Drew has been frantic, but it only further proves what a caring man he is. The very idea of Dawson being sick, it's something that has rattled him to his core. He’s an amazing father, and that quality alone makes his appeal overwhelming.

“I got you something to drink,” I tell him, stepping further into the room. “I wasn’t sure exactly what to get, so I assumed water was the safest bet.”

“It’s perfect actually,” Drew replies.

He reaches out and takes the water, but then he holds my hand, using it to tug me closer.

“You’re amazing,” he says, giving me an intense look. “Thank you for coming to my place to check on Dawson, thank you for comforting him, and thank you for just being concerned in general.”

The way he's looking at me with that longing, almost lustful look in his eyes is hard to resist, but when it’s mixed with pure devotion, it makes my heart race so fast, I swear I might pass out.

Drew lifts his hand, trailing his finger over my jaw in a slow, tender manner, and my eyes flutter shut. In that moment, I can’t remember ever feeling so at peace. The things of my past, those that have kept me hidden from daily life, quickly fade. When his lips press to mine, I lean in toward his body, accepting his kiss, his touch.

“Well, that right there could be grounds for a lawsuit.”

I quickly pull back, pressing my fingers to my lips, as I stare at Drew with panic.

“Yes, dear, I would say you are correct.”

Drew chuckles, and I ever-so slowly peek over my shoulder to find Miranda and Vincent Powers standing in the doorway, both smiling brightly. Their eyes are locked on me and the place where Drew’s hand still firmly holds on to me.

“I’ve got her written consent,” Drew adds, playfully.

“Well then, we’re safe.” His father nods his head, as if we’ve just confirmed some type of business deal, before he moves toward the bed that holds his grandson.

I remain in place, mortified that I was caught lip-locking with the son of my boss. Though Drew seems completely unaffected, Miranda cannot seem to wipe the smile from her face.

“No rules against interoffice romance,” she says as she leans in close so that only I can hear her, “just as long as I don’t find the two of you necking during work hours. Work must go on, but on your break or after-hours, I give my complete consent for the two of you to carry on as you see fit.” With a wink, she steps around me and moves toward Dawson.

I, on the other hand, remain frozen. My throat tight, my breaths rapid, I feel like a teenager who got caught with a high school boy on a back road. How embarrassing.

* * *

I’m busy at work, still avoiding direct eye contact with Miranda. A little childish, I know, but each time I look up and our eyes connect, I get that sudden dropping feeling in my stomach. You know the one—as if my belly bottoms out and hits the floor beneath my feet. Yep, that one. It’s humiliating because that feeling alone leaves me dumbfounded and momentarily unable to speak full sentences.

It has happened twice now, and it’s barely noon.

Heaven help me.

So, imagine my reaction when Miranda steps up to my side and sets a laptop and files on the desk beside me. Yep, you got it. I jump, and a small squeak escapes me as my hand presses tightly to my chest.

“Sorry, dear,” she says. “I wanted to see if you could deliver these to Drew at his apartment. Remy planned to, but with meetings this afternoon, I just don’t think he will have the time.”

If you’ve guessed that I'm having one of those mute moments, you’re right. I attempt to respond, but once my eyes lock with hers, I dip my head once more, my chin resting on my chest.

“Sure,” I manage to get out, feeling once again like someone who has lost her mind.

One good thing about it is that Miranda seems oblivious. Either that or she doesn’t want to make things even more awkward. I'm thankful. I’m not sure I need any more humiliation. I will get past this; I know I will. I just can’t confirm when.

After I finish logging the last of the financials for Miranda’s meeting with Edgar Wilmington and Associates, I click Save and hurry to gather the items for Drew. Before I leave the office, I send him a quick text, asking how Dawson is doing and if he needs more medicine or anything else.

Drew: Hey. Thank you for asking. Dawson’s feeling much better. He’s back to his normal self. Must have been a 24-hour bug.

Me: Aw, okay. I’ll be over to drop off files for you. See you soon.

Drew: Sounds good.

I lean over, locking my computer before moving quickly toward the elevator. The impending excitement of not only seeing Drew, but Dawson as well brings a smile to my face.

Seeing them yesterday, playing together so sweetly, was the most adorable thing. I won’t lie; it did give me a flash of what my future could be like with a man like Drew.

After hailing a cab, I spend the entire drive to his place with that very same smile on my face.

Burton, the doorman, is the same man on duty when Remy and I stopped in yesterday.

He recognizes me as I enter the building and offers me a wave. “Hello, miss. It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too. Thanks.”

We share small talk about the weather and the upcoming events being held at my most favorite place—Navy Pier. It is refreshing actually. I’ve found that allowing Drew in has made it easier to allow others in, too.

He wishes me a good day and clears me to go up without even notifying Drew. It’s exciting to be able to surprise him and Dawson again. The nervous energy runs through me with each floor the elevator climbs.

A chime announcing the arrival to Drew’s apartment rings, making the excitement grow, just as the door slides open. I step out, a smile covering my face, only to come to an abrupt halt.

Laughter carries throughout the open space—not only Drew’s and Dawson’s, but a woman, too. A gorgeous, elegant woman. Perfect hair, perfect skin. She’s flawless.

Jennifer. Drew’s ex.

I watch as they hover over Dawson, both tickling him in various places. Dawson’s legs kick, and his body twists from side to side as he tries to get away.

“Stop.” He giggles. “Mommy, stop.”

My heart feels like its stopped beating, and my breath hitches. A lump’s stuck in my throat, and I’m watching Drew and Jennifer play with Dawson.

They look like a happy little family. I’m not delusional. I know they have problems and are divorced. But, at this moment, they look perfect, as if there were no problems.

I'm so lost in my own thoughts that the moment my name is spoken, I jerk in surprise. I force a smile as I step in further and thrust out the files I'd brought for him. “Sorry to barge in, but Miranda asked me to deliver these to you. The doorman let me in,” I ramble. I feel inadequate next to the bombshell, who is now curiously watching me.

“Thanks,” Drew says as he moves across the room and takes the items from me. “Reagan, you remember Jennifer”—Drew nods toward the woman—“And Jennifer you remember Reagan, my mothers’ assistant and the woman I’m dating.”

I’m momentarily ecstatic when a look of surprise takes over her face.

“Hello. It’s nice to see you again.” In that moment, I wonder if my feelings are portrayed in my fake-as-shit smile. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Another lie. I want to say, Hmm, we rarely ever talk about you.

“I wish I could say the same,” she offers.

The disdain in her smirk is a definite indication of her dislike for me. Only I don’t care. The feeling’s mutual.