I was nervous. I didn’t have any reason to be nervous, but I couldn’t help it. Tonight had to go well. I was pretty confident in my own abilities to schmooze and make small talk with my co-workers, but how would Emerson do? Would he have anything in common with stuffy lawyer-types, or would they look down their noses at him, the way they did to everyone—including me sometimes?

But it was too late to do anything about it. My firm had all but demanded I bring a date—and I was bringing a date.

At least I didn’t have to worry about what to wear.

I pulled out my trusty Donna Karan little black wrap dress—the one I had found five years ago in a consignment shop for a steal. It was my go-to outfit for any semi-fancy work functions—one that I could change up with jewelry and shoes. I wrestled my blonde hair into a sleek twist and applied some makeup. Nothing too outrageous—if anything, I needed to look generic and respectable. That meant nude lips, minimal eyeliner, and just a hint of blush. I added some faux diamond studs to my ears and slipped into my trusty black pumps, and I looked like I was ready. For a funeral.

Exactly how I had intended to look.

Even though it was spring, I grabbed my black pashmina and headed downstairs to meet Emerson. Construction was still in full swing, so I wove carefully through the sawdust and noise, hoping that Emerson was dressed appropriately for the evening.

When I spotted him, all of my fears dropped away, replaced by something a little more intense. Because he was dressed perfectly for the event, in a suit with a tie. He even had a pocket square and cufflinks. And he looked good.

Really, really good.

The suit, which was black, fit him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders. His shirt was light gray with a patterned black tie—but subtly patterned, nothing that would make him look out of place among my co-workers. His hair was combed, but still had a hint of unruliness.

He was delicious.

Well, technically, he was leaning over the bar, examining a document. He hadn’t noticed me yet. I sidled up to him, the click of my heels on the hardwood floors muffled by sound of construction.

“What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” I purred, once I had gotten close enough.

Emerson jumped in surprise, and I laughed.

“Getting the shit scared out of me, apparently,” he said, smiling as he turned to face me.

But the smile faded as he got his first look at me.

“Wow.” He let out a low whistle. “You look gorgeous.”

I could feel my blush rising from my chest, up my neck and across my cheeks. The look in his eyes practically set me on fire—all hunger and lust—exactly the way you wanted your date to look at you.

Too bad this was all pretend.

“You look pretty good yourself,” I managed, my voice husky.

“Thanks.” Emerson kept staring at me, his eyes sweeping up and down, as if he was imagining what I was wearing underneath my simple black dress.

For a brief moment I thought of informing him about my black lace bra and matching thong. But I knew that doing so would be setting us down a dangerous road. A sexy, hot road, but a dangerous one.

“Shall we go?” I asked.

Emerson blinked, as if trying to rid himself of his own naughty thoughts.

“I’m ready when you are,” he told me.

We headed out of the bar, and as we left, he put his hand on my lower back to guide me around some of the construction. I could feel the heat of his palm all the way through my dress. It was warm outside, but I shivered. His touch—just that simple gesture—was electric.

“I thought we’d grab a cab or a Lyft,” I said, moving away from his hand and heading in the direction of the main street.

But Emerson pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. “I can drive,” he offered, and led me to where a surprisingly sleek car was waiting. I didn’t know much about cars, but I glimpsed a Lexus badge before he opened the passenger door for me and slid inside.

His car was nice. Much nicer than what I expected a scruffy bar manager to own, not even including the fact that parking could be so bad in the Loop that owning a car was a bit of a luxury in and of itself.

Combined with the gorgeous suit that Emerson just apparently had at the ready, it was clear he had plenty for me still to figure out.

“So,” he said as we pulled away from the curb. “What do I need to know? And whose rings do we need to kiss?”

I laughed. “I guess you know how these kinds of parties work then?”

He nodded. “I’ve known a few lawyers in my time,” he commented vaguely. “The guy we met the other night, is he your boss?”

“One of them,” I confirmed. “He’s one of the partners, but I’ve done most of my work directly underneath him. I’m up for an associate position at the firm, but there are three of us in the running, and only one position available.” I glanced over at him, drinking in his handsome profile. “Parties like these are really important for our visibility at the firm. I really appreciate you coming with me,” I said sincerely, not sure if I had said it yet. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, reaching over and patting my hand.

There was that heat again. I was torn between wanting to pull away and wanting to intertwine our fingers together. Luckily I didn’t have to make a decision, because Emerson’s hand was back on the wheel before I could.

“Who’s the competition for your spot?” Emerson asked.

I filled him in on all the details as we headed towards the party. Told him about Lucinda and Bryce, about the other partners and various other co-workers. I tried not to overwhelm him with information, but he seemed to soak it all up, nodding along as I explained office dynamics.

“And how serious is this?” he gestured between us.

I paused. I hadn’t even thought about what I was going to tell people about Emerson. Lying never felt like a good thing to do to my co-workers, but I was already elbow-deep in this lie. What were a few more little omissions or fibs?

“We’ve been together since the New Year,” I told him. “That will explain why I didn’t bring you to the office Christmas party.”

He nodded. “So it’s new.”

“But we’re both committed to it,” I added. “We’re on the same track, so to speak.”

“So it’s pretty serious,” Emerson clarified.

“Serious enough that I’m bringing you to the party.”

I got the feeling that the only thing worse than not bringing a date to tonight’s party would have been to bring a guy that I was only casually dating. That would give the wrong impression of me to my apparently old-fashioned partners.

We pulled up in front of the restaurant. I took a deep breath, but before I could get out of the car, Emerson grabbed my arm.

“You’re going to do great,” he told me.

It was reassurance I hadn’t even known I had needed, but in that moment I was grateful for it. For him. I gave him a smile, and we headed inside.

Everyone was wearing black. Emerson and I fit right in, though my earrings might have been considered flashy in a crowd that seemed to favor no jewelry or adornments of any kind. The only women who were wearing any kind of color—whether it was their shoes or a brightly colored lipstick—were some of the secretaries, who had apparently decided to let loose on the weekend.

A waiter walked by with champagne, and Emerson snagged us two glasses.

“One drink,” I told him, knowing that getting drunk, or even tipsy, at this party, would be a major no-no.

“What, you mean we’re all not going to get hammered and wind up at karaoke?” Emerson teased. “He looks like he could do a mean Jay-Z.”

He nodded to Wilberson Farhydt IV, our ancient head of property law, and I nearly spluttered into my champagne.

“Emerson!” I hissed, giving him a nudge.

Emerson grinned back. “Relax, sweetheart. I can play by the rules.”

I took a breath to recover and looked around. The event was being hosted at a fancy hotel, with chandeliers glittering overhead and silent waiters making the rounds. Only the best for our firm.

“Alex!” Lucinda appeared out of the crowd, coming towards us.

She was followed by Bryce and a man and woman, who I assumed were their partners.

“So good to see you,” Lucinda said, taking my shoulders and giving me two loud, air kisses next to each ear. “This is my husband, Roland.”

Roland looked as polished and prim as his wife, his lips pursed as he shook hands.

“Lovely to meet you,” he said politely, but also like he was better than us.

No doubt the partners loved him.

“This is my fiancée, Meredith,” Bryce introduced the petite redhead at his side.

She looked sweet, but a little overwhelmed.

I introduced Emerson to everyone, and he handled it like a pro, shaking everyone’s hand and making good, confident eye contact. First impressions were everything in our business and I could tell that Emerson understood that.

“You look familiar,” Bryce told him. “Are you from Chicago?”

“Born and raised,” Emerson confirmed.

It was then that I realized that I knew absolutely nothing about Emerson’s background—not exactly ideal when we were pretending to be in a serious relationship. Hell, I didn’t even know his last name.

“Cubs or Sox?” Bryce asked him.

“Cubs, of course,” Emerson said with confidence, and I could see Bryce warming up to him. Roland too, seemed, interested.

Meredith and Lucinda gave me a grin. “Men and their sports teams,” Lucinda cooed, rolling her eyes.

I couldn’t bring myself to play along. I mean, come on. Were we supposed to hang on the sidelines swapping cookie recipes or something?

“Cubs are looking good this season,” I joined the guys’ conversation. “What do you think about Chatwood starting?”

Emerson gave me a smile. “I didn’t know you like sports,” he said in a murmur.

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” I smiled back.

“So, Emerson, where did you go to school?” Lucinda asked.

I sighed. I had gone to a state school, while Lucinda and Bryce had gone to private universities—and they sure didn’t want to let me forget it.

But it was my turn to be surprised.

“Northwestern,” Emerson replied. “Go Wildcats.”

Bryce’s eyes lit up. I sipped at my champagne as the two of them bro’ed out about college sports and fraternities at Northwestern. Even though I could tell that Lucinda didn’t care about either, she was obviously impressed with Emerson’s pedigree. Already, he was impressing them more than I ever had.

I spotted Arthur standing at the other end of the room with the partners.

“We should go say hello,” I pointed out, taking Emerson’s hand. “Thank our hosts.”

Lucinda sniffed. “We’ve already done that,” she said.

“All the more reason for us to excuse ourselves to do the same,” I said, giving her an aggressively friendly smile. “Don’t want to seem rude.”

I practically had to drag Emerson away from Bryce, his new best friend.

“You’re good at this,” I noted as we headed over to the partners. “And I didn’t know you went to Northwestern.”

Emerson shrugged. “That kind of stuff matters to some people.”

“Tell me about it.”

He gave my hand a squeeze. “Chin up, kid.”

“You handled them pretty well though.”

He shrugged. “I’m not the competition,” he said.

It wasn’t just that. Clearly, Emerson was way better at this whole schmoozing, small-talk thing than I had given him credit for.

“Alex,” Arthur greeted as we reached him and the other partners. “And Emerson, right? Good to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Emerson said, shaking his hand.

This time, it was Arthur who made the introductions, but paused before he formerly introduced Emerson.

“I’m not sure I ever got your last name,” he said.

“Hayes, Emerson Hayes.”

Suddenly, he had everyone’s attention.

“Are you Malcolm’s son?” one of the partners asked.

Emerson nodded. “Yes, sir.”

I didn’t know who Malcolm Hayes was, but I got the impression that I should. I made a note to google it on my phone when I had a moment.

We all chatted for a few minutes, but I could tell that the partners were looking at me with a newfound interest. Clearly, I had done something right by bringing Emerson. I just didn’t know what.

Emerson’s phone buzzed, and he excused himself to take the call. The minute he was out of earshot, Arthur pulled me aside.

“You didn’t mention that he was a Hayes,” he said.

I gave a non-committal shrug, hoping not to give away the fact that I’d had no idea that he was a Hayes and continued to have no idea what that meant.

“His father is exactly the kind of client we’re looking to take on. His company is very influential, and very wealthy,” he told me.

Oh. OH.

I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea that Emerson came from an important Chicago family—and how could I? We hadn’t exactly traded backgrounds, not with all the flirting. And kissing. Ahem. Either way, what difference did it make? This thing between Emerson and me was only for tonight, and it wasn’t even real. His father could have been the richest man in the country and I still wouldn’t be able to do anything to get a meeting with him. Because after this evening, Emerson and I would go back to being neighbors. Nothing more.

A few hours later, the party was starting to wind down and I was definitely ready to go home. Small talk and socializing with my co-workers was exhausting, especially after only one glass of champagne and the world’s tiniest appetizers that only seemed to leave me hungrier than when I’d arrived.

Emerson, however, showed no sign of flagging. He was doing amazingly, but now that I knew more about his father and about his upbringing, I shouldn’t have been surprised. According to Google, which I consulted when I went to the bathroom, the Hayes family were one of the oldest and most influential families in Chicago, a fact I probably would have known if I grew up here, instead of moving all over Illinois while my mom looked for work.

I took his arm and leaned in close so only he could hear me.

“Ready to get out of here?” I asked him. “I’m starving and could use a real drink.”

He gave me a look, his eyes twinkling. “I thought you’d never ask.”

We quickly said our goodbyes and retrieved his car from valet.

“What do you feel like eating?” he asked as he headed away from the restaurant.

“As long as it’s more filling than those little spinach puff things. Grease and carbs, baby, all the way.” I leaned back against his leather seats and he laughed.

“I know just the place.”

I wanted to bring up his family, but I also sensed that it would start a larger conversation. One that was probably too serious for the kind of fake relationship Emerson and I had. Besides, he’d done me a huge favor by coming to this party—he didn’t need to get hounded about his family any more than he already had.

Emerson took me to the divey-est of dive bars, and I immediately felt more at home. This was the kind of place I had gone to drink as soon as I was old enough, with sticky floors and cheap beer and peanuts on every table.

“They’ve got amazing hot dogs,” Emerson told me as we grabbed a booth.

“As long as they’ve got beer,” I responded.

He grinned at me and my stomach got all fluttery. Damn, that smile.

Once we were settled with some good Chicago dogs and a pint of beer each, I finally felt myself relax. Tugging the pins out of my hair, I let it fall free, releasing a sigh as it tumbled down my shoulders.

“Feel better?” Emerson asked, waving down a waiter for another round of beer.

“So much better,” I told him, rubbing at my scalp. “Thank you again for coming along tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a shrug. “I had a good time.”

I laughed. “You’re kind to say that, but I know how stuffy those parties are.”

He took a gulp of beer. “Yeah, I’ve had plenty of experience with stuffy parties. That was only mildly stuffy in comparison.”

I raised an eyebrow. Had he just given me permission to ask about his family? I had a pint of beer on a mostly empty stomach, so I decided to go for it.

“Yeah, it seems like your family is well known,” I said, knowing I didn’t sound remotely casual.

“They’re well known by most of Chicago,” he said, cracking open a peanut. “But we’re not close. Different priorities, I suppose.”

I nodded.

“My baby sister is always trying to broker peace, but things are better when we keep our distance,” he continued.

“You have a sister?”

He nodded. “Hayley. You actually saw her the other night. At the bar?”

The petite brunette was his sister? Immediately I could see the resemblance, and I felt foolish for the twinge of jealousy I had felt when I saw them together.

“Oh,” I said.

Emerson gave me a knowing look. “Did you think she was someone else?”

“Maybe.” I was doing a terrible job pretending not to care.

Emerson’s grin widened. “Were you jealous?”

“No!” I said quickly. Too quickly.

“You were jealous!” Emerson leaned back, his arms crossed, a pleased expression on his face. “That’s adorable.”

I threw a peanut at him and drank the rest of my beer.

“To be fair . . .” Emerson sat up, his eyes focused on me. “If I saw you with another guy, I’d be jealous as well.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just ordered another beer, all the while trying to ignore the sparks that were flying between us.

It wasn’t until Emerson parked outside my building that I realized that I was a little drunk. And it wasn’t until I almost fell onto the sidewalk trying to get out of the car, that I realized I was more than a little drunk. One glass of champagne, two beers, and I was drunk. Full stop.

That’s what you get for being too busy to party for, oooh, months now.

“Let me walk you to your door,” Emerson offered, clearly noticing that I wasn’t very steady on my feet.

He put his hand against my back, and I couldn’t help but lean into it. I felt his fingers flex against my skin, and I wanted to feel them everywhere. I wanted to touch him too, and strip off that perfect black suit to see what else he had been hiding from me.

We got to my front door, and I somehow managed to get the key into the lock. But before I turned it, I glanced over my shoulder. He was standing there, looking extremely delicious, and I couldn’t help myself. Before I could convince myself that it was a bad idea, I had my arms wrapped around his neck and I was pulling his mouth down to mine.

The moment our lips touched, it was electric. Just like it had been the first time. His lips were soft and firm, surprised at first, but the surprise didn’t last. His hands came up to my hips, pulling me close against him. I dragged my tongue along the seam of his lips until he deepened the kiss, our tongues tangling together, the taste of salt and beer overwhelming my senses. Everything about him overwhelmed me.

I reached for the door, about to open it and pull him inside with me so I could have my naughty way with him, but before I could, he pulled away. He looked as dazed as I felt, which is why I didn’t understand why he was letting go of me.

“I should go,” he said, his voice husky.

“No.” I wrapped my hand around his tie. “You should stay.”

He shook his head. “Raincheck,” he told me. “When we haven’t had this much to drink.”

He wasn’t drunk at all, I could tell, but there was something sweet about his insistence in being a gentleman. Sweet, but annoying too.

“OK,” I told him, trying not to feel rejected.

“Next time,” he promised, kissing me on the cheek. “I promise.”

I sincerely hoped it was a promise he intended to keep.