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

10. Anton

Chapter ten

Anton

I wasn’t fond of hospitals, no one should be. They were worrisome places, crowded with medical professionals, which isn’t always reassuring. On Friday evening, my mother called, frantic. It took me a moment to process what she was saying in her distressed state, but I clearly heard the words “heart attack.” By the time I arrived at the hospital, my father was already in surgery. A few hours later, he was transferred from the operating room to a private room in the intensive care unit.

When I visited him, his face was pale, his expression tired, which only worried me all the more. My brothers and I were supposed to follow in his footsteps. Even though he and I didn’t always see eye to eye, he’d always been a constant presence in my life. He had to live. The thought pulsed in my head, a desperate mantra that sent my heart racing. If he were gone, our family wouldn’t be the same.

“His color and sleepiness are normal after surgery. He’s in good hands,” the doctor reassured me about his condition.

He had the best doctors here, but if there were a need to transfer him to another hospital to find the leading experts in cardiology, I wouldn’t hesitate.

After three nights in the hospital, he was discharged today.

The atmosphere at my parents’ house still reminded me of the hospital. A spare bedroom had been set up with a hospital bed and medical equipment, and both a nurse and a nursing aide were seeing to his care. My mother had hired them.

I flexed my shoulders and ran my hands through my hair in a poor attempt to release the tension, but my muscles still felt very strained and heavy. I’d informed Olivia this weekend that I wouldn’t be at work today.

I inwardly cringed. Monday—basically the worst day to miss work. Doing so always threw the rest of my week off, but I was confident that Olivia would reschedule my appointments and handle whatever came up in my absence.

One of our family security guys appeared in the doorway. After getting my attention, he said, “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Waltons, but there's a woman at the gate looking for you.”

“A woman?” My first instinct was that it better not be Reeva. Her presence at this vulnerable moment would be the last thing I needed. I growled grimly at that thought. “What’s her name?”

“Celia Adams,” the security guy responded.

Celia Adams! At my father’s estate?

“Let her in,” I told him. “She’s a friend.”

A few minutes later, I watched from the porch as the security guy returned, driving Celia Adams on the back of a golf cart. When she stepped down, she murmured a low “thank you” to him before he drove off. She looked up at me and paused.

My arms remained folded. Though aware of my intimidating stance, I didn’t put them down. I watched her, without caring that I was staring. She started toward the porch with no hint of nerves; that was something to admire.

“What are you doing here?” It wasn’t said in reprimand, but in genuine relief, which was strange since I’d only known her a short time.

How could she have such an effect on my peace of mind?

“No excuses,” she said simply, with a bolstering smile.

“Excuses?” I was puzzled.

Her smile was small and aching. She had some nerves, after all.

“Olivia told me what happened. I was about to send you these files by email when I remembered you saying, ‘no excuses’ when you gave me the assignment.” She motioned with the binder in her arms and handed it to me.

I took the binder, still watching her.

“And I may or may not have used the assignment you gave me as an excuse to check on how you’re doing,” she finished.

I was instantly relieved of my standoffishness by her candor. Her sweet and calm voice was so soothing after all the stress I’d been under the last three days.

Flipping through the pages of the file silently to collect my thoughts, I found myself relaxing, the tension in my shoulders easing as a small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. Her unexpected presence was a welcome surprise, one that lightened the atmosphere that had settled over the house.

There was a notepad stuck in one of the printed pages with a handwritten note of hers. It was in black gel ink and surprisingly pretty cursive handwriting. I thought all lawyers had terrible penmanship. Or was that doctors?

“I understand if you feel this is inappropriate, me being here. You can say the word, and I’ll leave. I don’t want to cause any issues….”

I closed the binder and locked eyes with her. The mild panic I sensed from her made me grin. “No, don’t go. I’m glad you came.”

Hopefully, my tone didn’t sound too desperate.

That was enough to dispel her fear, and she visibly relaxed. “Okay.”

I led her from the foyer into the living room as the nurse on duty passed us, her uniform giving her away.

“How is he?” Celia asked.

I shrugged. “He came out of surgery three days ago. His vital signs were good enough to discharge him today. We just have to be patient and take it one day at a time. They said he’ll stabilize.”

“Who is this?”

We turned to find my mother standing in the kitchen doorway, holding one of her green drinks. Her expression was curious, and not exactly warm.

“Hello, Mother.” I hesitated, unsure how to introduce Celia, especially since my mother practically ordered me to get back with Reeva. Did it even matter? “This is Celia Adams, a junior associate.”

“My thoughts and prayers go out to Mr. Waltons. I hope he gets better soon.”

My mother's face remained inscrutable.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “And nice to meet you, Celia Adams.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Waltons.”

Her lips twitched as if she were about to smile, but it seemed too difficult for her. She sighed. “I’m going outside for some fresh air.” On her way, she turned back and said, “Thanks for coming, Celia.”

Celia nodded politely, then said to me, “What about you? How are you doing?” Her voice was as soft as honey.

I was noticing these things too easily.

I must be tired.

The exhaustion in my mother’s eyes probably mirrored my own.

I ran my hand into my thick, tousled hair and looked away, a moment passing between us. My silence seemed to convey my state of mind. This wasn’t about me. My father had just had a heart attack, not me. Who cared how I was doing?

But now that Celia had asked, I asked myself the same question: How am I?

The concern in her eyes gave me a deep, comforting warmth. I believe she genuinely cared to ask or even be here in the first place. I hadn’t realized I needed a friend during this time until one showed up. And this mixture of feelings pulling me toward her wasn’t just friendship; I was very attracted to her—a kind of attraction I’d never experienced before.

“I’ll be fine. Not right now, but eventually,” I answered honestly.

Looking into her soft gaze, as strange as it sounded, I knew that as long as she was here, I would be fine. Her voice soothed me like a gentle breeze, and her smile lit up the darkest corners of my mind. There was a calm that I experienced when Celia was around, and I wanted to be near that worry-dissolving power of hers constantly.