Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ROMAN
I ’m scrolling through the financial news headlines on my phone as Phillip navigates the car through the early-morning traffic when a message notification pops up.
Chloe.
Seeing her name jolts through me, sharp and unexpected, but I shove the sensation aside. She’s been my assistant for just over a month, and this is the first time she’s messaged me outside of work hours.
I swipe it open.
Good morning, Roman. I’m so sorry, but I’ll be late in this morning. My dad’s having a flare-up, and I need to take him to see his doctor.
A swift rush of concern tightens my grip on the phone. It’s just her and her dad. Does she need help?
Without thinking too hard about what I’m doing or why, I respond.
Is he okay?
He’s in a lot of pain. I’ve given him some medicine, but his doctor can give him steroid injections. I’ll be in once he’s feeling better.
How are you getting him there?
I’ll call an Uber.
Clenching the phone tight, I survey the traffic surrounding me. I have a busy morning as usual. Calls and meetings back-to-back until lunch. But…
What’s your address? Phillip and I will pick you up.
The three gray dots appear, disappear, then reappear. She’s probably figuring out how to turn me down. It’s obvious she’s used to handling things on her own.
Much like the night she first told me about her dad, the idea of her shouldering that responsibility alone stirs an unfamiliar mix of emotions inside me.
Finally, her message pops up.
Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.
Her address follows.
Considering how long it took her to reply, I’m sure it was difficult for her to accept my offer. It’s better she did, though. I can’t imagine she’d appreciate it if I got her address from HR and turned up at her front door.
I lean forward and tell Phillip about the change in plans, then sit back in my seat and determinedly avoid thinking about why checking in on Chloe is suddenly more important than my tightly packed schedule.
Twenty minutes later we pull up outside an older but well-maintained apartment complex.
Phillip turns to me. “You want me to go in and get them.”
“No. I’ll go.”
I ignore his raised brows as I climb out. The entrance to the building is plain, with a short flight of steps leading to double doors, one of which has been propped open.
I scowl at it. So much for any kind of security.
Once I’m inside, I step up to the elevator, only to find that it’s out of order. From how old the sign is, it’s been that way for a while. It gives me pause. How does Chloe’s dad deal with getting up and down the stairs? Or is he stuck inside day after day? I don’t know anything about rheumatoid arthritis or how debilitating it might be.
Maybe I need to find out.
Now that Chloe works for me, it makes sense that I should learn more about what she’s dealing with after hours.
I make my way up the stairs, and when I reach the second floor, I knock on the door.
“Coming.” Her voice sounds from inside. When the door opens, the smile beginning to bloom on her face freezes, and her pretty lips pop open. Then she snaps her mouth shut. “I’m sorry. I assumed you were Phillip.”
I incline my head and take her in. She’s fucking hard enough to resist in her silky blouses, hip-hugging skirts, and fitted dresses. But like this, in a T-shirt that clings to her breasts and black yoga pants that show off every curve? The sight of her has a rush of heat spreading through me. Yet despite how incredible her tight fucking body is, that’s not what has me entranced.
It’s her makeup-free skin. Smooth and luminous, it’s practically flawless except for the faint spray of freckles over her nose and the arches of her cheekbones. I fight the urge to reach for her, trace the delicate line of her jaw, and smooth my thumb over those tiny imperfections that are far too exquisite to deserve that label.
How would it feel to press my lips against that satin soft skin? To hear her breath shudder out of her? To kiss and lick and nip and suck until I’d explored every inch of her?
Hands clenched, I force that image out of my head. I’m here to help an employee in need. That’s all. I may not be known for personally attending to this type of errand, but there’s a first time for everything.
“We’re almost ready,” Chloe says, holding the door open for me. “Do you want to come in?”
“Thank you.” I step inside the small hallway, instantly catching sight of a large painting that momentarily distracts me from the far too desirable woman next to me.
It’s a hauntingly beautiful scene of Manhattan just before dawn. The streets that usually pulse with life are empty as pre-dawn light casts long shadows across the canvas, shading most of the city in hues of gray and pale blue—a world still asleep.
A light fog lingers at the lower levels of the buildings, softening the lines and angles I’m used to seeing in daylight. In the foreground of the painting, the Brooklyn Bridge stretches across the scene, its cables and arches sharply defined against the city behind. The sparse glow of headlights cutting through the misty dimness enhances the serenity and solitude emanating from the piece rather than diminishing it.
It’s unsettling yet captivating, seeing the city like this, empty, its soul laid bare. It easily could have evoked a sense of melancholy, except the artist has skillfully added a latent energy to the scene as well. The first brush of sunlight gilds the building tops, tracing their upper edges with hints of rose and gold. It conveys a subtle sense of anticipation, a final quiet exhalation before the city awakens to the potential of a new day.
The image plucks at a string tied too tightly within my chest, and I can’t put my finger on why. While I was raised to appreciate art, there are few pieces that have spoken to me the way this one does.
When I finally tear myself away from the canvas, I find Chloe watching me with curious eyes.
“Is this one of your father’s?”
The soft smile that lifts her lips tugs at the same string as the painting. “Yes, it’s my favorite.”
She doesn’t elaborate as to why, and I don’t ask. I’ve already wasted enough time when I should be helping her get her father to the doctor.
“I’ll get Dad, and then we can go,” she says.
Rather than wait for her at the door, I follow, driven by a need to find out more about her. More than can be gleaned from her personnel file anyway. The one I pulled and read after I told her she could keep her job.
The apartment is compact but neat and tidy. There’s a comfortable-looking chair positioned in front of the television, and on the two-seater couch beside it, a man sits stiffly.
With his graying blond hair and bluish-green eyes, it’s not hard to see where Chloe gets her coloring from. And despite the sweat on his brow and the tightness around his mouth giving away just how much pain he’s in, he manages to size me up in one long appraising look.
Chloe rushes to his side. “Dad, this is my boss, Roman King. Roman, this is my dad, Rick Callahan.”
Apparently deciding I pass muster, Rick nods. “Nice to meet you. I’d shake your hand and thank you for coming, but…” He glances down at his own hands, resting on his thighs, the wrists and knuckles visibly inflamed. “It’s like having iron rods at the end of my arms.” He lets out a rueful laugh.
“That’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m happy to help.”
Chloe snags her purse from the small kitchen and slips the strap over her shoulder, then brings back what looks like a cold pack and wraps it gently around one of her father’s wrists. “Are you ready?” she asks him softly.
Nodding, he slowly raises his arm. As she bends down and wraps one of hers around his back, it dawns on me that he needs help to stand, and I step forward, ready to assist. But Chloe gives me a little shake of her head.
I don’t like standing back and watching like this, especially when they both strain as she helps her dad to his feet, but I respect her wishes anyway.
Once they’re standing, she gives me a small smile. “Could you get the door?”
With a nod, I stride to the entry. I pull the door open quickly, but as I turn back, I realize how unnecessary my haste is. From how slowly and stiffly Rick is moving, and how much he’s leaning on his daughter, walking must be painful too.
After closing the door behind them, I follow their slow progress down the stairs. Chloe’s voice is a soft, sweet murmur as she reassures her dad. But the whole way down, tension grips my neck and shoulders. I’m a man of action, standing back, unable to act, to do, to fix things isn’t easy for me.
By the time we get to the bottom, Rick’s mouth is tight with pain, and as we step outside, Phillip jumps out to open the car door. Chloe maneuvers her father inside, then glances at me over her shoulder, her expression questioning.
“I’ll sit in the front,” I tell her.
Brow furrowed, she opens her mouth, a protest on the tip of her tongue.
Before she can voice it, I point to the open door. “Sit with your father, Chloe. Believe it or not, it isn’t the first time I’ve sat in the front of a car. I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
She rewards me with a soft smile that hits me low in my gut. “Thank you.”
Before I can open the passenger door, Phillip does it for me.
His grin is a little too wide for my liking.
“I’m capable of opening a door by myself, you know.” Rather than deter him, my terse tone only makes his grin grow even wider.
The drive to Rick’s doctor is short. Thank fuck for that, too, because every time I turn to see how Chloe and her dad are faring in the back, Rick’s face is pale, and his eyes are closed. Chloe meets my gaze each time, her eyes shadowed with a worry that lodges heavily in my throat.
And that’s a problem. My goal at the start of her employment was to maintain professional distance between us, yet here I am, compelled to help her today and filled with concern for her dad—and her. Clearly, I’ve already seriously misstepped.
I tell myself that I’ll help them get inside, and then I’ll leave them to it. But after we arrive, and I’ve escorted them to the reception, after Chloe mouths thank you and disappears with her dad through the door of the doctor’s office, I find myself staying.
I sit on one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room, lean forward, and rest my elbows on my knees.
My mind lingers on Chloe, on the soft way she speaks to her father, how gentle she is with him. How she handles working for me and looking after him with genuine warmth and grace.
That thought triggers a tightness in my chest, along with an unexpected surge of protectiveness—especially knowing I nearly forced her out of the position as my assistant. The notion of her working for someone else, someone like Roger Haverscombe, and the things he might expect of her, has tension ratcheting up my spine.
Twenty minutes later, the door opens, and Chloe walks out on her own. When she catches sight of me, surprise flashes across her face.
She sinks down on the chair beside me with a long sigh. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
I straighten. “I wanted to make sure your dad was okay before I left.”
Her smile is small but genuine. “Dr. Clarke gave him steroid injections. He’s lying down in one of the appointment rooms until they kick in.”
“How long does that usually take?”
“About an hour.” She slumps against the back of the chair.
I nod. I have to get to the office. I called Tate to step in for me with my highest priority meetings this morning, but Cole is still out on paternity leave, and I can’t afford to leave Tate juggling it all on his own for too long.
Chloe probably senses the direction of my thoughts. “It’s all right. Dad will be feeling a lot better soon. We can take an Uber home.”
I shake my head. “I’ll send Phillip back for you.”
When I stand, she jumps up too, taking a step closer.
“You don’t have to do that. We’ll be okay.”
From this close, her skin looks even softer and more luminous, and I do something I know I shouldn’t. Something I’ll probably regret later. But all logic is drowned out by an urge I can’t resist.
Taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I tip it up until our gazes lock. “I know you’ll be okay. You’ve been okay this whole time. But I’ll send Phillip back for you anyway.” With that, I drop my hand, but not before I let my fingers graze the satin skin of her jaw.
Her eyes widen in response, and she opens her mouth, probably to protest again.
Before she can, I take half a step closer. “Don’t argue with me, Miss Callahan.”
A long beat of silence stretches on, broken only by our breaths. Then she gives me a tilted smile. “Chloe,” she reminds me softly. “And thank you, Roman. I really appreciate your help.”
There’s a twisting sensation behind my ribs, and I slide my hands into my pants pockets to keep from touching her again. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m not that much of a hard-hearted bastard, am I?”
“No.” She slowly scans my face. “No. You’re not.”
We stay like that for too long, the air around us too thin. Without my permission, my eyes drift to her mouth, to the soft pink of her lips, but I quickly force myself to look away.
I can do this one small thing for her. It doesn’t have to be more than a kind gesture.
I can blur one line without blurring more.
Because that’s as far as it’ll ever go.