Obsessed with My Grumpy Boss

Chapter 10

Hazel

”Dad,”I say, hugging him.

He”s in a room with a few other people, the beds separated by curtains, and I sit on the edge of his bed. I take a good look at him. Poor Dad. He”s hooked to an IV, and I see the machines next to him with his vitals.

”What happened?” I ask.

”Honey, I”m okay. I just had a bad night. I ate some fried chicken after you left and started feeling sick.”

”And you weren”t before?” I remember him asking about aspirins.

”A little, but I didn”t want to say anything and worry you. I thought it could be a heart thing.”

A heart thing? ”Dad, something bad could have happened.”

Man, things sure escalated quickly. Before I left, he asked for an aspirin. He looked fine, and now I wonder how long he wasn”t feeling well. My dad can be a good actor. For him to call an Uber because he was in too much pain, though… Sadness fills my chest.

A woman in her thirties wearing dark blue scrubs comes in. ”Hi, I”m Nurse Amy. How are you?”

”I”m okay. How”s my Dad? What happened?”

”We”re running some tests. Since he has heart disease, we”ll ensure everything is good with him. Most likely, it’s a gallbladder attack. We”ll take him for further imaging in a few minutes.”

”Will he be okay?”

”Yes. Take a deep breath,” she says. “We”re taking good care of him, I promise. Now, we”ll take him in for an ultrasound and bring him back. You can wait in the waiting area.”

”Sure.”

I go to the waiting area and try to remember that this is going to be okay. The pressure of having only one living parent has been present in the last couple of years, but it doesn”t look like he has anything horribly wrong, so I need to calm down.

With that in mind, I sit in a chair. The room is mainly empty, except for a couple talking to each other on the other side.

I put my bag on the side and rub my temples. Who would’ve thought going to that dinner party would be so eventful? That I”d end up here, of all places, worried about Dad? And that I”d make out with my boss?

A thread of awareness travels through me, loosening some of the knots of anxious concern in my stomach. “Made out” doesn”t begin to cover how I felt in his arms.

I”ve written so much about kissing him, fantasized about what it”d be like, and reality surpassed any naughty thoughts.

Now, I”ll have to live with it.

Work for him, knowing what it felt like to have his hands all over me.

”Can I sit next to you?” asks the man menacing my mind—the devil himself.

As usual, he doesn”t wait for my response and takes the chair next to me. Surprise spikes my pulse. What”s he doing here? He already asked if he wronged me in the car—which was code for, you”re not going to sue me for sexual harassment, are you? A super douche move.

Archer is a complex individual. Whenever I think he”s got a better side to him, he shows me I’m being too optimistic. Though I guess if I were in his position, I”d also worry about making out with an employee.

”Why are you here?” I ask him, confused. Does he need more validation that he’s off the hook? Maybe he wants something in writing? At this point, I don”t care. I don”t need the added stress. I”ll sign whatever he asks.

He looks around and says, ”I hate hospitals.”

I nod. ”Don”t most people?”

”My mom developed an autoimmune disease. I visited hospitals more than any child should,” he says, staring ahead, a muscle flicking in his jaw.

His mom. I know very little about his family life, except that his mother is deceased and his father isn”t in the picture. He’s never said much about anyone besides a few trips to visit his grandmother at her luxury retirement home in Florida.

”I”m sorry,” I whisper.

Archer lifts his hand in denial as if he wants to change the subject. ”What did they tell you about your dad?”

”Hopefully, not heart stuff. Possibly a gallbladder attack. They”re doing some imaging now.”

”He”ll be fine,” he says, reaching for my hand.

Before I can disengage, he gives it a squeeze. That tug unlocks the desperation lurking inside me, and sadness wells up. Tears brim my eyes, and I blink them back but still have that salty aftertaste in my palate. I close my eyes and take deep breaths.

I don”t know if letting go of his hand will make it easier or more complicated, but I can”t bring myself to do it. I sit, eyes closed, focusing on my breathing, and he”s next to me. He squeezes my hand again, and another notch of comfort threatens to undo me.

Strangely, this feels more intimate than the way he kissed me. This type of warm yet gentle support. Almost erases all the months of built-up resentment toward him.

”Hazel,” he says softly.

I open my eyes and stare at him. He”s watching me, specks of silver flickering in his dark blue irises. ”Yeah?”

”Do you need anything? I realized we never ate. Can I grab you something to eat or drink?”

”You mean you know how to order food?” I ask before I can think. Shit. I don”t like how it sounded. It should have been teasing and playful, but I sounded resentful due to my current state of nerves.

”I”ve built a company. Going to the vending machine or making a call isn”t rocket science,” he says.

”You”re right. I”m sorry,” I say, glancing down at my hands.

He touches my shoulder. ”It”s okay. Let me figure out what I can do. And if you want, you can time me,” he says, flashing a smile.

As I watch him walk away, I realize the complexity of my feelings for him is ever-evolving. As my boss, it”s a mix of hate, desire, resentment, and a dash of admiration for all he”s built. As my date, I add surprise and disappointment. He certainly said some things tonight that frustrated me, but now he”s offering support…

My heart melts. Shit. This isn”t good.

Wanting my boss in my fantasies is one thing—wanting him as my boyfriend is an ambition I can”t afford. He never applied for the position, anyway.

These thoughts still jumble in my brain as the doctor approaches, introducing herself and talking about my dad. His heart is good, which takes an enormous pressure off my shoulders. But his gallbladder needs to be removed.

He’ll have a laparoscope surgery early in the morning, which is the best way to remove his gallbladder. Even though he”ll be under general anesthesia, it”s not the worst-case scenario. He can go home tomorrow night or the day after if all goes well.

Surgery isn”t the best, but the doctor has a great deal of experience with this and talks like it”s no big deal.

Relief fills my chest. The bottom line is he”s going to be all right.

When Archer comes back with two sandwiches and bottles of water, my heart skips a beat. Fuck.

”I found a vending machine. They said the turkey club is organic.” He gives me one bottle and one sandwich. ”How did I do with time? Am I fired yet?”

I smile. I”m not particularly hungry, but I appreciate the gesture. ”You”re good for now, but don”t test me.”

He opens his sandwich and takes a bite. ”I”ll keep that in mind.”

I look at him, admiring his handsome features while he eats. Damn. Then his gaze catches mine and steals my breath away. I chew my lower lip.

”Any news?”

”He”ll need surgery to remove his gallbladder. They”ll do it tomorrow morning. The doctor said this is a routine thing.”

He squeezes my shoulder. ”I”m glad they caught it before it got worse. Are you okay with it?”

”Yes.” I mean, I want them to solve the problem and for my dad not to be in pain. ”I”m betting my dad having high cholesterol and eating all kinds of crap behind my back didn”t help the whole gallbladder issue.”

”You”d be right.”

I make a note to restrict my father”s diet even further. It”s hard because he”s so caring, and I don”t want to be a nag. But I also want him around for a long time. ”Thank you. I know you said your mom was sick, right? For a while?”

He runs his fingers through his hair. ”Yeah. It got worse.”

”That must have been hard as a child.” I was not equipped to deal with these things as a kid, for sure. I was blissfully ignorant of the darkness of the world. Mom and Dad gave me a great childhood, and I didn”t suffer many losses.

”Yeah.”

”Did you have a family to give you any support?”

I know he”s an only child like me. I don”t know when his father left him—if it was when he was a baby or much later in life, as an adult. I shouldn”t care about all this, and the most disturbing thing is that, after tonight, his past matters to me. Anything that can give me a glimpse into the intriguing man he”s become—this asshole boss who drove me to the hospital and grabbed me something to eat.

When he”s off the clock, what”s his most consistent version? The asshole boss or the supportive date?

Archer takes another bite of his sandwich. ”My father was married to her at the time. He came back after ghosting her for many years. Found out she was sick, stuck around, and when she died, he left.”

An immense wave of sadness rolls over my chest. How sad. My life wasn”t perfect, but my parents loved each other. Even now, without my mom, my father supports and loves me no matter what. I can”t imagine how hard it must be not to have that, especially as a child.

I thread my fingers together, unsure about what to do. Should I try to hug a man who”s eating a sandwich? I want to reach out, but even sitting, he”s well-postured, like he doesn”t need anything. ”That”s shitty.”

”That”s life, I guess. He took what he needed and bounced,” he says emotionlessly. “Died a couple of years ago. Alone.”

”That”s life? I”m sorry you think that way. He was an asshole and a horrible father. No one deserves that,” I say, and second guess myself. I shouldn”t insist on personal shit with him when he”s obviously hit his limit for the night.

”Not even the asshole boss with the timer?” he asks, and a sarcastic note trickles into his voice.

I bite back a smile. ”Not even him.”

”How are you so sure?”

”You were a kid, that”s how I know.”

”You”re generous, Hazel. I knew I hired you for a reason.”

Hired me for a reason. Asshole boss.

A lump of annoyance fills in my throat. He”s reminding us about our positions in life. I get it. He has his own shit to deal with, and while he”s been good enough to keep me company, it”s time I take some space, too.

I can”t keep listening to him and humanizing him. What if my feelings deepen, and I end up broken-hearted and fired? I can”t lose this job—having my father in the hospital is the best reminder. ”Look, thank you again for coming. I need to see my dad and hang out with him before surgery. You”ve been very kind tonight. Don”t feel like you need to wait.”

”I can”t leave you here, Hazel. You may need something.”

”I won”t. I need some space, and I need to focus on my father,” I say, determination lacing my voice. If he”s around, I”ll be distracted, and not necessarily good distracted.

”Are you sure you don”t need anything else? I know it”s not the best time, but we should talk at some point about what happened earlier.”

”There”s no need to talk. We”re good, Mr. Cromwell. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I grab my things, stand, and walk toward the patient rooms, feeling his gaze burning my back.