"I'll break down your walls one by one and sneak into the gates of your icy heart before crushing it into tiny pieces." He murmurs mercilessly as his lips lightly brush my ear, the contact eliciting an indescribable sensation through every inch of m...
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Over the next few days, my visits to the clinic remain frequent.
Tuesday was my 15th visit to the clinic for another physical therapy session.
While the physical therapist observed improvement in my right arm's range of motion, he advised that more visits were needed to get my arm mobility back on track.
I thought that after a month, I'd be free to fully use my arm for everyday tasks, but it's becoming wishful thinking.
My condition doesn't stop me from marching to the office halls of Varos Inc. the next morning.
Ignoring the many curious glances thrown my way from employees, I make a beeline to my office.
They whisper among themselves, gossiping about the latest scoop involving me, the CEO whose demise has been publicized and exploited by the media for millions to witness.
Despite Ludovic talking me out of returning to office duties this morning, it's safe to say I was rebellious.
Ever since I got shot, he's been overprotective of me.
Can you blame him?
Landford shot you out cold, and you went through another attempted gunshot attack.
"Mrs. Chair, you're back." Vanna is the first to greet me from afar, as she waves her hand from her desk, "Good morning!
Despite being on a phone call, she pauses to greet me.
With a closed smile, I give her a curt nod, "Morning."
After her visit to the hospital, Vanna has been sending me weekly texts to check in.
A part of me has been appreciative that she didn't bring up the topic of work or my physical condition in her texts.
Once I slide the transparent door to my office open, the first thing I notice is the pile of documents and folders on my desk.
Despite the volume of documents, they're not as much as I anticipated.
"You're back," the disembodied voice causes me to shift my gaze.
Klein heaves into view after closing the door behind him.
"Yep," I confirm before gesturing to the documents, "and from the looks of it, you've been managing things pretty well. I expected a mountain of files on my desk."
Klein wears a look of satisfaction, "I told you I had everything under control."
As I secure a seat on the rotating chair behind my desk, he asks, "How are you holding up? Have the police caught the culprit?"
"No,"
The Seattle PD is a topic I'm not in the mood to discuss.
