Page 17 of Working For A Billionaire

Mrs. Thatcher looks up as I exit my office. "Mrs. Thatcher, has anyone called?" I ask, checking my watch.

"No, Mr. Rutherford," she says, looking at me all concerned.

Without a word, I return to my office and pick up the phone, dialing Riley's number. After a few rings, her voicemail picks up, and I hang up without leaving a message.

A sense of panic takes hold of me, and I have to see if she's all right. I spring from my chair, grabbing my keys and jacket, before heading out of the door.

"That's all for today, Mrs. Thatcher," I say as I pass, not bothering to stop and explain.

"Is everything okay, Mr. Rutherford?" She calls after me, but I step onto the waiting elevator without responding.

The drive home seems to take forever and for the first time, I wish I had a chauffeur. Then I wouldn't have to deal with maneuvering through traffic while my head is running wild.

When I get to the house I park the car in the driveway instead of the garage and hurry into the house. In the kitchen, I find Gloria starting dinner. She looks up as I walked through the door, surprised and confused.

"Good evening, Mr. Harrison," she says. "You are home earlier than usual. Dinner won't be ready for another hour. If you are hungry I can fix you something else."

"No, Gloria. I can wait for dinner. Where is Riley?" I ask, regaining my composure.

"She has been in the nursery all afternoon," she responds, pointing upstairs. "She is probably still in there."

"Thank you, Gloria."

The relief I feel, knowing Riley is okay is short-lived and quickly replaced by frustration. When I reach the nursery, I find Riley sitting on the floor with paint colors and design ideas spread out in front of her.

"Why aren't you answering your phone? I've been calling you all afternoon," I ask, breathing heavily from the sprint up the stairs.

"I have decided to take a break from technology and embrace the world around me," she responds proudly.

The frustration of the day boils over as I listen to her, and I snap. "What the hell does that even mean, Riley?"

She stands up from the floor and walks over to me. "It means I don't want to spend all my time glued to a screen. I want to be in the moment. I want to experience things."

"Can't you experience life and answer the phone at the same time?" I respond, feeling my face get hot. "It's not a difficult task. I want to be able to check on you and make sure everything is alright."

"Why wouldn't everything be alright? Don't you think if something was wrong I would have called you?" She asks, as if the thought is ridiculous.

"I don't know. You never bothered to tell me you fainted again."

"I didn't tell you, because I didn't want you to start freaking out and doing this," she responds, raising her voice.

"What am I doing, Riley?" I ask, feeling myself losing control. "Is it wrong for me to want to know if you're okay?"

She takes a deep breath, calming herself and says, "I didn't say that, Harrison."

"You keeping things from me doesn't exactly give me much confidence in your willingness to tell me when something is wrong."

She pauses for a second, then nods her head. "You're right, Harrison. I will keep my phone with me in case you call from now on."

I open my mouth, ready to attack when her words finally sink in. There is something about her presence that makes it difficult to stay mad, and I let out a sigh in defeat. "Thank you."

Suddenly all the frustration and eagerness to fight fades away, and my body feels lighter. I watch this woman as she calmly returns to the project she was working on when I walked in.

"What are you working on?" I ask, softening my tone as I kneel down beside her. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to show some interest in this whole thing.

"I'm trying to choose a theme and colors for the nursery," she answers, looking up at me.

"What about blue?" I ask.

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