Lottie flicks open the last file folder. She hands me the first set of stapled papers, neatly tagged with a half dozen little ‘sign here’ flags.

“Just the quarterly expenses for the executive floor,” she says. “Not usually an issue but you’re free to go through them more thoroughly if you like.”

“Have you looked at them?” I ask, flipping through the pages.

“Yes. Nothing jumped out at me.”

“Then I trust you.”

I grab my pen and start scrawling my signature in each of the marked places.

“What would I do without you?” I ask Lottie, as I pass the papers back across the desk to her. It’s not the first time I’ve had that thought.

“Probably drown under the crushing pile of paperwork you put off signing.”

I chuckle at that. She’s not wrong.

“Well, clearly Trent wasn’t thinking when he left me in charge,” I tease. “I think you would have made a much better acting CEO. We probably both would have been happier.”

Lottie blushes, but there’s a sparkle in her eye that says she at least partially agrees with me.

“Don’t be silly, Luke,” she says, standing. “I’m enjoying working for you, and it’s been a nice change. And now that I’ve stocked up on post-it flags, it should be smooth sailing from here on in.”

“Well, we can only hope.”

I’ve turned back to my laptop and Lottie is almost at the door when she stops and turns.

“Goodness, I almost forgot to mention — George Shapiro called. He said he was running a bit behind and would probably be about fifteen minutes late for your meeting.”

Shit. Right.

“Of course. Thanks Lottie. Just let me know when he’s here.”

After she leaves, I frantically do an email search for George Shapiro’s name, as well as anything Trent might have forwarded me from him recently. I can’t believe I completely forgot that I had another meeting with him today.

Of course, if I hadn’t been so distracted with Bree lately, I’d probably be a lot more on top of things.

Just thinking about her makes me smile though, and that’s the kind of distraction I’m happy to have in my life.

Right as I finish scanning the last of the emails, my desk phone rings. Lottie.

“Is he here?”

“Yes. Shall I send him in?”

“Sure. Might as well get this over with, right?”

“Yes, sir.” I can hear her suppressing a laugh.

A few moments later, there’s a short sharp knock on my door, and then the door is pushed open.

George Shapiro strides in, looking like a walrus in an Armani suit.

“Mr. Whittaker,” he says. I stand and reach my hand out to shake, but he’s already flopping into the chair across from my desk.

“I’ll be brief,” he says. “I know you’re a busy man.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” I say.

He peers at me over his glasses. “Then let me rephrase: I’m a busy man.”

I smile ruefully. “Of course. Please proceed.”

“The Securities and Exchange Commission have approved your registration statement, and my office is nearly finished with the prospectus. I did, however, want to bring your attention to a few things.”

“Sure.”

“Your brother continues to be on his ... parental leave. Is that correct?”

I shift in my seat. “Yes.”

“And do you know when he plans to return to the office?”

“In a couple of months. We don’t have a hard date.”

“Yes, you see that sort of thing makes investors nervous.”

“They have nothing to be worried about.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s true, but as we discussed previously, your assurances are not exactly an adequate guarantee when you’re asking people to invest millions into your company’s future.”

This again. I force myself to smile.

“Of course. Well, perhaps it would reassure them to know that Trent and I started this company together, and since its inception, I’ve been a full decision-making partner. Trent’s absence is irrelevant — we’re equal partners in this endeavor.”

I wish I was as confident as my words imply. I don’t doubt my contribution to Loft & Barn — this company was built on the back of my designs and my creative vision — but it’s also true that Trent is the true business mind behind our success.

But thankfully George Shapiro is nodding. He pushes his glasses further up his nose.

“Thank you, Mr. Whittaker. I’ll trust that your assessment is accurate. I’ve noted that your media coverage has been exceedingly positive in the last month, so I choose to believe you’ve taken our last conversation to heart.”

“I have,” I assure him. Except for the whole Bree Bailey thing, of course.

Shapiro goes on. “As you know, the IPO is a critical moment for your company. Any whiff of scandal, any nervousness among your investors — you could be talking about the difference of hundreds of millions of dollars. Preston & Walker is taking this process extremely seriously, and like Loft & Barn, we have a great deal of investment wrapped up in this offering.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” I assure him again, flashing what I hope is my most charming grin. Inside though, my stomach is churning. Any whiff of scandal, he said. I suppose that includes dating the head of our biggest competitor.

Shapiro drops a thick envelope on my desk.

“This is the initial draft of our prospectus,” he says. Now that he’s leaning forward, his stomach takes up even more room, hanging almost to his knees. But his eyes are sharp and they cut into me. “We’ll be sharing a copy with your CFO, as well as the head of your legal department. If you have any feedback, let me know. We hope to have a final version within the next two weeks.”

Without any further commentary, he pushes the chair back and stands up. His dark eyes and sharp and they roam my face, as if he’s trying to read something. I harden my jaw. He won’t get anything from me.

I don’t know what he’s looking for exactly, but I can tell it isn’t good. He’s suspicious, and I don’t know if it’s because he knows something or because he’s just suspicious by nature. Or maybe he just doesn’t like me. Either way, he’s looking at me like he thinks I might be secretly planning to sabotage the entire company.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Shapiro.”

I flip open my laptop and look away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting to me.

He stands for another moment at the door and then out of my peripheral vision I see him nod and slip out of my office door.

I breathe out a long sigh once he’s gone. The only thing I can think about is her. Bree. What this means for us.

Because I may not like the guy, but Shapiro is right. The IPO depends on people having confidence in the company. It’s not that they particularly care who I date, it’s that they won’t trust that we’re not compromised somehow, if I’m dating the head of our competing company. I know Bree would never do anything to hurt our company, but they have no reason to believe that. They would look at our relationship — or whatever it is — and see a liability. An issue to be managed.

A reason to withdraw support.

I sit back in my chair, staring blindly at my laptop screen. The responsible thing to do would be to call it off with Bree. But the thought of not getting to see her anymore, not getting to hear her laugh, not getting to work side by side with her out in my studio, not getting to bury myself balls deep inside of her when we’re done working for the day — or even before we’re done working — well, it’s just not an option. Because as much as I hate to admit it, I think I’m falling for her.

Yes. Me. Luke Whittaker, eternal bachelor. Has it bad for a woman.

But why did it have to be a Bailey?

* * *

After work I head over to Trent’s. I want to fill him in on George Shapiro’s visit, and I figure a few cuddles with my niece Libby might help get my head right.

Once again, it’s Hannah that pulls the door open when I get there.

“Luke!” she says, lighting up. “What a nice surprise. We were just sitting down to dinner.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry. I can come back tomorrow. I should have called.”

But Hannah is already shaking her head.

“Don’t be silly. Come on in. Have you eaten?”

My stomach answers by letting out a growl.

“I haven’t, actually. Is that lasagna I smell?”

“It is! And there’s plenty.”

I follow Hannah into the dining room and find Hannah’s sister Ally already at the table, with Libby in a high chair next to her. Ally is a few years older than Hannah, but they’re very close — in fact, Hannah and Trent bought a separate apartment for her just a few floors below them. Ally has multiple sclerosis and has been in a wheelchair for quite a few years now. She’s a cheerful, smart girl, with a much darker and snarkier sense of humor than Hannah. Both of them have become kind of like sisters to me, since Hannah and Trent got together.

“How’s my girl?” I say in a baby voice, as I walk up to Libby.

“I’m good, thanks,” Ally says.

“Smart ass.” I lean over to kiss Libby’s head, and then plant one on Ally’s head too.

“Still wearing the monkey suit, I see,” she says, as she pours me a glass of wine. “That must be killing you.”

“You have no idea.”

“I think he looks handsome,” Hannah says, as she arrives at the table with a plate of crusty bread rolls.

I shake my head, chuckling. “Nah — no one pulls off a suit like your husband.”

“That’s true,” she smiles.

Trent strolls in, holding an empty wine glass. “Are you talking about how good looking I am?”

“Of course we are,” Hannah says, passing him the wine bottle.

“Well, by all means, carry on.”

I pull out the seat next to me, gesturing for him to sit, but Trent shakes his head.

“Hannah has me on salad duty tonight.” He pats his stomach, which is as flat as it’s always been. “I think she’s trying to tell me something.”

Hannah swats him playfully. “I’m trying to tell you that scotch and steaks do not a complete meal make.”

Trent shrugs at me, still grinning, and then follows Hannah into the kitchen.

I turn back to Ally and find her staring at me with a strange expression on her face.

“What?”

She doesn’t say anything though, just keeps staring.

“What?” I say again. I stare down at my tie, making sure I haven’t sloshed any wine on it or something. The light steel grey fabric still looks pristine, though, so I turn back to Ally. Her face is starting to twist into a smile.

“You met someone,” she announces triumphantly.

“What? No. Would you keep your voice down?”

“Why do I need to keep my voice down if it’s not true?” She’s still grinning, but at least she whispers this time.

“Because there’s no need to be starting rumors. Why in the hell would you think that, anyway?”

To be honest, I’m dying to know, because if Ally figured it out within five minutes of seeing me, then surely other people must be able to tell too.

Ally squints, studying my face. “I don’t know, exactly. But you remind me of how Hannah was when she first got together with Trent. She just had this constant lovesick puppy look about her.”

“So you’re saying I look like a lovesick puppy.”

“Hey, if the pink sparkly collar fits ...”

“Well, you’re wrong,” I tell her. I take a swallow of my wine and try to make my face look as ... un-lovesick-puppy as possible. Ally just snickers.

“So who is she?”

“She’s no one. I mean, there is no one.” I swallow. “None but this little cutie, that is.” I cuff Libby’s chin, just so that I have an excuse to look away from Ally.

“Mmhmm.”

We’re saved at that moment by the return of Hannah and Trent. Hannah is wearing oven mitts and carrying a huge pan of lasagna, and Trent trails behind with the salad bowl.

“You should have said you needed some help,” I say. I stand and try to take the pan from her but she weaves it out of my reach.

“Sit. It’s hot.” I move the bottle of wine out of the way so she can at least reach the trivet on the table, and she and Trent set the dishes down. “By the way, Luke, did I mention that Celia and I hung out with Bree the other day?”

My cheeks redden and I can feel Ally’s eyes boring into me. “That’s nice,” I mumble.

“She’s such a sweetheart,” she says. “And so talented.”

“I guess,” I shrug. “I barely know her.”

Hannah and Ally both stare me down. Trent is the only one who seems oblivious, slicing up the lasagna and heaping helpings onto everyone’s plates.

“How’s Libby these days?” I ask, wiggling one of her feet. That should distract them.

Sure enough, we spend most of the meal being regaled with stories of cute Libby antics, and watching as Trent tries to feed her from the little bowl of pureed squash on her highchair. Trent’s efforts are admirable, but his daughter is having none of it. She eyes the lasagna as if she knows what she’s missing out on.

When we’re done eating, Ally and I clear the dishes and give Hannah and Trent a few extra minutes to just sit and relax.

I’m expecting Ally to start grilling me about Bree as soon as we’re alone in the kitchen, but to my surprise, she’s mum on the subject. When we finally rejoin the others, Hannah is pouring a glass of wine.

“Well, I think Ally and I are off-duty,” she says. “Trent says you guys are going to give Libby her bath.”

I raise my eyebrows at Trent, but he just shrugs.

“You might as well learn,” he says with a grin. “You’ll need to know this stuff some day.”

I sneak a glance at Ally. She covers her mouth with her hand, but not before I catch the broad grin that spreads across her face.

“I don’t think so,” I say, folding my arms. “But I do enjoy watching you play rubber ducky.”

“Come on,” Trent says, chuckling. “If you’re lucky, Libby will let you hold the sailboat.”

I follow him as he carries her into the bathroom, and I hold her while he fills her little baby bath.

“I met with George Shapiro today,” I tell him, as he strips off her little pink romper.

“I heard.”

“You did?”

Trent nods, still focused on Libby. “Yeah. He emailed me a copy of the draft prospectus. What did you think?”

“He’s a bit of a buffoon.”

Trent grins. “I meant of the prospectus.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, I guess everything looks good. Legal and finance are looking at it now, I think they have a few small amendments but nothing that should hold us up too much.”

“That’s great. I’m so glad this is going smoothly. I have to admit, I was a bit worried. The timing really couldn’t have been worse.” He sets Libby gently in the tub and she giggles when he pours water over her plump little belly.

“Yeah, it wasn’t ideal.” I watch him with his daughter for a few minutes, admiring the man he’s become.

“Sometimes it feels like a million years since we started Loft & Barn, doesn’t it?”

Trent looks up at me curiously. Then he sighs and nods.

“Yeah. And other times it feels like it was only yesterday.”

“Remember when we were working out of that shitty little office on Clark Street?”

Trent shakes his head, laughing. “God, that place was a dump. The only good thing about it was the ping pong table.”

I laugh too. “You got pretty good at it. You had a wicked backhand.”

He grins. “Still do, little brother.”

I lean against the counter and watch him gently wash Libby’s hair. “Remember when the biggest dream we had was to actually open a retail store?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Simpler times. Remember when we had our first Design Times feature framed and hung it on the wall? It was so cool seeing that dining room table you designed actually appear in a magazine spread.”

I shake my head. Those had been different times — working our asses off day and night to get the company off the ground. Running ourselves ragged and stressing out about every decision, every contract, every dollar spent. But we also celebrated every victory — every media mention, every sale, every dollar earned.

“Does it ever feel like we’re really far removed from the business now?”

Trent glances up. “What do you mean?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. We’re so big now that sometimes it feels like the difference between captaining a yacht and driving a speedboat. Sure, we’ve got more money and prestige now, but … don’t you ever miss the thrill of that speedboat?”

Trent doesn’t answer at first. He lifts Libby out of the tub, wraps her in a towel, and cradles her against his chest. He rubs her face gently with the edge of the towel, but he looks lost in thought. Finally, he shrugs.

“Sometimes. I don’t miss the sleepless nights or the ramen noodles, but yeah, I miss the hands-on aspect of the business.”

I gnaw at my lip. “So this IPO...” I trail off for a second, trying to gather my thoughts. “I know we discussed it for ages, but are we still sure it’s the right move?”

Trent’s brow furrows. “We can’t go back now, Luke.”

“We could, though. The prospectus hasn’t even been submitted yet.”

He’s already shaking his head though. “This is what we’ve been working towards. It’s the natural evolution for our business.”

“I know.” I sigh and shove my hand in my pockets.

“This is what we always wanted, isn’t it?” Trent asks. “When we were in that office on Clark ... Didn’t we talk about what it would be like when we saw Loft & Barn on the New York Stock Exchange? We always said that’s when we’d know we’d made it.”

He’s right. And I hate that he’s right. Maybe my feelings about Bree are starting to cloud my judgement. And that’s something I can’t have. My first priority has always been and always will be our company. It’s my life’s work — and some day it’ll be my legacy.

I sigh as I watch Trent finish toweling off Libby.

“We’re good, right Luke?” he asks, without looking up. “We’re still on the same page?”

“Yeah, we’re still on the same page.”

“Good. It looks like the prospectus will go through before I’m back, so you’ll have to continue shepherding this through.” He still hasn’t looked up at me. “George talked to you about the risks, right? We run things absolutely, a hundred percent clean until that happens. No rumors, no bad press — hell, no good press. All we need to do right now is just tick along like clockwork.”

“Of course. Yeah. You got it.” I shrug like it’s no big deal, but I’m gnawing at the inside of my cheek. Because I know what this means — and I hate it.

It means I have to stop seeing Bree Bailey.