Which one do I choose?

I stare at the two chic tops on my bed. I hate many things but top of the list is planning outfits. But I don’t mind planning today. For some reason, I feel chirpy and I am in the mood to dress up.

Okay, I know the reason.

He is 6’1 — I think — with dark eyes and wavy hair. 

I giggle to myself. Last night had felt like a scene off a movie and I cannot help but replay that stormy evening in my mind. Mr Wheeler had been my unexpected knight in shining armour. And he looked the part too, with his dark stare and that almost kiss.

Don't think about it, Maya!

I shake myself and choose one of the tops, the pink one. Being an assistant to the boss is more work than I envisioned. I have to do much more than look pretty. I help prepare his presentations and take on any leftover duties from his secretary.

Easy peasy... at least it should be, except on days when my boss takes a cup of grumpiness for breakfast.

I dress up and walk off to the kitchen to make breakfast. I woke two hours earlier to prepare, but I had gotten too much shampoo in my hair and spent minutes washing it off. I boil some eggs and set out the cereal and cereal bowls for breakfast. I am about to grab the milk when I see the time.

Shit!

I call a cab and head out. Tucking his umbrella under my arm so I don't forget it. On my way to work, I gaze at the road leading to Mr Wheeler’s ranch. I try to imagine what his house looks like. Images of all the expensive houses I've ever seen on the internet come to the fore of my thoughts, but none of them seem right.
When we reach the office block, I stop at a café for a box of cookies. It's my most affordable way of saying ‘thanks for bailing me out yesterday.’

At work, I march to his office but find it locked.

“He’s not in?” I turn to his secretary.

“Does it look like he is?” she retorts and returns to her computer.

Who spit in your coffee, sis?

I'm dying to ask her, but that'd lead to more drama. Instead, I trace my way to my office and settle on my chair, making a mental note to hop in his office for a visit the second he arrives. Until then, I have a lot of work to do.

By mid-day, I have cleared the paperwork on my desk, and even started work on one of his presentations. And that was when it hit me: he hasn't arrived yet.

I glance at my watch, a frown on my face as I watch it tick away. He was supposed to meet with a new client this morning but it is already some minutes to one.

What if the secretary lied and he's been in his office all along?

It doesn't feel right, but it's worth verifying. I jump up and make my way towards his office. As I approach his door, I hear Calla's voice behind me.

“Hey! Did you hear about the boss?”

Her question stops me in my tracks. “No. What happened?”

“I heard he called in sick.”

“What?”

“That's how I reacted too.” Calla laughs, “It's so unusual. He never calls in sick, right?”

“He doesn’t?”

“Oh,”  She smacks her forehead. “I keep forgetting you’re new here.”

Our conversation is interrupted by a coworker I haven't been introduced to yet. Her name tag reads ‘Nelly'. I think she works for the CFO of the company.

“Calla, I need your help.”

Calla indicates for her to wait, but Nelly leans in, “What's this I'm hearing about Mr Wheeler? My boss was saying that he got a call this morning. Apparently, Mr Wheeler sound really bad over the phone.” She shares, her tone hushed, eyes darting about as if Mr Wheeler would pop out from behind a desk. “I think he is seriously ill or something.”

“Oh,” I whisper.

I cannot believe it. He was perfectly fine the night before. Unless…

Oh no! He had helped me out of that storm, what if he caught something?! But he didn't even get in the rain.

Calla and Nelly soon leave and I'm left alone standing at my desk. I sigh and look around. Every other person on this floor looks busy, even in his absence. It’s as if they can feel his eyes on them even from afar.

Still, it feels awkward not having anyone bark orders at me. At last, I can hold it no longer. I grab my work cell and dial his number. It rings for a while.

“Come on, please pick up,” I mutter under my breath, tapping my foot impatiently.

Finally, the voicemail message chimes:

“You've reached the voicemail of Luke Wheeler. I'm currently unavailable. Leave a message and I'll get back to you when I am ready.”

I call again. Same thing.

I hang up without leaving a message, my mind racing, then I shrug and flip open a file. I try to focus on work, but my mind keeps drifting back to him. I imagine him lying helplessly in bed, fighting for his life against some strange disease. I grab my cell again. I call thrice this time but he doesn’t answer.

Okay, this is serious.

I jump up and gather all pending projects, and the research I was making for the new presentation. I rush out of the office and call a cab to his house.

The cab drives up to the ranch and stops in front of an elegant, well-kept residence. It's smaller than I thought it would be. I begin to feel nervous. Just how sick is he?

Only one way to find out.

“Umm…can you hang on for some minutes? I might not be staying long,” I tell the cab driver and he nods.

“If I’m not back in ten minutes, you can leave.”

Along with planning outfits, I hate to keep people waiting.

I look up at the large building. It is huge but I’m not here to admire structures. I march to the door and ring the doorbell. My stomach is in a nut and my heartbeat increases.

I hear footsteps approaching so I prepare myself mentally for what I realize might be a weird meeting.

“Who is it?” a motherly voice asks.

I squint at the door but I see no one.

“Uhhh...I'm Maya Bennett, from Mr  Wheeler's office?” I raise my badge. “Is he in? I have some files he requested.” I lie, raising the files too.

The large door opens and standing there is a short, pert woman with greying hair and soft eyes. She has an apron round her waist so I decide she is the housekeeper.

“Good afternoon. Mr Wheeler is indisposed at the moment, but you can drop off the files. I will take it to him.”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could see him for a bit. It's important.”

“He's ill,” she explains as she lets me in, “but I'm sure he'd be up for that if it's work related.”

I raise my box of cookies. “I brought some cookies too.”

She frowns at the offer.  “I doubt if he'll eat them. He hasn’t eaten a thing since dawn.”

“Since dawn?” I lower my hand.

“He says all he needs is some sleep.”

“But he needs food to get better…”

“I have tried everything. He caught a cold and…”

Wait what? I connected the dots, wondering if the short time he had spent standing with an umbrella outside my car was enough to make him sick.

“Can you hold this?” I ask her.

“Sure…” she mutters. I leave everything with her and hurry away.

I jump into the waiting can and give directions to a nearby drugstore. If he has a cold, it means I was right: I  caused this, now I need to fix it. At the drugstore, I get some medication for his cold and something to boost his appetite.

Back at the large house, I beg his housekeeper to let me use the kitchen, and I steam some hot soup. While I work, she hangs around to exchange small talk. She introduces herself as Mrs Thompson and we talk a bit about the weather and stuff.

I think she likes me.

The soup is ready within minutes. I plate it, arranging the tablets beside the bowl, before following Mrs Thompson's lead to the large doors of his bedroom.

With the tray in hand, I knock softly, but there's no response. I knock again, and this time I hear a groan.

“Leave!”

Nope!

I shake my head and push open the door. Beside me, Mrs Thompson walks away.

Nice lady.

Luke is lying in bed, partly elevated by a mound of pillows. He's facing the other way, curled up in what looks like ten blankets and the biggest duvet I've ever seen. I am feeling a lot of things: I feel protective. I want to gather him in my hands and hug the cold away. But I also feel something else, something that would make hugging him a very bad idea.

Down girl!

“Luke?” I whisper, stopping by his bed.

He turns over so quickly, it's a shock he doesn't get a whiplash. Judging by the scowl on his face, I can tell he doesn't want to be disturbed.

Sucks to be him.

I grin, lifting the bowl in my hands. “Hey there?”

His eyes round in surprise. “Ms Bennett?!”

“I thought we were on first name basis.” I tease, placing the bowl on his nightstand.

“What are you doing here?”

The sides of my lips tug in a smile. “I heard you were ill. And as your assistant, I am here to assist you get better.”

His brows knit in a frown.

“Get out.”