Your Waiting Arms

The pressure was real when Ewan's expression turned cold. I guided Louisa into the car with my heart racing. My fingers subconsciously wrinkled the hem of my clothes.

Raindrops still clung to the short strands of hair at Ewan's forehead, but he grabbed a towel and handed it to me. "Don't let your girl catch a cold."

I was still taken aback when Louisa took the towel, thanking him politely.

Ewan's expression eased quite a bit. His gaze drifted to my dazed face, and he frowned again. "Did you take the day off just to get soaked in the rain?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized they sounded rather harsh. He rubbed his furrowed brows and asked, "Where are you headed?"

"Prime Hospital," Louisa said, rushing to defend me. "Mommy took me out for my birthday today. I've been in the hospital for so long; I haven't gone anywhere in ages."

Ewan paused, looking down at her, who clearly wasn't shy at all. Her face was thin and a little pale in a sickly way, making her eyes look even rounder and brighter. When she blinked up at him, something strange and indescribable stirred in his chest.

He had the odd feeling he'd seen her before. Almost against his will, he asked, "Where's her dad?"

"He died. A long time ago." I spoke quickly—my first words since getting in the car—then clumsily tried to change the subject.

"Thanks, Mr. Rivera. I've had a lot of things going on with my daughter lately. I won't let this happen again. I'll do my job properly."

At that, his eyes shifted from Louisa back to me. His face was austere, his eyes like deep pools that made my heart skip.

I flinched, avoiding his gaze on reflex. He didn't press for more. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and told the driver, "Take us to Prime Hospital."

We soon arrived. Ewan got out before me and grabbed a black umbrella from the car. He held it up, motioning for me to get out.

"Thanks, Mr. Rivera, but there's no need to walk us in. I'll return the umbrella tomorrow." My words came out in a rush. I just wanted to escape.

"I only have one umbrella." He stood in front of the door, almost blocking my view with his broad chest. His words came lightly from above me.

The implication was clear. If I took the umbrella, what would he use?

I gave up. I gathered Louisa close and squeezed under the umbrella with him.

We were close—close enough that he could smell the faint scent of detergent clinging to me. For some reason, it felt familiar, and his heartbeat became uneven.

He took a deep breath. To distract himself, he said, "You've been working for less than a month, yet you've taken so much time off. It was just a couple of hours off the first few times, but now you've taken the whole day. You're busier than I am."

Heat crawled up my neck as I burned with embarrassment. I lowered my eyes and said nothing.

Inside the hospital, I handed Louisa to the doctor so she could be checked. Then, when I glanced back, I saw Ewan still standing behind me, looking like he had no intention of leaving. I walked over to him and smiled awkwardly.

"Do you have anything else planned, Mr. Rivera? My family matters are dealt with, so I can go back to the office now."

Instead of answering, he asked, "What's your daughter's diagnosis?"

I wasn't sure what he was getting at, so I answered honestly. "She has a tumor and needs surgery."

"In that case, I suggest you change jobs."

I froze and looked up at him. His eyes and expression were as cool as ever. "Being my personal assistant is demanding. I don't need someone who's distracted and just hanging around for the sake of having a job."

The topic shift was abrupt, and his tone was lofty and blunt—so blunt it stung. My ears rang, and my eyes burned. I let out a short, cold laugh.

"I've only been employed for a week. On what basis do you think I'm just here to coast? I took time off for real reasons, and only after making sure my work was done. I don't see where I've failed."

He listened without missing a word, unusually quiet. He held my gaze, and for the first time, sensed something different in me.

From the first time he saw me, I'd struck him as strangely quiet—or rather, like I was hiding from something. I was like a mouse that couldn't stand the light.

But now, facing me head-on and seeing the way I kept averting my eyes, something about that felt familiar. He abruptly asked, "Have we met somewhere before?"