Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CONSTANCE
The closer the elevator gets to my floor, the tighter the knot in my stomach grows.
Being away from Morgan’s watchful eyes was relaxing.
I had a moment to breathe. Being back in the familiarity of the mailroom grounded me.
While the money that comes with being Morgan’s assistant is much needed, I miss the invisibility of the mailroom.
When the elevator dings, stopping at the top floor, I swear I stop breathing. I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to leave the solitude that the metal box provides. The doors start to slide closed, pulling me from my trance, and I step forward, exiting the elevator.
I head straight for my desk, half-distracted, mentally rearranging the rest of my day—therapy at four, groceries on the way home, emails I still need to answer. Anything to keep from lifting my eyes and gazing into Morgan’s office.
I cling to routine—predictable, safe, controlled—because security is the one thing I need, especially with Chance depending on me, yet Morgan has a way of unraveling every careful system I’ve built.
The moment I step up to my desk, my world begins to spin. “Ms. Hale, can you step into my office, please?” I swallow hard as his deep voice hits my ears.
“Yes,” I reply.
But when I step inside the door, my heart starts racing.
Chance is curled up into a tiny ball, wrapped in a blanket on Morgan’s leather couch.
His face is pale, and his dark lashes rest against his hollowed cheeks.
A wastebasket sits on the floor beside him, lined with paper towels—some clean, some very much not.
“Oh, my God.” Panic rips through my chest. I rush across the room, dropping down on the floor beside him. “Chance…Baby…”
His eyes flutter open at my words, and I can see his expression soften as his lips tremble. My hand rests on his forehead as I brush his hair away from his face. He’s so warm. Not burning, but close enough to make my stomach knot. But how did he get here?
“Just rest, Baby. I’ll be right back.” He simply nods his head, and his eyes drift shut again.
I stand and move swiftly across the room to Morgan, my fear over seeing my son here igniting into something fierce and ugly.
“What the hell is going on?” I demand. “Why is my son here? Why is he in your office? Why did no one contact me?” The questions spew from my mouth in rapid fire.
Morgan stands from his chair, moving around his desk toward me. His arms hanging by his sides, his expression calm in a way that feels criminal under the circumstances.
“I will answer all your questions. But first, Constance, you need to take a breath and calm down.”
“Calm down? How dare you tell me to calm down. My son is here, not at school, sick, and no one notified me.” I look over my shoulder at my son; he’s resting again. Then I take a deep breath in and slowly blow it out. Only after I’m more composed does Morgan speak again.
“The school called you. Several times, in fact. You left your phone on my desk,” he says evenly as he pulls the phone out of his pocket and hands it back to me.
“When you didn’t answer, they pulled your emergency contact, which appears to be here, and I answered.
He was sick and needed to be picked up.”
I swallow hard. How could I have made such a stupid mistake and leave my phone? I always make sure to have it with me for this very reason.
“I didn’t know exactly where you were or how long you’d be gone,” he continues. “So I went to the school, picked him up, and brought him here. He’s only been here with me for about thirty minutes.”
I can’t help the anger rising with his words. They feel like an accusation, even though I'm almost sure they aren’t meant that way.
“How did you pick him up? You’re not on the list.” Heads are going to roll at that school once I make sure that Chance is okay.
“I can be very persuasive.” He smirks. “I simply told them you were my employee, you were out of the office, and I’d bring him to you,” he states matter-of-factly, like it’s done every day. Like schools just hand over children to anyone who walks through the door.
“And they just gave him to you?”
“Yes,” he answers, shortly. “Does it matter? You weren’t reachable. I was, and I went and got him. Now he’s here resting comfortably.”
“You don’t get to decide things for him,” I snap. “Chance is my responsibility. He’s not a regular kid—he’s different. He needs things done a certain way.” My emotions are on a rollercoaster.
While I am thankful he was there to get him when I wasn’t, I’m mad that I forgot my phone. I’m his mother. I should’ve been the one to get that call, to get him..
Morgan doesn’t feed into my anger. His gaze drifts over to my sweet boy sleeping on the couch.
“He looks like you,” he says softly. There’s none of the control and sharpness that’s normally in his voice.
I almost forget how to breathe with the change in his demeanor. Something about the tenderness in his voice, the simple truth of the statement, cuts straight through my defenses.
I hear a soft cough and a little whimper, and my head turns to Chance immediately.
“I don’t feel good, Mommy,” he whispers.
My heart shatters.
“Oh, Sweetheart,” I murmur, rushing over and squatting down beside him again, smoothing his hair. “What hurts?”
“My tummy,” he says. “I keep throwing up.”
“We’re going home.” I’m already reaching for his backpack sitting at the opposite end of the couch. “I’ll take care of you. We’ll cancel therapy and get you some medicine and soup.”
I help Chance to his feet, holding his hand tightly as I head to my desk, gathering my things. Morgan doesn’t try to stop me, but I can hear him falling in step behind me.
“We’ll talk more about this later,” he says as I turn to face him.
It isn’t a threat, and it definitely isn’t a request—it is a promise, and the weight of it follows me all the way out the door.
The drive home is quiet; Chance dozing in the back seat. My gaze switches between the road and glancing in the rear-view mirror at him.
Now that my fear over missing the call has shifted to the background, dread looms forward.
The knowledge that being a single mother to a child who needs more than most is something people don’t willingly sign up for.
I know I didn’t. Yet it’s my life now. A simple sickness can turn into something life-threatening at the drop of a dime.
Working with Morgan was bad enough. But sleeping with him has not only complicated my work life but my personal one as well.
Letting him see this part of me—the part that always makes people hesitate—is a risk I never intended to take.
And now there’s no undoing it.