Page 30 of Unlocking my Boss's Heart

“I’ll leave this printout on his desk,” I said and entered Anton’s office.

I stood just inside the door, unwilling to go any further. The image of last Wednesday flashed through my mind—him sitting at his desk, lifting his head as I walked toward him. Then, I clearly heard his voice at the end of our meeting: “No excuses.”

Was this some sort of test?

If so, it was an elaborate one.

I turned back toward the door, but hesitation anchored my feet. Was he okay? I forced myself to move, pulling the door shut behind me, but my thoughts were still with him.

“Hey, could you help me with something?” I asked Olivia.

In the back of my mind, I wondered if this was the craziest, most impulsive idea I’d ever had. It would be utterly humiliating if I lost my high-level lawyer position, and everyone thought it was because I was entangled with the boss. But I couldn’t let go of my resolve to go all the way, to step outside my comfort zone and do what I thought was a normal course of things.

Chapter ten

Anton

Iwasn’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. Hehadto 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.

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