Page 23 of The Boss Problem

I had been very brazen, but it was worth it to remind Sean that anytime he challenged me, his nonprofit was going to be very generous.

I watched as Sean gave me a devilish smile over his shoulder before joining Mr. Keene in the conference room. It was a smile that said,I’ll see your move and raise you one of my own.

Oh, he was enjoying this game all right. And the stakes were high.

My pulse began to race, and I turned on my heel, my head light and spinning. I knew Sean wasn’t going to give in easily, and that twenty-five thousand could very well get me fired. But he wouldn’t fire me just like that.

Nope, he was going to lay a trap and watch me fall in, if it was the last thing he did.

12

CHLOE

That night, I came back home, tired and hungry, to a quiet house. When I opened the front door and called out to Henry, I heard nothing in response. Assuming he was asleep, I set my handbag down on our secondhand brown couch from Goodwill.

“Henry, I’m making you your favorite dinner,” I called, setting the chicken on the table. I’d bought it at Whole Foods on my way home from work as a treat to celebrate my first day at work. “How does lemon chicken sound for dinner?” I called as I opened the fridge.

I didn’t hear any response, which wasn’t too unusual since Henry sometimes took a late evening nap on days when he had early morning classes.

After washing the chicken and turning the oven on, I started to prepare the chicken. When it was done, I put it in the oven before walking over to Henry’s room to check on him.

When I knocked and pushed the door open, I saw Henry lying on his bed, asleep, but pale.

Something seemed off, so I bolted in and felt his forehead.

“Henry,” I said, shaking him awake as I realized he was running a fever.

Damn it. Two days ago, when Henry’s doctor had changed some of his pain medications, he had warned me of a side effect that involved fever. It was uncommon, he’d said, but it could happen.

“You’re running a fever, Henry,” I said as he opened his eyes and looked at me faintly before shutting them again. “How long have you had it?” I asked.

I rushed to the kitchen and ran a towel under the tap before going back to Henry’s room. I dabbed his forehead and face, leaving it on his forehead to bring his temperature down before I got the Tylenol from the cabinet.

“Here, sit up,” I said, helping him up.

He was not strong enough to use the bedrails to pull himself up like he normally could. I reached for the bottle of water he always kept in his room and held him while he took a sip and swallowed a pill.

Once done, Henry lay back down with my help. “I tried calling you, but your phone was switched off,” he said, head on the pillow but looking more awake and distressed. “Why would you turn your phone off, Chloe?”

Oh crap. I slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand. “My phone ran out of battery on the way here,” I said, remembering I’d been listening to an audiobook on the subway. “When did the fever start?”

“It started a few hours ago. I felt hot and cold at the same time. I thought I’d be fine if I took a nap.”

I picked up Henry’s phone from the bedside table and made a call, pacing the room as I held it to my ear. It was around seven at night, so I was trying to reach the after-hours nurse line at Henry’s doctor’s office. When I finally got to speak to a nurse, I gave her Henry’s information and his temperature. Minuteslater, when I hung up, I looked at Henry, who had heard the entire conversation.

“Tylenol was the right thing to do,” I said, sitting back down. “But we need to check with the doctor tomorrow to diagnose why this happened.”

“That was scary,” he said weakly from the bed, and I nodded.

I was glad I had come home at a reasonable time and that my work didn’t involve overtime.

Something told me we needed to go back to the older medicines, $397 be damned. I’d find a way to make more, but Henry didn’t have to suffer.

I set my phone to charge and made myself comfortable on a chair next to Henry’s bed, intending to stay here and monitor him. But for some strange reason, I felt myself getting drowsy.

It was the smoke alarm that woke the two of us up later. The smell of burned chicken had reached the room, and I hurried out to the kitchen, noticing that the oven had been running for over an hour and smoke had filled the entire kitchen.

Coughing, I turned the oven off, which I’d accidentally set to 450 degrees Fahrenheit, before I took the chicken out. I dropped it in the sink with a heavy heart, berating myself for spending fifteen dollars on it. I opened the windows and front door and waited a few minutes for the alarm to turn off before I went back to check on Henry.

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