BILLIONAIRES: Father or Son

Chapter Nineteen

FLORA'S POV

Alexander Bennett.

Mr. Bennett stood there, in all his intimidating, finely-tailored glory, with the air of someone who owned the world—or at least, a very large portion of it. His sharp gaze was fixed intently on me, making my heart hammer in my chest like a malfunctioning drum. For a moment, I felt completely rooted to the spot, words utterly failing me.

"I—Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" I finally blurted, my face flaming red as I scrambled to set the tray down, reaching instinctively for napkins or, better yet, a hole in the ground to disappear into. Just when I managed to find a napkin and handed it to him, Ms. Anderson swooped in like a hawk spotting a mouse.

"Oh my God, Sir!" she shrieked, somehow materializing beside me in an instant. "Look what you've done, you clumsy, good-for-nothing—how could you spill coffee on the chairman of all people?!"

I shrank under her withering glare. "I'm so sorry," I muttered, my voice barely more than a whisper.

But Ms. Anderson was far from done. She turned to Mr. Bennett, her expression flipping from outrage to sycophantic concern so fast I almost got whiplash just watching it.

"Mr. Bennett, I deeply apologize for her incompetence. Rest assured, I'll make sure she receives the appropriate punishment for this." She shot me a disgusted look before turning back to him. "I should never have taken her under my wings. She's been nothing but a liability since day one—"

"She's just human, Ms. Anderson," Mr. Bennett interrupted coolly, cutting her tirade short. His voice was firm, yet so casual it was almost surreal. "And humans make mistakes." He looked down at his stained shirt, dabbing at his soaked shirt with one of the pitifully small napkins I handed him as if a few swipes could erase the evidence of the disaster I had caused. "It's fine. I'll have my dry cleaner take care of this. She shouldn't be punished—it was just an accident."

"Yes, sir," Ms. Anderson replied stiffly, sounding like she had just bitten into something sour. The corners of her mouth twitched as if she was trying and failing to keep her annoyance in check.

I swallowed, wishing I could disappear into the floor. "I'm really sorry, sir," I repeated softly.

Mr. Bennett just blinked down at his shirt, his lips twitching ever so slightly. "Flora, was it?" he murmured, his voice surprisingly calm, though his gaze remained fixed on the mess.

I nodded, mortified beyond words. "Yes, sir."

"Well, Miss Flora Roberts," he said slowly, raising his eyes to meet mine, his expression somewhere between bemusement and disbelief, "I think this makes us even, don't you?"

The confusion in the room spoke through the heavy silence as everyone tried to understand what he meant. Then, Alexander Bennett—the man whose gaze could turn boardrooms to ice—cracked a smile. A real smile, small and fleeting, but undeniably there.

I stared at him, dumbfounded. "Um... yes, sir. Very even."

"Good," he said, still dabbing at his soaked shirt. Then, with a slight shake of his head, he turned to the silent crowd of gawking employees. "Let's all get back to work, shall we?"

The room, which had been holding its collective breath, exhaled all at once. Conversations resumed, the click of keyboards picked up, and everyone tried very hard to act as though they hadn't just witnessed me soaking our billionaire boss in coffee. As Mr. Bennett followed Ms. Anderson into her glass-walled office, I slunk back toward the kitchen, my legs still trembling.

When I turned around, I could see them speaking in hushed tones through the glass. Ms. Anderson's gestures were a bit too animated for her words to be polite. Mr. Bennett, on the other hand, remained still, glancing at his watch every few seconds like he couldn't wait to be done with whatever she was saying.