Chapter 4 Four
Kennedy Walton guided his sleek black sedan into the underground parking garage of Walton & Co., the hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls. He parked neatly in his reserved spot, the one with his nameplate shining like a badge of authority. For most people, mornings were a slog, a half-awake march toward coffee. For Kennedy, mornings were ritual. Order. Discipline. The only things that kept the chaos at bay.
But today, as he sat behind the wheel with the engine idling, he didn’t reach for his briefcase. He didn’t adjust his tie or glance at his schedule. He stared at his reflection in the rear view mirror, jaw clenched, eyes tired from a night of little sleep.
The shrill vibration of his phone shattered the silence. He didn’t need to look at the screen. Only one person in the world called him at this hour.
He answered anyway. “Good morning, Mother.”
Priscilla Walton’s voice carried warmth, but also that familiar steel that brooked no resistance. “Kennedy, don’t ‘good morning’ me. Have you forgotten what day it is?”
Kennedy pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s Tuesday. Board meeting at ten. Strategy session at two. That’s what day it is.”
His mother sniffed in that way only she could—disapproval wrapped in affection. “It’s the day I remind you of our agreement. You promised me, Kennedy. You said you wouldn’t keep me waiting forever.”
Kennedy leaned back against the leather seat, eyes drifting shut. He’d known this conversation was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier. “Mother—”
“It’s been six years,” she interrupted sharply, her voice softening only at the edges. “Six long years since Ruth left us. Six years of you burying yourself in work and pretending that’s enough. But it isn’t. It never will be.”
At the sound of Ruth’s name, Kennedy’s chest tightened. Her smile, her laughter, her gentle hands—they all flashed like a slideshow in his mind. He still wore his wedding band on a chain around his neck, tucked under his shirt. A secret weight he carried daily. He had sworn to himself no one else would ever take her place.
“I haven’t forgotten Ruth,” he said quietly. “I never will. No woman can ever replace her.”
Priscilla’s sigh carried through the line, heavy with both love and exasperation. “Darling boy, I’m not asking you to forget her. I’m asking you to live. I want to see you happy again. And I want to see my grandchildren before I leave this world.”
Kennedy’s throat tightened. She wielded guilt like a weapon, but her voice wavered with sincerity. She wasn’t just meddling. She was lonely. She was afraid time was slipping away.
"You told me you were seeing someone?"
Kennedy sighed quietly, he had lied to his mother to keep her off his back.
“Yeah...but we're still taking things slow,” he said, stuttering a bit.
“Slow?” she echoed. “For how long?”
Silence stretched. He didn’t answer.
“Listen to me, Kennedy Walton,” Priscilla said finally, her tone brooking no argument. “I’m coming to visit this weekend. I expect to meet your fiancée. And I don’t want excuses. I want a name, a face, a woman you’re building a future with. Do I make myself clear?”
"Fiancée?" He shrieked.
"Yes, get that girl engaged before I arrive."
Kennedy’s hand tightened around the steering wheel, the leather creaking under his grip. “Mother—”
“Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”
His jaw flexed. “Yes, Mother.”
Her satisfied hum made his teeth grind. “Good. I’ll see you Saturday, darling. And please—try not to make the poor girl run for her life before then. Lord knows your stern face is enough to send girls packing.”
Before he could reply, the line went dead.
Kennedy dropped the phone onto the passenger seat, running a hand through his hair. A fiancée. As though love was a hat he could pluck off a shelf and wear again. He had no fiancée. No plans of one. He had work, a company to run, a legacy to protect. That was enough. That had to be enough.
Except now, it wasn’t.
Priscilla Walton was his mother, his only weakness, the one person in the world he couldn’t deny. If she said she was coming, she was coming. And if she expected a fiancée, he would have to produce one—or break her heart.
Neither option sat well with him.
Kennedy shut off the engine and stepped out of the car, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete. By the time he strode into the elevator, his face was carved back into the mask of control, his emotions tucked neatly out of sight.
But as he strode briskly through the gleaming lobby and onto the executive floor, his mind still storming from his mother’s request, fate decided to intervene.
He rounded a corner too sharply and collided with someone, sending a stack of freshly printed documents fluttering like startled birds to the ground.
“Watch where you’re—” His voice was sharp, cutting, harsher than he intended.
Antonia.
She froze, clutching the edge of her folder, her wide eyes colliding with his. For a moment she looked as though she’d been caught stealing the crown jewels. Kennedy’s anger was not for her—it was for himself, for his mother, for the hollow ache Ruth had left behind—but it poured out anyway, rough and unfiltered.
“Next time, keep your eyes open,” he snapped, his baritone echoing down the hall. Without waiting for her stammered apology, he brushed past, his stride unbroken, his tailored suit a blur of dark authority disappearing into the glass walls of his office.
The silence he left behind was heavy.
Antonia remained rooted to the spot, heat rushing to her cheeks. “Did… did he just yell at me?” she whispered, half to herself, half in disbelief.
“Yes, he did.”
Sarah materialized at her side, crouching to help gather the scattered papers. Her lips curved into a smirk that was equal parts sympathy and amusement. “Don’t take it personally. The man could win an award for Most Intimidating Boss. But honestly, Tonia, could you at least try not to drool when he walks by?”
Antonia gasped, flustered. “I was not drooling!”
Sarah arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Tell that to your glassy eyes and slack jaw just now. Don’t worry, you’re in good company. Every woman in this office has a crush on him. Even the married ones.”
Antonia sputtered, hugging the papers to her chest. “I don’t have a crush. I just… I was startled. That’s all.”
“Startled by his jawline? His voice? Those ridiculously broad shoulders?” Sarah teased, wagging her brows. “Please. You’re as human as the rest of us. The man is a walking temptation.”
Antonia’s gaze flicked toward the closed glass office at the end of the hall.
She swallowed hard. “He’s my boss, Sarah.”
Sarah grinned. “Which makes it even more exciting, doesn’t it?”
Antonia groaned. “You’re impossible.”
But as she turned back toward her desk, her treacherous heart thudded louder, and despite her denial, she couldn’t shake the image of those piercing eyes—so cold when they looked at her, yet so beautiful.