Page 12 of The Guy Who Became My Grumpy Boss

The process broke up the crystalized cobwebs in my mind, allowing me to finally relax. Here I didn’t have anything I had to plan for. I didn’t have anyone I needed to interact with. And, most importantly, here I could let myself go.

As I arranged, the bell on the front door tinkled several times. I heard Mrs. Santos talking and others answering. At the office, I dreaded hearing these things, but at the shop, I knew it wasn’t my responsibility, and I didn’t mind the murmur of voices, the quick laugh of Mrs. Santos, or the appreciation expressed by each customer.

That’s what owning the same shop in the same space in New York for almost two decades got you.

I was on to the fifth bouquet—this one with every shade of purple and pink I could find—when my phone buzzed.

My shoulders tensed up, and my fingers curled.

I had the device on do not disturb. There were only three people with the number to get through that. My aunt and uncle, and Tyrell.

I hadn’t received my proof of life picture from Aunt Mei yet today, but that shouldn’t bypass the block. Something could have happened to them.

If it was Tyrell, I was going to kill him. He knew this was my private time. Six hours a week is all I asked for, and I’d explicitly mandated that no one ever disturbed me.

After I placed the flower in my hand into the vase, I drew my phone out of my pocket.

Unknown number.

I frowned. A salesman shouldn’t be able to get through my do not disturb. I went to swipe the call away when I remembered one more person that had my emergency number.

Marissa.

She’d mentioned doing a scavenger hunt in the city today. What if something had happened to her?

Right before the call went to voicemail, I answered. “Hello?”

“Hello,” an unfamiliar man’s voice said. “Is this Peter Kim?” I heard a lot of noise in the background.

“It is.”

“I’m calling on behalf of Marissa Addams. I’m sorry to say there’s been an accident, and you are her emergency contact.”

It had been a while since I’d gone through a scenario like this in my head, so it took me a moment longer than normal to answer.

What should I ask first? What information would be the most beneficial? I decided to start with her health. “Is she seriously injured?”

“She is, but I can’t give you specifics over the phone,” the man said.

“Can you tell me if her life is in danger?”

“It shouldn’t be.”

The next question was easier. “Where is she?”

He gave the name of a hospital across town.

It would take almost two hours to get there by train.

My eyes strayed to the list. I had two more bouquets to finish.

Marissa and I had known each other for a long time. She never would have asked them to call me if it wasn’t serious.

I swallowed. I wasn’t unfamiliar with death, but it wasn’t aneasy thing to face.

“Can you come?” the man asked.

“Have you contacted her parents?” I responded.

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