Page 31 of Miss Manage

Chapter Seventeen

GABRIEL

As we walked in through the double doors of the hospital, I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, forcing them to stay there and not hover over Charlotte’s back.

The color was back in her cheeks now, her shoulders squared, every trace of vulnerability tucked neatly away. By the time we stepped into the waiting room, Charlotte was once again a woman in charge.

I was grateful we were back on familiar ground.

Because earlier, on the rooftop, I’d almost leaned in and kissed her.

My boss.

After she’d gone into shock and needed help, I’d nearly taken advantage of her fragility. I’d come very close to crossing a line that would undoubtedly make me a class A asshole.

In my defense, although it was a weak one, she seemed to possess a gravitational pull, and I was powerless against it.

Had she noticed my intention? Or had she been so out of it she’d missed the whole thing? I hoped for the latter.

Sheila from HR stepped forward as soon as we walked in. With a serious expression, she motioned toward the far corner. “George’s family is here.” Her voice expressed concern. “They’re waiting for word from the surgeon.”

The woman I presumed was George’s wife had gray hair pulled back in a loose bun and tissues shredded between her fingers. Two young adults sat at her side, his children, probably, both stiff with worry.

Charlotte didn’t hesitate. She crossed the room with quiet assurance and slipped an arm around George’s wife as if comfort came naturally to her. Charlotte’s voice was low, steady, issuing calming words I couldn’t make out. Whatever she said made the older woman hold on tighter.

I hung back, watching, struck again by the way Charlotte carried her leadership with grace and poise.

George’s son stood then, his shoulders squared, his eyes glassy. “Thank you.” His voice broke. “Thank you for saving my dad’s life.”

Charlotte squeezed his hand. “It was a joint effort.” Then, remembering I was behind her, she turned. “This is Gabriel Chambers, our COO. He was there helping me this morning with your dad.”

The kid’s gaze flicked to me, gratitude raw in his eyes. For a moment I didn’t know what to do with it. George might not make it, so any appreciation felt misplaced. Meanwhile, I wanted to make sure they knew where the real credit belonged. “There were a few of us helping. But without Charlotte, none of us would’ve known what to do.”

We settled in for the wait. Charlotte excused herself long enough to call her son and update Olivia. I grabbed coffee for everyone and fired off a couple of emails to Rhys, Bobby, and a few others inquiring about George’s condition.

The quiet thrum of anxiety in the waiting room stretched until the doors finally opened, and a man in scrubs and a surgical cap stepped through. He appeared serious but not grim. I hoped that was a positive sign.

George’s wife stood immediately, tissues clutched in her hand, and her children rose at her side.

“I’m Dr. Singh. Your husband suffered a massive myocardial infarction, otherwise known as a heart attack, but he made it through surgery.” He gave them a measured look, clinical but compassionate. “It was severe enough that a stent wasn’t possible. We performed a triple bypass to restore blood flow around the blocked arteries. The next forty-eight hours are critical, but his prognosis is fair. He’s strong which will work in his favor.”

The relief in the room was palpable.

“You can see him now, Mrs. Foster,” the doctor added more gently. “He’s in recovery. Only one visitor at a time until he’s moved out of ICU, but you’re welcome to sit with him while he wakes up.”

His wife nodded and pressed her tissue to her face as though holding herself together. She turned briefly toward Charlotte. “Thank you. Thank you for saving him until the ambulance got there.”

Though Charlotte’s eyes grew misty, her voice remained steady.

“George is a good man and never goes a day without talking about how much he loves his family. My thoughts will remain here with you. Here, let me give you my cell phone number in case you need anything at all.”

What other CEO would offer her personal number to an employee’s family?

My father would’ve. I once again had to admit they were both the kind of leader who understood people came first.

The drive to Charlotte’s house passed in silence. Not the awkward kind, but the heavy, bone-deep quiet of two people wrung out by the day.

“How did the McMillion brothers take the news?” I asked at last, knowing they’d called her earlier.