Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 134

Daphne’s POV

The world outside is dangerous. Inside, there will be cake.

I refuse to let the threat steal this from my daughters. Nina and Lisa are turning five—a milestone that deserves celebration, not fear.

They've spent the past weeks surrounded by security protocols and hushed adult conversations, sensing the tension even when we try to shield them from it. They deserve one day of pure, uncomplicated joy.

The party will be small, carefully vetted, contained within the estate's secure perimeter with Dad’s people stationed at every entrance. But it will happen.

"Are you sure about this?" Xander asked when I first proposed it, his brow furrowed with concern. "We could postpone until things settle down. The girls would understand."

"The girls would understand that fear won," I told him. "I won't teach them that lesson. Not now. Not ever."

He looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. "What do you need?"

Everything, it turned out. Preparations consume the household for the better part of a week. Streamers in purple and pink, Nina's and Lisa's favorites respectively, arrive by the boxful.

Balloon arches take shape in the corners of the main living room. I spend three hours on the phone with a bakery, negotiating the specifications of a custom cake shaped like a castle, because Nina declared that princesses were mandatory and Lisa wanted towers to count.

"How many towers exactly?" the baker asked, patience wearing thin.

"Seven. It has to be seven. My daughter will notice if it's six or eight."

"Ma'am, for structural reasons…"

"Seven towers. I'll pay extra."

I throw myself into the details with fierce determination, as though perfect decorations can ward off the shadows lurking beyond the gates.

Every ribbon tied is an act of defiance. Every balloon inflated is a declaration that this family will not be broken.

Maya helps without being asked.

She arrives early on preparation day, arms full of ribbon and glitter, her practical shoes already dusted with something sparkly from her car.

"I stopped by the craft store," she says, depositing her haul on the kitchen table. "They had these iridescent streamers that catch the light. I thought Nina might like them for the dress-up station."

"The dress-up station?"

"I was thinking…" She pulls out a folder, and I realize she's been planning. "Nina loves performance, right? Drama, costumes, being the center of attention. What if we set up a corner with dress-up clothes and a mirror, maybe some props? She could put on shows for the guests."

"She would love that."

"And for Lisa," Another page emerges. "A scavenger hunt. Pattern-based clues that lead to different stations around the room. She has to solve each one to find the next. At the end, there's a special prize just for her."

I stare at the detailed notes, the careful consideration evident in every line. "Maya, this is... you didn't have to do all this."

"I wanted to." She shrugs, but there's something vulnerable in her expression. "They're good girls. They deserve a good birthday."

We work alongside each other through the morning with quiet efficiency. Maya strings lights while I arrange centerpieces.

She suggests moving the gift table to create better flow; I adjust the seating chart based on her observation that Lisa prefers corners.

We move in a comfortable rhythm, two women united by a common purpose.

I catch her smiling at a photograph of the twins—one of my favorites, taken last summer, both girls covered in watermelon juice and grinning at the camera. Something soft passes across her face, something that looks like genuine affection.

A rush of gratitude swells in my chest. This capable, steady woman who appeared exactly when she was needed, who has made herself indispensable through competence and care.

I don't know what I would have done without her these past weeks.

"Thank you," I say, and I mean it for more than just the party planning. "For everything you've done for our family."

Maya's smile flickers just for a glimpse before settling back into warmth. "It's my job."

"It's more than that, and we both know it."

She doesn't respond, just turns back to the streamers, her hands steady, her face carefully composed. I don't see the crack spreading behind her eyes.

Late afternoon, Xander finds me in the kitchen attempting to salvage the backup cupcakes.

The castle cake is safely stored at the bakery, but I wanted something homemade for the family—a tradition my mother started when I was small, now being passed to another generation.

The frosting, however, has other ideas.

"What happened here?" Xander surveys the disaster zone—bowls crusted with failed attempts, powdered sugar coating every surface, a concerning pink stain spreading across the counter.

"Creative differences," I say grimly. "The frosting refuses to cooperate."

"It looks like a unicorn exploded."

"Helpful. Thank you for that."

He laughs, rolling up his sleeves. "Show me what you're working with."

We tackle the cupcakes together, him holding the piping bag while I guide the technique. It goes wrong almost immediately.

Frosting ends up everywhere—on the counter, on our clothes, on Xander's nose when he leans too close to inspect why the swirl isn't swirling.

"You have…" I gesture at my own nose. "Right there."

"Where?" He crosses his eyes trying to see it.

I laugh so hard it makes my stomach hurt. He looks ridiculous, this powerful man with pink frosting on his face, genuinely confused about where the mess is located.

"Hold still." I lean in to kiss it off. His hands find my hips before I can pull away.

The kiss deepens—sugar and warmth and the familiar electricity that never seems to fade, no matter how many years pass.

His fingers tighten on my waist. My hands slide up his chest, leaving frosting trails I'll have to apologize for later.

"The cupcakes," I murmur against his mouth.

"Can wait."

We stumble toward the pantry, door closed, urgent whispers in the darkness, punctuated by muffled laughter when we knock over a box of cereal.

"Shh!"

"You shh!"

My back against the shelving, his body pressing me into it. Fast, breathless, both of us grinning like teenagers stealing moments in places they shouldn't.

His mouth finds my neck. I bite back a sound that would definitely carry.

We emerge five minutes later, disheveled and flushed, just as my mother rounds the corner.

She stops, takes in Xander's untucked shirt, the frosting smeared across my collarbone, the fact that we're both breathing slightly too hard and avoiding eye contact like guilty children.

Her eyebrow rises slowly, deliberately. The expression of a woman who raised teenagers and has seen everything.

"The cupcakes need more frosting," she observes mildly. "I can see why."