“Oh—wow, Henry. Thank you.”
Her smile spreads slowly, and something in me softens despite myself.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I say, hiding behind my usual sarcasm. “We still have a project to finish.”
She gives me one last smile before heading for the door, a new spring in her step.
And for the first time in days, I feel something other than exhaustion.
Nine
Matilda
Igrab my coffee and practicallysprintback 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 Henryholding my handand 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 fromgrumpy, moody, emotionally constipated overlordtoswoon-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, hisexpression 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. Myfirstproject. And I get to work on it withHenry 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 canseeit — 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?”
