Page 1 of King of Guilt

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.

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