Monday morning, I was back at work, but my mind kept wandering to the amazing day Emerson and I had spent at the cabin. We had stayed the night there, waking up early to make sure I got back to the city in time for work. But even though I had plenty of paperwork to occupy my time, I kept thinking about waking up in Emerson’s arms.

I wasn’t this kind of girl—the kind that got butterflies in her stomach when she got texts from the guy she was seeing. But that’s what had happened all morning. Every time my phone buzzed, I got a little thrill, hoping that it was Emerson. And every time it was, I ended up with a big, dumb grin on my face.

Miss you, his last text had said.

You just saw me, I had responded, trying to keep cool, even if it was just over text.

And I still can’t get enough, he had quickly answered.

Me too, I admitted, sending it before I could reconsider.

Kelsey would be so proud. Especially by the way I was now staring at my phone, waiting for a response.

You’re driving me to distraction, was Emerson’s follow-up text. I can’t stop thinking about how hot you were last night. And the night before.

I got hot myself, thinking of what he was talking about. Of how he had kissed me. Touched me. Made me come.

I squeezed my knees together, knowing that if I kept fantasizing about Emerson, I’d get absolutely nothing done today. As it was, I was struggling to get through the work I needed to before the day ended. That had never been a problem before. I had always been able to put guys second to my work. Emerson was the first man I’d ever met that made me want to reconsider my priorities. Maybe because he didn’t seem to have a problem with them in the first place. If anything, he was proud of my accomplishments and my dedication to my work—not threatened by it. Maybe because he understood on a deeper level what it meant to create something that you could call your own. That finding your own success was vital.

After lunch—and another series of flirty texts—I left my phone at my desk and headed to Arthur’s office to drop off the briefs I had been working on all morning.

He was on the phone when I entered, but gestured for me to come in and to close the door. I sat, the briefs of my lap, waiting for him to finish. When he did, he smiled at me.

“Are those the Anderson files?” he asked, and I nodded, handing them over.

“I’ve included some notes from the meeting,” I told him. “Just for context.”

He glanced down at them. “Excellent. I would have asked for them afterwards.” He looked at me. “That’s what we like about you, Alex. You’re always thinking a few steps ahead.” He put the brief down on his desk and laced his fingers together, leaning back in his chair. “It was a pleasure seeing Emerson the other night,” he said.

“We had a good time,” I said. “It was nice to be able to introduce him to everyone.”

At some point, I might have to come clean about the fact that I had barely known Emerson at the time of the party, but since things were going so well between us—and we actually seemed to be moving towards something more serious—I figured there wasn’t any harm in continuing the charade. Especially since it might not be a charade forever.

The thought scared and excited me. Did Emerson and I have a future together? We hadn’t spoken about it at all—and it was possible that he was just interested in something casual and fun. But I got the sense that this was something more—not just for me, but for him, too.

“Have you met his parents yet?” Arthur asked me.

It was a fairly personal question, and I was confused until I remembered how everyone had reacted when Emerson had revealed his last name.

“Not yet,” I told Arthur—wanting to be honest about that.

“Mr. Hayes an important man,” Arthur continued. “A good person to know. And as I’m sure you’re aware, the kind of person that would be beneficial to this firm.”

I was a little uncomfortable now. Was I supposed to be recruiting Emerson’s father? From what little I had figured out, they didn’t seem to have the best relationship. He hadn’t even shown up to Emerson’s big bar opening.

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind, sir,” I said, trying my best to be vague. The last thing I wanted to do was make promises I knew I couldn’t keep.

“Thank you for this,” Arthur pointed at the brief, and it was clear that I was being dismissed.

Out in the hallway, I ran into Lucinda.

“Private meetings?” she asked, her lip curled upward.

“Just delivering briefs,” I told her, not wanting to get into it with her.

“You know that everyone is talking about the fact that you landed a Hayes.” Lucinda ignored my tone and followed me back to my desk.

“I didn’t land anyone,” I responded. “I’m dating Emerson. Not his family.”

Lucinda stared at me. “Are you really that simple?”

I sat down at my desk. “What are you talking about?”

“If I had the kind of connections that you do, I would use them,” she said, her long nails tapping on the cubicle divider. “That’s what you have to do in our business.”

“I can get by on my own talent,” I told her.

She laughed. “You’re naïve if you think that you’re going to get the position just because you’re good at it. Look around—we’re all good at what we do. We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t. You have to use everything you have to your advantage. You have to be ruthless.” She shrugged. “But hey, at least there’s less competition for me!”

I was tired and drained by the time I got home that night. It was late, but Rascals was open. I paused on the corner, wondering if I should stop in to see Emerson. All of this was new to me, and I didn’t know the rules. Would dropping in make me look clingy or weird?

I decided to head straight home. I had just changed out of my work clothes and into a pair of yoga pants and a well-worn shirt when there was a knock on the door. I looked through the peephole, and my heart did the same thing it had done all day when getting a message from Emerson. Because he was there. Outside my door with a smile and a bag.

“Hi.” I opened the door, feeling a little bashful, but happy to see him.

“Hey.” He gave me a long, lingering kiss.

It left me breathless, and all my self-consciousness vanished.

“Are you busy?” he asked, holding up the bag, which smelled amazing. “I brought food.”

As if to respond, my stomach growled. We both laughed.

“I guess that answers my question,” he said.

I stepped aside to let him in, admiring the way his jeans cupped his butt as he sauntered into my apartment, putting the food down on my coffee table.

“We got a new chef,” he told me, unpacking what looked like an amazing spread of bar food. Burgers, fries, wings . . .

“How’s their grilled cheese?” I teased, coming to sit next to him on the couch.

“Not as good as mine.” He poked my arm. “But I’d love to get your opinion on the menu. Good thing you’re hungry.”

I was. I was starving. Even though we were supposed to get time off for lunch, I usually ate at my desk and ended up working at the same time, so I never got the chance to really eat a meal—and I definitely didn’t get the chance to enjoy it.

This meal I was going to enjoy. Not just because it smelled amazing, but because the effort that Emerson had taken to bring it to me meant the world to me. He was so thoughtful and considerate. None of the guys I had dated had ever been half as kind.

We ate with gusto—the food was even better than it looked.

“Yum,” I said, digging in. “Your chef is amazing.”

“Yeah, I think it was a good choice,” he told me. “I mean, she’s no Phoebe Sullivan, but I can wait.”

“You’re still hoping she’ll leave that other place for you guys?” I wanted to know, licking my fingers as I finished a salty, spicy chicken wing.

Emerson’s eyes were fixated on my mouth as I did this, and I couldn’t help but torture him a little bit, taking my time with my last two fingers, drawing them slowly out of my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said, blinking. “What did you say?”

I laughed. “You’re easily distracted.”

“Just around you,” he told me, leaning in to kiss me. “Mmm, delicious.”

I blushed.

“And no, I don’t really think that we can tempt a chef from a big restaurant to a bar like this. But a guy can dream, can’t he?” he asked with a wink.

“At least this one is fantastic,” I reminded him, taking another chicken wing. “People are going to be lining up around the block to eat at Rascals.”

“They already are,” Emerson said, the pride evident on his face. “Only a few days in and it’s looking like we’re going to be a hit.”

I threw my arms around him. “That’s wonderful,” I told him. “Congrats.”

“Thanks.” He hugged me tightly. “It feels good. Making something of myself, you know? Maybe one day the Hayes name will mean more than just my father and his father before him.”

My mind went back to what Arthur and Lucinda had said that afternoon. About Emerson’s father and connections and how important both were. For a brief moment, I thought about asking Emerson about it, but that thought was quickly dismissed. We were having a good time, there wasn’t any point in ruining it.

“We should celebrate your success,” I told him.

He grinned. “You name the time and place. I’ll be there.”

A different kind of celebrating popped into my head. A private, sexy kind of celebration. One that we could do right here. Right now.

“How about I just celebrate you,” I said, putting aside the plates and taking Emerson’s beer out of his hand.

His eyebrows went up, but he said nothing as I took a long swig of his beer. Then, I got off the couch and knelt on the floor in front of him, making room for myself between his legs. His eyebrows went even higher as I put my hands on his knees and slid them upward.

He was already hard. I could feel him through his jeans as I unbuckled his belt, and then unbuttoned his pants.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, his head falling back as I dragged his zipper down.

His hands were on the couch next to him, but I saw them curl into fists as I took him into my hand. And then into my mouth.

I was going to celebrate him. I was going to celebrate him but good.