Chapter 9 Matilda
Nine
Matilda
Igrab my coffee and practically sprint back into Henry’s office — notepad and lucky Baby Yoda pen in hand.
I’m not entirely sure when my heart started pounding like it’s running a marathon — somewhere between Henry holding my hand and offering me the position of assistant architect.
Either way, I’m buzzing like a toddler at Christmas.
Also, small side note — when exactly did Henry get a lobotomy? I’m guessing sometime last week because my boss has somehow transitioned from grumpy, moody, emotionally constipated overlord to swoon-worthy, kind, hand-holding dreamboat. Not that I’m complaining. I’m just… trying to keep up.
I start briefing him on what I know about the Wright file and Mrs Wright’s expectations.
Henry listens silently, nodding at intervals, his usual sharpness softened.
There’s something in his eyes — that quiet tiredness again.
It’s like he’s here, but part of him isn’t.
Still, he manages to hold his focus on me, his expression steady, calm, like he’s done this a thousand times before. I can tell it’s taking effort though.
Meanwhile, I’m vibrating with adrenaline. My first project. And I get to work on it with Henry Chase. This is like winning architectural bingo. My phone starts buzzing outside the office — the Wrights must be calling for their video meeting. My heels click along the marble as I skip out to answer.
“Hello, Henry Chase’s office, Matilda speaking.”
“Matilda, dear! Nice to hear your voice.”
My smile widens instantly. “Mr Chase! It’s so good to hear from you.”
“Is it, my dear? Well, that puts a smile on an old man’s face.”
I can almost hear the grin in his voice — he’s nothing like his son. Warm, teasing, utterly charming.
“Henry told me you were in the hospital,” I say, my tone softening. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m better, my dear. You know what doctors are like — tell you the worst and then scare the life out of my boy. But I’m fine.”
The idea of Henry being scared twists my stomach unexpectedly. I can see it — that same look of helplessness I caught flickering behind his usual control yesterday.
“Is my boy free? The doctors say I might be able to come home tomorrow, if my blood work behaves.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful news! He’s in his office — just about to join a client call, but I can let him know you rang.”
“Oh, don’t fret, darling. Tell him to call me once he’s finished.”
“Of course, Mr— sorry, James.”
He chuckles, a sound so similar to Henry’s that it makes my chest ache.
“Matilda, while I’ve got you — may I ask something?”
“Of course, James.”
“Keep an eye out for my boy, will you? He worries too much, and there’s only so much I can do from here.”
I glance through the glass at Henry. He’s flicking through papers, brow furrowed, jaw set, like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. And something inside me shifts. He isn’t just my impossible boss — he’s someone’s son, someone’s whole world.
“I will,” I say softly, “on one condition.”
“Oh?” James laughs. “Bargaining, are we? What’s your price, dear?”
“You let me help you too. Henry’s stubborn — he’s never once asked me for a personal favour. Well, unless you count that time he made me pick up his dry cleaning.”
James gasps dramatically. “He didn’t!”
I laugh. “He did. But seriously — if you need anything, please call me. Here, take my mobile number.”
“Well, I can’t refuse a lovely lady’s number, now can I?” James chuckles. He’s such a flirt. How this sunshine of a man raised a walking raincloud like Henry is beyond me.
An alert pops up — the Wrights are waiting on Teams. I quickly finish the call and patch them through.
The meeting goes surprisingly smoothly. Henry lets me jump in with suggestions, and Mrs Wright takes an instant shine to me.
By the time I’m gushing about infinity pools and ocean-view kitchens, she’s grinning like a cat in cream.
When the meeting ends, I glance at Henry — his expression unreadable.
I start gathering my notes, assuming he’ll dismiss me as usual, when I remember James’s call. “Oh — your dad rang earlier. He said the doctors might let him go home tomorrow. He sounded really good, Henry.”
His head lifts, and for the briefest moment, the exhaustion in his eyes softens into relief. “That’s… great news. Thank you.”
His gaze lingers on me — steady, searching. It’s intense enough to make my pulse trip. I have to look away before I combust.
“Oh, and Matilda,” he says quietly, his voice rough around the edges. “Great job today. Really.”
My heart flips. Great job. From Henry. I might actually frame those words.
“Y–yes,” I stammer. “Thank you. I’ll pencil in a meeting to go over the next steps.”
He nods, that small smile ghosting his lips — the kind of smile that could undo a person if they weren’t careful.
The warmth lingers long after I leave his office. I can’t seem to shake it — that heavy, magnetic pull between us. Every time I glance through the glass wall, Henry’s there, eyes on me, green and unreadable.
By the time I check the schedule and see the only slot available for our project meeting is Thursday at 5 p.m., my brain’s mush.
I send the calendar invite and swear I hear the faint chime of his computer.
When I look up, he’s already watching me — and this time, there’s the faintest flicker of a smile.
I need to leave before I start imagining things. Preferably somewhere with wine. Lots of it.
I grab my phone and text Rachel:
Matilda: Wine. My place. 8:00 p.m.?
Her reply is instant.
Sis <3: I’ll bring Chinese.
Perfect. I’ll bring the confusion, the butterflies, and the overwhelming need to figure out what the hell is happening between me and my emotionally unavailable, dangerously attractive boss.