BOUND TO THE CRIPPLED CEO

DANICA

I wiped a tear quickly away from my already wet cheeks, carefully trying not to let it spill on Valerie. This morning's incident had left me very much shaken—even though it wasn't the first time it was happening.

“Can you hear me? Baby, please… mummy needs you,” I cried out, placing my hand gently on hers.”

“She’s going to be alright, Miss McKellar.”

Oh God,” I whispered, my voice cracking as two tears slipped down my cheek.

“You did what mattered most, you stopped the seizure before bringing her in and that helped more than you know.”

The doctor’s voice was calm, but my brain could barely register it as my eyes stayed locked on Valerie, lying still on the small hospital bed.

“How soon will she wake up? Will she be able to come home today?” I asked, my gaze briefly diverting from Valerie’s face.

She glanced at the brown file in her hand. “Her records show this isn’t the first time. But yes, she’ll be fine. You should be able to take her home in a few hours.”

Relief washed over me like a wave. “Thank you… Thank you so much.”

“Stay strong Miss McKellar, your daughter would want you to,” she gave me a gentle nod, “please excuse me while I check on others.”

“Of course,” I murmured, trying to swallow the heavy lump of fear and uncertainty stuck in my throat. 

I leaned closer, brushing away strands of hair off Valerie's forehead before planting a soft kiss in its place.

One moment Valerie was giggling, bouncing on the mattress, the next she was sprawled on the floor, convulsing. I had rushed to the hospital like my life depended on it—because it did. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to force the image away, but it only made the pain more real. 

My hands trembled as my handkerchief dabbed at the fresh batch of tears streaming down my cheeks, a glint of silver catching my eye–my wristwatch. 

My heart dropped. 

“Shoot!” I muttered.

I had completely forgotten about work, and now I was seriously late for my Friday appointment. 

Mia, my boss's PA, had warned me from the onset never to be late. And calling now to cancel? Not an option. I had to move fast and that meant catching the next available bus and hoping for a miracle—or better still miracles. I kissed Valerie one more time, before rushing out the door.

I checked my watch for what felt like the upteenth time as I stepped into the dining room, my pumps clicking hard against the expensive marble tiles like a time bomb. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, tickling my nostrils.

“You’re late,” he said, in a cold tone. 

Ivan Clarkson–my boss, sat at the head of the long dining table, with arms crossed over his chest and his wheelchair positioned squarely like a throne. His expression was unreadable, except for the flash of anger and displeasure in his stormy grey eyes.

“Good morning, Mr Ivan,” I greeted quickly, forcing a smile on my face, despite the knot tying in her chest.

“You’re exactly twenty-five minutes late for my morning outdoor session,” he snapped in an irritating manner, wiping his lips with a napkin, each movement deliberate, as he glanced at the wall clock opposite me. “I thought I hired a professional. One who's supposed to be punctual.” He growled loudly.

“I’m sorry Mr. Ivan, I had an emergency and needed to stop at the hospital…”

Before I could finish, he snatched a plate, and sent it flying mere inches past my face. A gasp escaped my lips, my pupils dilating in shock as I swiftly ducked to the side, making the plate shatter against the wall behind me, the sound echoing through the four corners of the dining room.

I braced myself for his next outburst. There was always a next outburst with my thirty nine years old crippled boss.

“I don’t care about your silly excuses,” he thundered. “I’m the one doing all the work—pushing myself to walk again and you’re getting paid to show up late?” his voice rose, bitter with frustration.

My throat tightened as my mind raced on how to pacify him—someone who had nearly killed me with a porcelain plate just now. Great!

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ivan… truly. You have absolutely nothing t-to worry about…you’re on track and surely in no time you'd be properly back on your feet.” 

“Oh, I’m on track?” he mocked, “I was promised results! One month! That’s what the doctors said, and look at me—still stuck in this damn chair.”

“Notwithstanding, we've made steady progress,” my words tumbled out in a rush, “perhaps in a little while…”

“Spare me all of that!” He cut me off with a scoff, “that's just so vague, anyone can say that.”

I swallowed hard, “please, I’ve worked in situations like this before, and—”

“Situations like this? I never knew you had a knack for working with crippled CEO’s,” he pounced.

My face flushed.

“You think you can compare the pains I've suffered to your previous clients? Oh, I see! You’ve labeled me already, ‘the crippled Ivan of Clarkson Cars’.”

“No. I’d never…”

“You have. I see it in your face, every damn time!” he jabbed a finger in my direction accusingly. “I don’t pay for pity, I pay for results. Outstanding ones. Do you think I built an empire by hiring people who show up late and think that’s enough?”

I winced as he slammed both fists on the table, rattling the coffee cups–its content splashing across the table cloth. 

“I’m sorry, please believe me, I got caught up in the hospital.” I pleaded.

I watched as he closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temples. Then, with a loud frustrated groan, he shoved back his wheelchair, gripping the edge of the table to lift himself up.

Alarm jolted through me, making me rush forward instinctively, not wanting him to suffer anymore than he already was.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” I warned, reaching out to him with outstretched arms. “You could undo the progress we’ve made or worse still, pop a vein and hurt yourself.”

His eyes snapped open.

“How dare you lecture me?” Out of the blues, his palm connected with my left cheek, driving raw pain into me. Pain that made me see stars, causing me to stagger.

“Get out this instant!” he slumped back on his wheelchair, his eyes flaring with indignation. “I'll let Mia know that I might need a new therapist, since the one here clearly doesn't know how to obey orders.”

“Please… Mr. Ivan, I’m willing to work harder. I just… I can’t afford to lose this job,” my voice quivered while my fingers traced the side of my face still warm from his slap. 

His eyes narrowed. “Can’t afford to?” he repeated. “I’ll decide whether or not you’re still worthy of being here, this is your last warning, McKellar. I won't be so merciful next time,” his gaze pierced into me like laser beams. “Understood?

The humiliation was sharp enough to cut me into pieces. I felt the tears pricking at the corners of my eyelids but I refused to let them fall. “Yes, s-sir,”

“What are you waiting for? Get out!” he ordered.

“I promise this won’t happen again sir.” I pleaded once more.

“See that it doesn’t, now get out,” he growled, pointing towards the door.

Turning, I fled the dining room, closing the door behind me. The treacherous tears I'd been suppressing flowed out, blurring my vision.

I absolutely couldn't afford to lose this job now–not with Valerie's health condition and other bills that were constantly mounting higher each month. 

My mobile phone buzzed in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts.

"Miss Danica McKellar, we need you back at the hospital immediately. Something went wrong.”

My blood turned cold.