King of Guilt (Billionaire Kings of New York #4)

1. When Tragedy Hit

one

When Tragedy Hit

Emma

Dutifully marching on, I stepped onto the executive floor where my office was, holding the usual two cups of coffee in my hands. Arriving at my desk, I put down the cups, my purse and laptop bag, before checking the time. Even though I had been working here a little over two years, I always gave myself a little pat on the back for making it here at seven-thirty on the dot.

Making a good living and happy with my job, I was proud of my reliability and ability to always make it in time to get everything ready before my boss—the CEO of this multinational IT conglomerate—before his arrival at eight o’clock sharp. Dean Allen, too, was known for his punctuality and professionalism. We were the perfect match for working together.

As I launched my laptop, I took a sip of my coffee and thought about Agnes, his old personal assistant who had retired when I took over. I smiled as I remembered the first thing the elderly woman had said to me. “It’s no secret that Dean is a bit of an introvert. But when it comes to work, he can be ruthless. Always polite, of course, but he doesn’t tolerate a slacker. Always be on time, always be on top of things, and you’ll soon find that he’s an incredible boss.”

Ever since that day, I had taken her advice to heart. Being a Virgo, I was organized, hardworking and highly efficient. Despite the fact that I had only applied with little over three years of experience, Agnes had seen my potential during the interview and recommended me highly.

And now, I knew the ins and outs of my boss’ mind—well, at least when it came to business. Picking up his cup of coffee, shielded by its insulating cover to keep hot, I opened the door to his office and stepped inside.

But I stopped in my tracks at the sight of the scene before my eyes.

Wearing yesterday’s clothes with the tie loosened around his neck, Dean was lying on the sofa with his hand splayed over his eyes. I froze for a moment, surprised by the novel situation. Was I supposed to wake him up? Or quietly walk in, place the coffee on his desk and leave?

“Come on in, Emma. I’m awake,” I heard him whisper, ending my brief dilemma.

“Oh—Good morning, Mr. Allen.” I took a step closer, looking away as if to give him a chance to get up. Much to my surprise, he didn’t lift a finger.

“Do I smell coffee?” he said in the same defeated tone.

“Um—Yes. Should I—”

“Yes, please.” Without opening his eyes, he extended his hand in the air for me to hand him the cup. As soon as I put it against his palm, he clutched it and sat up, lowering his feet sans shoes onto the floor. I glanced down to see his shiny Italian shoes tossed carelessly next to the sofa. “Thank you.” He didn’t look up. Instead, he hung his head and lifted the cup up to his nose, taking a big whiff.

“Careful,” I whispered, wringing my hands. “It’s hot.”

“I know.” I could only see the top of his head, his thick, soft black hair in a beautiful mess. He must have spent the night here. A moment of silence stretched across the room, sucking the air around us as I hesitated.

But then I knew I had to take the lead. “Um—Do you need anything before your eight o’clock call?”

“Postpone it, please. Tomorrow. Or after. It doesn’t matter.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if studying every word before it left his lips.

“Okay.” My eyes couldn’t stop scanning him, checking for injuries or signs of an illness. “Are you feeling alright? Should I call Dr. Wexler?”

“There’s no need. I was with him all night.”

Oh, no. Was he seriously ill? He was only thirty-seven. What could it have been? “Is everything okay, Mr. Allen?”

“Emma…” Looking up at me for the first time since I’d walked in, his bloodshot eyes revealed that he either hadn’t slept at all, or had been crying. I hated the thought of my boss crying—it gave him a vulnerable human quality that dangerously stirred my protective side. “My mother’s dying,” he said. “Much faster than I can process.”

“Oh,” escaped my lips as my hand hovered over his shoulder. I wanted to give him a pat, or even better, give him a big, warm hug. But that sort of thing was frowned upon around here, especially since I had left the door open. The desperate look in his eyes broke my heart, and I was clueless on what to say or do. “I—I’m sorry… I’m so sorry to hear that, Mr. Allen.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, lowering his head once again before knocking back the scorching hot coffee, swallowing as if intending to burn his insides with it.

Afraid that I was about to lose my nerve, I took a step back, clutching my wringing hands together into interlocked fists. “I propose that I postpone all of your calls and meetings for today. ”

“You do that.” He hopelessly nodded, turning the cup in his hand and examining it for a second. “Internal meetings as well,” he added.

“Of course.” I hastened my steps toward the door, feeling agonizingly helpless. “Can I get you some breakfast?” I asked as I held the door ajar with one hand.

“Not right now. Thank you, Emma.”

Closing the door behind me, I felt my chest tighten so hard that I clutched my hand into a fist and pressed it there, massaging the tightness away.

If anyone knew how much Dean Allen worshiped his mother, it was me. For the past two years, I had been the one planning her parties and trips, helping Mr. Allen pick out her presents, and arranging for her medical checkups. From the data I had been coming across, the fifty-nine-year-old woman seemed to be in perfect health. Not a single concern tainted her history or record. So, what went wrong?

Wasn’t it enough that the poor man had to suffer the loss of his father at the tender age of fourteen?

I felt angry with the world.

Pulling a deep breath was harder than pulling a tooth, since my chest remained tight as I sat down behind my desk. Stretching my back and trying to straighten my shoulders, I reached for my coffee and took a sip. I couldn’t help the tears that had welled up in my eyes, compromising my vision as I launched Dean’s calendar to prioritize my calls based on urgency.

Devotedly, I made one cancellation and postponement call after the other, following each one with a professionally penned email for our records. The process took about an hour, with Dean still inside his office. He hadn’t called me once, nor did he step out for anything.

I was beginning to get worried .

After sending out my last email, I picked up the phone and ordered Dean’s favorite lunch—the one he had religiously ordered on all the bad days I had witnessed. I frowned while I placed the order, worrying that he wouldn’t be able to enjoy it. But the man had to eat. After that, I called the fresh juice cafeteria downstairs and asked them to send up a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. “It’s for the boss, so don’t you dare send me yesterday’s leftovers,” I instructed.

When the juice arrived, I stood up and took it from the messenger, thanking him before turning around and knocking on the door.

“Come in, Emma.” I heard Dean say.

Stepping in, I pushed up my chin only a notch as I approached his desk. Behind it, he sat with his legs over the shiny surface—still, no shoes. “It’s fresh.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” he objected. His hair remained in disarray. Not that he looked any less stunning; if anything, the randomness and devastation of the mess rendered him more beautiful. Boyishly so.

“I know.” I placed down the glass on a coaster and carefully slid it closer to him. “But we both know that nobody can think or act right when dehydrated and famished.” I paused, avoiding eye contact. “Your lunch is on the way.”

He let out an impatient sigh before blurting out, “Thanks, Emma. Please, don’t let anyone come in here today. I’m in no state.”

“Of course.” I took a step back, examining him as he stared blankly at the orange liquid. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

Before I turned around, my eyes landed on a half-full bottle of vodka and an empty glass on the corner of his desk. He had been drinking, but who in their right mind would judge him for it?

Without another word, I turned around and left the room, quietly closing the door behind me .

Every time someone called his internal landline, a little red light would blink on mine. Every time, I had the same response ready. “Something came up that requires his urgent attention. It will take all day, I’m afraid. I apologize on his behalf, but please do propose another day when we can make up for it.”

For an hour or so, I tended to my work as usual, responding to emails and other communications on Dean’s behalf. Thanks to our professional understanding and mutual trust, he had granted me access to his corporate messenger, and I was automatically copied in all of his correspondences.

When his lunch finally arrived, I took it and again knocked gently on the door.

“Come in, Emma,” he said.

Opening the door, I made sure my movement was slow to give him a chance to… put down the vodka, wipe his tears, whatever he needed to do. The first thing I had noticed was that his juice was still untouched. “I brought you a grilled cheese sandwich with fries,” I said as I stopped at the station in the corner, placing the food on the tray and unwrapping it. “I really do hope you eat something.”

“Thanks.”

Approaching with the tray, I saw him voluntarily clear a space for it in front of him. The desk was cramped with documents, files, open folders, and knickknacks of all sorts. It hadn’t looked like that when I had come in earlier to bring in the juice. They were doubtless things that had to do with Pearl, his mother. Quickly looking away so as not to catch anything I wasn’t supposed to, I placed down the tray and stepped back. “Is there anything I can bring you?”

His eyes slowly moved in a horizontal line, lingering on the now empty bottle of vodka. “The liquor cabinet. You’ll find another one of these. ”

“But, Mr. Allen—”

“Emma, you know I can bring it myself.” His eyes shot up at me, defiant and commanding. “But you offered.”

Swallowing my words, I nodded. “Of course.”

Slowly making my way over to the massive wooden antique, I prayed that his stomach wouldn’t suffer because of this. Who knew when he had eaten last, and the last thing he needed now was to fall ill himself? My hands grudgingly followed my brain’s orders, reaching for the sealed bottle on the top shelf. As I walked back toward him, I saw him take a sip of the orange juice.

There might have been hope, after all.

The hours passed, and it was nearly five o’clock when my internal landline started ringing with the green light, indicating that it was a call from Dean himself. I swiftly picked up. “Yes, Mr. Allen?”

“Emma, please bring your belongings and come in. Make it look like you’ve already left for the day, because I don’t want anyone to interrupt us.”

“Of course.”

As I quickly gathered my things, I wondered if Dean was in the right mind to delegate anything to me right now. Nonetheless, I was willing to do whatever it took to make this time easier for him.