My mother’s second visit to my place of business confirms that if I want to have a fighting chance with Emily, I’ll need to draw a line in the sand.

For a second time, she neglects to announce herself to my secretary before striding into my office without shutting the door. She’s in her red power suit. Red means war and domination in Diane’s legal bubble. I take it to mean that if she intended to see me today, I’ll need to keep my guard up. Way up.

“Hello, darling,” she chimes. “I missed you at the party last night.”

“Things came up.”

“And how about afterward?”

“Last night? How late are you looking for me to account for my time, Diane? Or is one of your clients looking for an alibi?”

Her relaxed disposition changes. Tension and a hint of anger flash across her face. “Did I not make myself clear a few weeks ago?”

“About what exactly?”

“I saw her van still parked in my underground guest spot when I left my apartment this morning.”

“You know her name. It’s Emily. Beyond that, what she does for you in her day job or business is no concern of mine. And I’m sure you can deduce that the converse also applies. Let me put it this way.” I lift my palms to chest height and spread my arms apart. I wave one arm and add, “Your business dealings with her is over here.” Then I wave the other arm. “My association with her is all the way over here.” It’s the closest I can come to politely telling my mother not to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.

“We’ve had a similar chat years ago, son. Never sleep with the help.”

“That time was different. Emily is not your employee. She’s a college educated professional and a service provider.”

“You know what I mean, dear.”

“I do. And honestly, I wish I didn’t have to bear witness to your gender bias. You wouldn’t show up and scold Vanessa for dating a chef.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“By the way, if I hear you’ve approached her about this at any time, you and I are gonna have a problem.” I get up from behind my desk and level my eyes with hers. “Is business over at the firm so slow that you feel the need to occupy your time with my personal life, Diane? Because I’ll tell you right now, you’re about twelve years too late.”

“Don’t you dare—” she starts, but there’s a knock on my open door. She shuts her mouth real fast.

Jackson and Caleb are standing there. “Hi, Mrs. Worthington,” Caleb says to her.

“How are you both doing?” she replies sweetly, as though she wasn’t just bent out of shape a few seconds ago. I’m sure they saw a lot and know she was pretty upset.

“Great. Uh, sorry to interrupt, Mrs. W., but we need to borrow Dylan for about an hour. One of our clients will be here soon.”

They’re not wrong about a client coming by, but in my schedule, the meeting doesn’t start for at least half an hour.

She turns to me. “I see. We’ll finish this conversation soon, son.”

Not if I can help it.

“Nice seeing you both,” she adds for Jackson and Caleb’s benefit as she leaves, head high.

As the clicking sound of her designer pumps diminishes down the hall, they walk in and make themselves comfortable on the sofa.

“What the fuck’s got Diane’s panties in a bunch?” Caleb asks.

“No fucking clue.” I’m not ready to raise the topic of Emily so early in the game. Especially not after last night went so well.

“Yeah? Because I’m sure I heard her mention something about sleeping with, what was that, you heard, Jackson? Sleeping with a chef, or with the maid?”

“I didn’t hear shit,” Jackson tells him, backing me up. He’s had his share of office gossip about him and the pet sitter, so he’s not about to engage in shit about anyone else.

Caleb however, doesn’t let it go. “So… you and that chef from the gala, huh?”

Our other friend, Foster, walks by and sees the three of us. “What’s the word? Was that Diane I just saw at the elevator bays?”

“It’s no big deal,” I tell him. “Jackson and Caleb were just leaving.”

Caleb waves me off. “His old lady was just giving him shit about some chef…or was that a maid?”

“For fuck’s sake, you two, don’t you have enough shit to handle around here? It ain’t your concern.”

“Then why do you sound so guilty?” Caleb pushes.

“Stay out of my shit. And get the fuck out of my office while you’re at it.”

I’m probably being defensive, which isn’t advisable with Caleb around. He lives for stirring up shit, and Foster has a way of jumping on the bandwagon whenever that happens.

“Which chef are we talking about?” Foster asks.

“That blonde one from the gala, I think.” Caleb folds his arms and leans back on my sofa. “You know what they say about dating a female chef, right?”

“What do they say?” Foster joins in with a broad, devious smile on his fucking face.

Caleb starts with, “They aren’t afraid to get down and dirty.”

Foster answers back with, “I hear they’re creative and love trying new things.”

It’s clear to me that the more I object, the worse they’ll get. The easiest way to shut them up is to let them say whatever the fuck they want to. Eventually, they’ll run out of shit to joke about. But they’re just getting started, so Jackson and I sit there and wait.

“They’re experts at rolling balls in the palms of their hands.”

“They’ll work day and night to please you. Or was that night and day?”

“There’s no such thing as too big for a chef.”

“They’re ready and willing to beat it until it’s stiff.”

“They know how to handle meat.”

I shake my head when they pause to get control of their laughter. “Are you done yet? Or do you want me to move the topic onto you and Rose? Or to you and your handjobs, as you fucked things up with Rose and still can’t get over it.”

“Fuck no,” Caleb says, still jovial, but the mention of Rose’s name brings out a slight flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “Not by a longshot. Want to know why? Because anything female chefs lick in the kitchen, they own.”

“They have a love for playing with fire. And they aren’t afraid of the heat.”

Thank fuck that Jace shows up with his father.

“Guys, we need to have a talk before the client gets here,” Jace announces. “It’s about this Mont Blanc deal.”

Caleb and Foster cut it out real fucking fast when they catch the humorless expressions on their faces.

“Let’s use the boardroom,” I tell them.

They’re more likely to forget all about my dating Emily with a change of scenery. I sure as shit won’t encourage them any further.

Even if I happen to agree that every fucking innuendo they’ve laid on me is probably right.