Page 26 of Unlocking my Boss's Heart

But what kind of woman was she, really? What kind of wife would she make? If—and that was a big IF—I ever decided to get married, the kind of camaraderie I shared with Celia would have to be a daily occurrence.

For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine what life might be like if Celia were my wife. She was a quick thinker and an even faster talker. She would say unexpected things and make me laugh. Our exchanges had felt invigorating rather than confrontational. Life with her certainly wouldn’t be dull. It might even be fun.

I blanched at that thought.

Was I actually considering what it would be like to be married to my employee?

I’d only known her for less than a month. Besides, I would never want a wife who was focused on her career. I would want her to stay home and raise our kids. But not many women would want to give up a career they’d worked so hard for.

I rejoined my mother in the living room, pushing the disturbing thoughts aside.

“So, did you have any plans after you finished setting me straight?” I asked her.

“Don’t change the subject yet, Anton. Is it really that difficult to imagine a woman could have feelings for you? Or do you have something against settling down?”

I ran my hands over my jaw. “Mother listen—”

“Give her another chance,” she implored. “I understand how guarded you and your brothers have become because of theposition you hold, but I didn’t expect that to turn you away from settling down.”

The mention of my brothers was a lifeline I desperately needed, and I clutched onto it to change the subject. “I spoke to Johan the other day.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly displeased that I hadn’t followed her lead in the conversation. “And?”

“He’s taken after Father so well with his business vision. Balancing it all is a challenge, but he seems to embrace it. He’s designed some projects and is preparing to present them to the board.”

“Yes.” She nodded, glancing down at her hands.

That wasn’t the reaction I expected. I thought she would be happy to hear that the family legacy was in good hands. I looked at her hands, too. Her manicure was different than usual, but the shift in her demeanor was more concerning than her choice of nail polish.

“What is it?”

My mother was one of the strongest women I knew, but something in my last words had shaken her.

She let out a shaky breath before turning to me. “I haven’t told you or your brothers....”

“What’s wrong?”

“Your-your father. He has—” She took another shaky breath. “He-he has a heart rhythm problem. We heard from the doctor a few days ago. He’s been having chest pains. The doctors said we’re lucky we caught it before he had a heart attack. They’ve scheduled a procedure in two weeks.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” I said, throwing my arms around her in comfort, though inside, my heart felt cold. The warmth of the embrace felt distant, muted by the cold dread seeping into my chest. I pulled back, trying to mask the fear tighteningaround my heart. “If he’s having chest pains, why wait two weeks?”

“The doctor said the medications they gave him are supposed to stabilize his heart before the procedure. So, they gave it two weeks.”

This news was a reminder that my father was growing old. What would this mean for our family? My earlier thoughts in the bathroom about all the wrong reasons to have a family on my own, came rushing back. Would a child one day feel as I did now about me? The image of Celia flashed in my mind again. Uncertainty gnawed at me as I looked at my mother’s weary face. I realized then that love, like life, was fragile—balanced on the edge of the unknown. And in that moment, I knew I had to find the strength to forget all that had kept me away from my family and be there for them.

Chapter nine

Celia

Iwas at my desk when Olivia came over and whispered in my ear, “Mr. Waltons wants to see you. Now.”

As she walked away, my heart constricted. If the boss wanted to see me immediately, I must be in deep trouble. Why did he send his secretary instead of calling me directly?

I might have a heart attack before I reached his office. All the usual murmurs and keyboard clicking around me, normally a constant in my day, suddenly blurred into background noise. I gripped the edge of my desk tightly, then pushed my chair away and tried to rise in one elegant motion.

To the elevator I went, one slow step after another, all the while wondering why Mr. Waltons was calling me to his office. Had I behaved too inappropriately that Saturday we shared pizza at my apartment? He hadn’t seemed angry when he left the apartment...Had he decided to take offense afterward at what I’d said to Maddison? Or worse?

I shook my head as I pressed the button for the eighth floor. What could be worse than being fired? Honestly, I couldn’t think of anything worse than losing this highly coveted position. Before long, I was at his office door. Olivia was already on the phone at her desk.

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