A week later, I’m back to work and highly impressed with myself for staying away from Alana this long. It took determination and a healthy dose of masturbation, but it worked. But I’d by lying if I said those jack-off sessions weren’t filled with memories of her open mouth, her sexy hazel eyes looking up at me, and that fine line of spit hanging off her chin as she choked down my cock.

Holy shit.

Then, I get a call. Though I haven’t talked to him in a few weeks, my “father-in-law,” Bert Roper, the man for whom Evie and I got fake-married so he wouldn’t judge her for having a baby out of wedlock, wants to come and see us. “Miss the little tyke,” he says about Liam, but I know he really wants to see the new nanny and make sure she’s purebred and worth the money.

I’m nervous for several reasons.

One, because Alana’s nannying skills are so not worth the money I’m paying her. But for some reason, I keep her around. I never would’ve put up with an ineffective employee this long, but I also sympathize. She’s not a nanny at all—she’s in finance, trying to earn some cash while waiting for the market to stabilize and start hiring again. Also, Liam seems to be starting to like her, or at the very least tolerate her, and this kid is a lot like me (which is interesting) in that he doesn’t do well with change. If I were to hire a new nanny now, it would put him back to square one.

I’m also nervous because Bert Roper is an old school dinosaur who rules his family and ad agency with an iron fist. Besides the fact he never would’ve allowed Evie to take over the family business if he’d discovered she’d had a child without marrying the father, he’s also a staunch perfectionist. Every time I see the man, I feel the pressure to put everything in order for his visit. I live in constant fear that he’s going to find out the truth about everything—about Liam having another father, about the fake marriage to his daughter, and the fact that I don’t have legal rights to anything of Evie’s.

He loves me, but if he were to ever find out, I could end up ruined in business. And I wouldn’t put it past him to make sure I wind up dead either.

It’s five minutes ‘til four o’clock. I sit in my office trying to keep busy and not think about how every Bert Roper visit skates the edge of possible disaster. Alana walks down the hall, holding Liam, and glances into my office. Every look of hers brings erotic flashbacks to my mind. “Alana, could you change Liam into something nicer?”

She pauses, looks at the cotton onesie the baby is wearing. “This is nice.”

I sigh. Why can’t she just do what I ask of her? It’s like she’s got a massive iceberg on her shoulder that doesn’t allow herself to be ordered. “It’s fine, but my father-in-law is…” I don’t have to explain anything to her. In fact, the less she knows about me and my life, the better. “Just please change him into something evocative of a wealthy man’s child. Trust me on this.”

Alana smirks. “Fine.” I hear an audible sigh down the hall.

Two minutes until Roper’s supposed to arrive. Alana has returned holding Liam in what could be a baptismal outfit. I have no idea who gave Evie this piece of work, but he looks like a girl in a cream dress. “Is that supposed to be better?” I check the time. One minute ‘til four.

“I’m sorry,” she says, full of attitude. “Why don’t you tell me exactly which outfit you want him to wear, so I can be sure it pleases you?”

This woman and her mouth. The things I can do to it. The ways I can tame her. I have to admit, I think I like the fact that she doesn’t fawn all over every little thing I say like the ladies at the office. In short—Alana couldn’t give a rat’s ass.

I get up and wipe a speck of dust from my desk. “Because I would like for you, a grown woman with a job in childcare, to take the bull by the horns and make my request a reality, not be given every little instruction as though you were two years old.” My stomach’s in knots.

Alana glares.

Ugh, I fucking hate getting to this point with her, but she makes it so difficult.

“You know, Kase, I don’t appreciate being harassed like this,” she finally says, adjusting Liam on her hip. “Not by you, not by anyone.”

I stop a foot away from her and stare into her eyes. There’s flecks of green and brown and gold in them. There’s also heat and passion and spunk. Speaking of spunk… “Funny, I thought you liked being harassed.” I can’t help it and swipe my finger along her jawline.

Alana takes a shallow breath, presses her lips together in what looks like an effort to control her feelings, and walks off. “Can you tell me who this man is that’s coming to visit?”

“Bert Roper.”

“Wow. Thanks for elaborating, Kase.”

“He’s just…a friend, Alana. You don’t need to know anything else. And when did we stop addressing each other formally? You should be Miss Frasier, and I should be Mr. Hardwin, so make sure it stays that way, especially with Mr. Roper here, or he’ll wonder.”

“Wonder what?” She pauses at the end of the hall. Both she and Liam stare at me.

The doorbell rings. Fuck, the old man’s here. The sooner I get this visit over with, the better. When I open the door, I gasp quietly to myself. He’s looking older and more haggard than the last time I saw him, and that was only four weeks ago. “Hello, Kase. Where’s my grandson?”

I plaster on a fake smile. “Just your grandson, huh? No love for me?” I avoid using the word son-in-law, because it’s just not true. I hold out my arms.

Roper gets wheeled in by his nurse, Nettie, who’s been with him for the last ten years or so. Nettie is nice enough to give me a hug. “Poor Kase,” she whispers and pats me on the back then rolls in the old man all the way through the foyer, down the hall, and into the living room.

I check everything, as I walk behind them, making sure the house is impeccable and that there’s no baby toys, milk bottles, or plastic sippy cups on any of Evie’s teak furniture. “The house looks messier than normal,” Roper still manages to say.

I manage an easygoing laugh. “Well, there is a six-and-a-half month old living here. Speaking of which…” Moving past the wheelchair containing his oxygen tank and backpack full of life-sustaining supplies, I stretch my neck into the other hall to look for Alana. I wish she would’ve been standing here ready to receive us. “Miss Frasier? Mr. Roper’s here. Won’t you bring the baby out to see him, please?”

“Oh, Kase. Don’t make it sound so much like a request,” the old man says, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the blanket resting in his lap. If Nettie weren’t right behind him, he’d launch into a whole discussion about how saying please gives servants the impression they have a choice, that the best way to address them is by giving a clear order.

I may be living in a billionaire daughter’s home, and I may be a wealthy man myself, but I didn’t grow up with servants, and I certainly don’t care for pretending like I’m better than they are. Alana—wherever the fuck she is—is at the same level I was when I got out of college. Even though I do wish she’d make her presence known ASAP, she’s not a fucking dog.

“Right,” I say anyway. It’s easier to please the old man than arguing with him.

Luckily, Alana comes out of the restroom at that very moment. It occurs to me right then how she has to take the baby with her in order to go. In fact, she’s with Liam every waking moment, which must be rough. Wiping a bead of sweat, I say, “Mr. Roper, this is Miss Frasier, Liam’s new nanny. She’s doing a spectacular job taking care of your grandson.”

I give Alana an “I’m being generous and you better appreciate it” look.

“Hello, Mr. Roper. Very nice to make your acquaintance. What a lovely wheelchair you have there.”

I nearly slap my forehead. What a lovely wheelchair you have there? I could kill her. With my glare. With laser beams emitting from my forehead into her brain. Bracing for the insult that’s sure to come, I hear laughter coming from the wheelchair.

Roper’s having a coughing-laughing fit. He shakes and lifts his hand to Nettie for something. Nettie reads this gesture to mean he wants a cigar and pulls one out from his bag, lighting it for him. Seriously? He’s going to smoke even though he needs an oxygen mask? And around Liam?

The old man has balls, I’ll give him that.

“Where did you get this one, Kase? Wal-Mart?”

“Le Nanny, sir. New York City’s most reputable.”

Roper gives Alana an up and down glance-over, then notices the baby for the first time. “There’s my grandson. Bring him over to me, girl.”

I see Alana visibly bristle at being called “girl.” She takes tentative steps toward Roper, setting Liam down in his lap. Immediately, Liam cringes, his face fills with worry, and he turns right back around, throwing his arms up for Alana to pick him up.

Part of me cringes as well. “Oh, come on, Liam. Look at your grandpa!” I smile at the baby, encouraging him to stay with the old fart, even though I totally get his trepidation and whining that begins. But another part of me is happy for Alana. Finally, the baby prefers to be with her. I know that’s just human nature—we want what’s familiar to us—but I also think he’s starting to care for his nanny, too.

Points for Alana.

I smile at her across the room. Seemingly shocked by my moment of gratitude, she relaxes and smiles back, reaching down to hold Liam’s little hand instead of taking him away from Roper.

The old man looks up at that moment. He sees it—the smiles between us. Of course, anyone’s allowed to smile at someone else, especially an employer looking to encourage or reward an employee, but Roper seems to know more. I don’t know how he sees it in that fraction of a second, but he does, because the next look he gives me is one of disapproval.

Because Liam starts whining again and throwing his arms toward Alana, I say, “You can go, Miss Frasier. I think the baby needs to spend quality time with his grandfather.”

She nods, appreciative of the chance to get away from this awkward meeting, and disappears.

Immediately, Roper turns his eyes on me. “Like the way you’re spending time with the nanny?”

I hate the way this man feels he can say anything around his nurse. Nettie knows better than to look at me after Roper saying something so personal and insinuating. She takes a seat, choosing to stare at her nails instead.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I tell him, pit growing in my stomach.

“I’m sure you do.” Roper bounces Liam on his lap, but the kid grows increasingly agitated. “You think I haven’t lived eighty years? I know when a man and woman have had relations.”

“No, sir. I know you’re wise and experienced and by far, the only and best father-in-law I’ve ever had.” I tack on a witty smile for effect. “But I assure you, there is nothing…going on between me and my staff.”

Roper waves away the issue since it’s not what he came to discuss, right as Liam reaches his melting point and lets out a long wail. Time for rescue. I reach down and swoop the baby from his arms. “He’s just hungry. It’s his lunch time right about now. Miss Frasier?”

At that moment, Alana comes around the corner, a scowl on her face, and when she looks at me, it’s clear she’s overheard the conversation. What did she expect? For me to admit we’ve had relations? “Yes, Mr. Hardwin?”

“Could you take Liam for his lunch? He’s a little antsy.”

Another glare at me, and thanks so much for stressing my name in front of the old man. “I’d be delighted to, sir.” Biggest, fakest smile I’ve ever seen from her.

Once Alana’s ushered Liam away to the kitchen, I turn back to Roper. “Anyway, sir, how have you been?”

“Another day above the ground, Kase. The question is, how are you doing? I still can’t believe my Evie is gone. Sometimes I think I hear her talking through the house, but she’s not there.”

My heart aches—that’s how I’m doing. Though Evie and I weren’t romantic, she was still my best friend, the best damn ad executive I ever knew, a model of excellence for me and everyone who knew her. “I miss her, sir.”

“Of course. You loved her deeply. And Liam is proof of that.”

I swallow hard and try not to look like living, breathing evidence of a huge, fat lie. “True, sir. True.”

“Well, there’s more to this visit, Kase, than just smiles and questions. I wanted to let you know that my lawyers are working on contracts to pass off the business to you.”

If a cough could make your head explode, that’s what nearly happens. My windpipe fills with spit, sending me sputtering for a second. I have to turn my head and collect myself. “Excuse me?” Evie’s father wants to pass off their multi-billion ad agency to me? The same one I’ve admired my whole life?

“Well, of course, you’re my son-in-law, and my daughter’s no longer here. You’re the only man for the job. Without you, Newfound Ad Agency wouldn’t be where it is. They’re lucky to have you.”

“But sir, I would never expect to take over your business…”

“Nonsense, if Evie’s not alive to run it, then nobody else will do the job. I’ll order to have the place shut down.” He puffs his cigar, luckily being content to suck on it without lighting it inside the house. “However, as the husband of my late daughter and father of my grandson, it would give me peace of mind to know the business will have a family legacy, Kase, so think about it and let me know.” He taps the back of his wheelchair.

Nettie stands, indicating he’d like to go.

One good thing about Roper’s visits—they’re short.

The family business. Only the most prestigious ad agency in the country.

Mine?

For billions and billions of dollars?

For the first time in a while, since Evie’s death, I feel sick and teeter on the edge of throwing up. The room swirls around me, bends then rights itself again. I’m not fit for this position and I know it. I’m not the man Roper thinks I am. I’m a fake, a good ad exec, yes, but not the right man for this job. But if he shuts down, Evie’s legacy goes with it. Everything she worked hard for.

I can’t let that happen.

I can’t be a fraud either.

What the fuck will I do? First came Evie’s death, then I got full custody of Liam, then Alana entered this crazy shit show, and now Roper’s thrown a curveball at me.

The moment he leaves the house, I head upstairs, ignoring Liam’s bubbly laughs, ignoring Alana giving me strange looks from the living room, ignoring her burning urge to ask me a million questions. I ignore my phone, all texts and calls, and head straight to bed. Despondent, not knowing what the fuck I’m going to do, I lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling for the rest of the day.

Now would be a good time to pray.

If only I believed.