continued. “Victoria’s father owns 20% of the company we’re acquiring. It’s business.”

“Oh.” The word came out small.

“I told them no.”

I looked up. “What?”

“I told them no.” He set his chopsticks down. “Because I’m already in a contract with someone else.”

*Forced Love.*

The air got thick.

“Henry— that’s not— we’re not—”

“I know what we’re not.” He leaned forward. “That’s why it’s dangerous.”

Rule #1: Shattered.

He reached across and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my cheek for 1 second too long.

*Opposite Attraction.*

“I’m not supposed to do that,” he murmured.

“Then don’t,” I whispered. But I didn’t pull away.

“Just eat, Anita.” He pulled his hand back. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”

We finished dinner in silence. But it wasn’t awkward. It was... heavy.

When I stood to leave, he walked me to the elevator.

The doors opened.

“Anita,” he said quietly.

I turned.

“If this 6 months ended tomorrow. If the contract was over. If you didn’t need the money.” He paused. “Would you still choose to come to dinner with me?”

The elevator dinged.

I stepped inside without answering.

But as the doors closed, I saw him lean his forehead against the wall.

And I knew.

This was no longer just a contract.

This was becoming something neither of us could control.

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