Page 32 of Miss Manage

Her reply was flat. “Their first question was whether any of this left them liable. After I assured them George’s situation didn’t appear workplace-related, they indicated their assistant would send flowers.”

I’d never meet the brothers but knew them by reputation. My father’s opinion was that Arrow’s owners valued numbers above all else.

I turned into her driveway just as the sun was dipping low. The rose and gold streaking the sky glinted off the warm stucco of her Mediterranean-style home. The place looked like something out of an architectural magazine, with its arched windows, terracotta roof tiles, and lush vines curling up the stone pillars. It suited her.

Before I could shift the car into park, the front door opened and a tall teenage boy stepped out, lanky limbs and a swath of brown hair falling into his eyes. Her son, I assumed. Olivia had mentioned him but seeing him waiting there, his phone in hand, struck me with an emotion I couldn’t name.

“I texted him to let him know I was on my way home.” Charlotte was already reaching for her bag. When she glanced at me, her expression was guarded. “Thank you for everything. I’ll see you tomorrow in the office.”

“See you then.” I knew anything more would’ve sounded like too much. My gaze followed her as she opened the car door and stepped out. She paused only once to glance back at me before moving toward the house.

Austin met her halfway down the walk and pulled her into a hug. For a moment, I let myself watch the way she tucked her head against his shoulder, the weight of the day slipping off her in her son’s embrace.

A lump rose in my throat, unexpected and sharp. Watching her like this, not as my boss, not as my competition, but as a mother, revealed yet another layer of Charlotte Green. And damn if it didn’t make her even harder to ignore.

The next morning, I arrived early, not at all surprised to see the light glowing faintly beneath Charlotte’s office door. Every once in a while, I beat her in, but not often.

I knocked lightly, and at her soft, “Come in,” I pushed open the door.

She stood up from the sofa, papers in hand, her posture straight, but her eyes faintly shadowed. The navy dress looked sharp on her, but something in her expression told me she hadn’t gotten much sleep.

“Good morning. Any updates on George?” My own night had been restless, thoughts circling yesterday’s chaos, the sound of compressions and beeps replaying in my head.

Her lips curved into a small, controlled smile. “His wife texted this morning. They’ve moved him out of ICU and into a regular room, and he’s talking, alert. He’ll be in for a few days before moving to a skilled nursing center for rehab. I’ll stop by after work to see him tonight.”

“I’m glad to hear he’s improving.” My gaze lingered on her a second longer than it should have. “How are you?”

The question carried more weight than I intended.

She shifted the papers in her hand, her eyes steady on mine. “May I be blunt?”

Fuck. Was she going to call me out for almost kissing her? “By all means.”

I wasn’t a man of excuses, and none easily came to mind. Better to let her say her piece, take it on the chin, apologize, and we’d move on.

Or my ass would end up in the HR office.