Unlocking my Boss’s Heart (Romance in Sweet Comedy #4)

6. Celia

Chapter six

Celia

M y first day of work started with an orientation—definitely not the fun kind. I was on my feet from the moment I stepped into the building. One of the women from Human Resources practically shoved the contract and the employee handbook into my hands.

I toured all the rooms on the eighth floor, and by the end of the day, I had an access card with my picture, delivered two trays of coffee to my colleagues, and knew who to call in the event of anything from a toilet leak to a building invasion. I even asked the woman how likely a repeat of Die Hard was in these parts, but she just gave me a blank stare. Apparently, along with iced lattes, humor was also a sin at this firm.

I hadn’t made any glaring mistakes, but I felt a little isolated. Perhaps it was because I was new and young, and they didn’t get my humor. It was fine, though. I didn’t need to be friends with my colleagues, but it would make the workdays more bearable.

By the time I got back to the apartment, my feet were killing me. I sank onto the couch and groaned as I massaged them—a lesson learned the hard way on the first day. Rule number one: Avoid heels at work. How did the other women do it? The high-functioning ones wore at least two-inch heels, if not higher, all week long. My colleagues did just that.

If I were to match them in performance, I also wanted to match their look. But I couldn’t tolerate heels for even one day.

Today, I wore simple cotton flats. As I walked down the hallway, my footsteps barely audible, I patted myself on the back for choosing the most comfortable shoes I owned. Just for that, my second day was going well so far.

Still, in the back of my mind, my conversation with Maddison yesterday lingered. When I’d told her about my discussion with my boss in the elevator, she looked at me as if I was crazy.

“You said that to him?” she’d gasped, and she let me know just how bad it was to be so casual with him. “This isn’t your previous firm, and Anton Waltons isn’t just a senior partner. He’s a big deal in this city!”

She had a point. I was new here in the Big Apple, and now I worked at a big firm, much more lucrative than my previous job. The expectations were different from our small hometown, and I needed to preserve my position.

I hadn’t run into my boss today, which was good. It avoided further opportunities to run my mouth. I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of him and others.

Rule number two of working at this firm: Avoid my boss like the plague.

What did Anton think of me, the newcomer who didn't know when to shut up? Who didn’t understand hierarchy? What if he thought I was being disrespectful because we had flirted back at the bookshop?

I stopped mid-stride, shocked by my thoughts.

What? We hadn’t flirted! I mean, not really, right?

“Celia, just because you shared a smile with someone doesn’t mean it’s flirting,” I muttered as I pushed the bathroom door open.

The bathroom light greeted me with a glare, and I squinted to adjust to it. Two women stood in front of the sinks, touching up their makeup. They glanced at me briefly through the mirror and continued applying their makeup.

“Good morning,” I said, walking toward a bathroom stall.

It was a simple greeting, one I expected them to respond to politely before going about our day.

But that wasn’t what happened.

“You’re Celia Adams,” one of them said.

There was a hint of contempt in her tone.

I turned to the woman who had spoken. She was taller, with blonde hair fanning around her face. Her lips were small, but she had lined them with bright burgundy lipstick.

“Yes,” I replied cautiously.

The other woman, shorter, eyed me, this time face to face. “Hmm,” she hummed and unabashedly sized me up from head to toe.

I suddenly felt self-conscious about my basic blouse, plain pants, and flats.

“How are you liking working here?” the tall blonde asked, her tone high-pitched, almost too friendly. She continued applying her makeup from the open pallet in her hands.

“Everything’s great so far. Thanks for asking,” I replied, smoothing down my drapey blouse.

“Hmmm,” the other lady repeated flatly.

The blonde rolled her eyes at her friend before returning her attention to me. She stretched out her slender fingers. “I’m Rachael Curb, Human Resources.”

I shook her hand.

“Celia Adams,” I said, even though they already knew that.

“So, tell us, how do you know Anton Waltons? Family friend? Or perhaps a childhood friend?” Rachael asked.

“I don’t think I understand,” I replied slowly, looking between the two of them. The other woman didn’t bother introducing herself.

Rachael piped up, “I mean, we reviewed your file, and he sent your name as the new hire before he finished interviewing the other applicants. So, obviously, he knows you from somewhere...right?”

I swallowed, finally getting where this was going. “No. I—”

She interrupted me, “And we heard about your episode in the elevator. You guys didn’t even bother to hide it.”

“Hide what?” My mind was going a thousand miles per second. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Rachel’s friend stepped forward, her tone conspiratorial. “There were several other lawyers more qualified than you. So, what was the real reason he picked you?”

That’s when I noticed the undertone of this entire questioning. When Rachel started, she seemed genuinely curious. But now, her friend’s expression spelled out exactly how they felt about me being hired.

I took a step back, feeling under attack, but ready to defend myself. I knew I was just as qualified as the other applicants who had shown up for the interview. If not, I wouldn’t have been on the shortlist.

“Winnie, you’ll scare her,” Rachael silenced her friend, then turned back to me with a patronizing smile. “It's not like we have any bad intentions or anything. We just want to get on his good side, and you might have a few tips. That’s all.”

I had a feeling the opposite was true.

“Oh,” was all I could think to say.

Winnie smiled. “Well, if you have any tips, and I mean any at all…. You know what they say about women helping women.” She ended with a wink, and that was when I understood what she was implying.

Bile rose in my throat, bitter at the back of my tongue. Their insinuation hit me like a sledgehammer. Since they figured I didn’t get the job because of a family connection, they assumed he hired me because I was sleeping with him. And if they thought so, others probably did too, except they might not be as obvious about it as these two were.

“Sorry, I can’t—” My feet were already moving, and I left the bathroom without finishing the sentence.

Heat flared up from my chest to my neck, the first time I felt such anger. How degrading! I’d worked so hard to earn my degree and become a qualified lawyer with experience! If this was what people thought, the road to the top would be even harder than I’d imagined.

“Oh, my goodness, I’m late!”

I shot up from bed to get ready for work. Then I paused and checked the time on my phone. I facepalmed myself. The bold black font on the screen showed it was Saturday.

Relief came over me as I plopped back onto my pillow. For the past week, I’d been waking up super early to get to work before everyone else. I was determined to be an exemplary employee, to prove that I not only deserved to be at Waltons & Associates but that I’d earned my place through hard work.

But today, I could sleep in.

I sighed and snuggled deeper into my soft feather-down pillow. It smelled like home. How long would it be before the scent faded? The thought made my stomach clench. I’d been in New York for three weeks, working my tail off. I barely had a chance to settle in before I was launched into my new life.

But I wouldn’t let homesickness ruin this day. Today was a precious day—a free Saturday that I suspected would soon be one of my last. I was sure Anton's success didn’t come from him taking many days off, even on the weekends.

Don’t think about your boss, Celia , a voice at the back of my mind reminded me. But I reasoned back that rising to the top didn’t mean the exclusion of everything else.

My mind kept wandering.

Does he spend his free days visiting bookstores?

I sensed he wasn’t the type to spend his days off, sipping coffee in sidewalk cafes and reading novels. Likely, his visit to the bookstore in Greenwich had been a whim. I wouldn’t be meeting him around here again in passing, no matter how much I longed to run into him in a casual setting.

After a lazy morning in bed, I sat up. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a pink sticky note stuck to my nightstand. Leaning over I read what Maddison wrote without picking it up.

Out early. Left a Sephora gift card if you want to go shopping.

Next to the note was the said card. On the corner, written in black pen, someone had scribbled: From Tom . Typical Maddison, regifting what someone had given her. But it was thirty dollars, and I would happily use it if she no longer wanted to curry favor with this Tom, whoever he was. Besides, she rarely wore makeup unless she was playing a part on stage.

I glanced out the window. My blank canvas, aka the wall of the next building, blocked my view of the sky. In the living room, I paused in the silence. Despite being in New York for three weeks, this was my first time alone in the apartment. I’d been putting in a lot of hours at my new job, leaving before Maddison woke up, and returning when she was either already in bed or working an evening shift.

The place felt dull without her sparkly energy. Even without the gift card, I wouldn’t have spent the day at home. The weather app said it was a beautiful day, just waiting for me to explore the city that had fascinated me since childhood.

After a leisurely brunch, painting my nails, and washing my hair, I slipped on denim shorts and a graphic tee, ready to take on the city that never sleeps.

At the door, I grabbed one of Maddison's puffer jackets—perfect for the spring weather, not too cool and not too warm—and pulled out my phone to find the nearest Sephora.

An hour later, I left the cosmetic store with mascara and a tube of sunscreen. It was only a little after noon, so I scrolled through my phone, deciding where to go next on my solo adventure. After sightseeing, I stopped at the local pizzeria and ordered a box to take back to the apartment. I would end the day settled in with a good book and some wine.

Pizza in hand, I walked home leisurely, weaving between New Yorkers and sticking to the edge of the sidewalk where there were fewer pedestrians.

As I passed the same bookshop where I’d first met Mr. Waltons, I thought about going in but decided against it, in fear of bumping into him again. I really needed to stop thinking about him.

That should be rule number three: Stop thinking about your boss.

A block away from my apartment, I spotted a sleek black car parked at the curb. Such a nice car in this not-so-luxurious neighborhood confirmed that New York truly was a melting pot of social classes. My eyes were glued to the car as I passed by, curious if the driver was waiting for someone.

The passenger-side window slowly lowered. I did a double-take as I caught a glimpse of the person inside.

My heart skipped a beat, and I stopped short. I would recognize that dark hair and the familiar mouth, now curved into a slight grin, anywhere.

I blinked once, then twice, to be sure I wasn’t mistaken.

Nope, it was still him.

Am I hallucinating right now? Did I somehow conjure him with my thoughts?

“Hello,” his familiar voice rang out.

“Mr. Waltons,” I gasped, startled by his unexpected presence.

What was he doing here? Visiting family in the area, maybe?

One glance around my rundown neighborhood, with an overflowing trash can just a few feet away, made me scoff at the thought. Anton belonged to a completely different world. The idea that he might have family here was laughable. Yet, here he was, standing in the middle of my reality, a stark contrast to everything around him. It was as if he’d stepped out of a dream and into a place he didn’t belong, but for some reason, he had come anyway.