by S. Moose
14
Reagan
“Then, the dragon roared so loud.” Dawson’s eyes grow wide. His hands lift into the air, and he opens his mouth, baring his teeth. “Rawr.” The sound of his little growl echoes throughout the restaurant.
“Dawson,” Andrew says in warning.
But we pay him no attention.
Not for a moment do I mind his enthusiastic theatrical display. It’s refreshing because I no longer have to make small talk with Andrew. The man’s slowly breaking down my defenses, and it terrifies me. I have to be strong and in control. I have to.
“Would anyone like dessert this evening?”
Dawson and I look up, hopeful, at the waitress.
“We’re fine. Just the check,” Andrew answers before I can say anything.
The waitress nods and begins to turn away to retrieve our check.
“Excuse me,” I say.
She quickly turns back.
“This little man and I would love to see the dessert tray.”
Her face lights up with a genuine smile before she hurries off. I shift in my chair to once again focus on Dawson. Only, in the process, I catch a glimpse of Andrew’s questionable stare.
“What?” I shrug. “You can’t visit a restaurant and not check out the dessert tray. It’s mandatory. Didn’t you know that?”
For the first time since I arrived at Alinea, I smile. Not a forced, doing-my-very-best-to-remain-cordial smile. This is a full-blown, relaxed smile.
I don’t miss the surprise in Andrew’s eyes, but I quickly focus on Dawson instead. He’s clapping his hands, and he looks at Drew and then back to me.
“You have to have dinner with us all the time. Daddy doesn’t really like dessert. I don’t know why. Mommy says he’s too uptight to like anything good, and that’s why he’s mean, but Daddy’s not mean. He’s Superdad!”
I see Andrew smile at his son, and it warms my heart. The love between them is so clear.
“Back to the dragons,” Dawson excitedly says. “My bedroom has dragons.” Dawson doesn’t miss a beat. “Big ones hanging from the ceiling, and Daddy had one painted on my wall, too. It has fire and everything.”
“That sounds awesome,” I tell him just as the waitress arrives with a tray of the most delicious-looking desserts.
I’d have been happy with a cookie or even a slice of pie, but Alinea is definitely more upscale than my usual choice of restaurants. The items look almost too good to eat.
“Chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate,” Dawson says as he gets up on his knees to get a better look.
I couldn’t agree more. When I realize I’m actually nodding my head in response, I feel my cheeks heat. I’m a sweets fanatic.
“You, too, huh?”
I turn my head and look at Andrew. His smile is so big that it’s impossible not to return it.
“What?” I ask with a laugh.
“You’re going to be a bad influence on him, aren’t you?” I can tell he’s being playful. “If Dawson could eat nothing but cake and candy, he’d be the happiest kid in the world. By the way you’re practically drooling over there, I’d say you feel the same.”
For a moment, our eyes remain locked on one another’s, and a fluttering feeling fills my stomach. It’s not out of fear, not even a little. The usual tension and extreme irritation I feel in regard to Andrew is suddenly replaced with curiosity.
“I am, without a doubt, going to be a bad influence on him,” I assure him.
When he chuckles, it sets forth a rush of something I have not felt in a very long time.
Desire.
“We’ll take one of everything,” Dawson states.
And it’s my turn to laugh.
Of course, the waitress looks at us for help, and I’m not about to offer it. Tasting each and every item sounds like the perfect plan to me. It doesn’t matter what Mr. Stick Up His Butt refuses. Desserts are something I’ll never deny myself or the cutest little boy in the world. That’s why the word dessert is spelled with two Ss—because you always have seconds.
I smile at Dawson and hold up my hand, motioning for a high five. He doesn’t hesitate, letting out an excited laugh, as he slaps his hand to mine.
When we look across the table at his father, I find he’s closely watching us. I know both Dawson and I have to look ridiculous, staring back at him, as if we were two children just waiting for permission.
I can see the hesitation in his eyes.
Feeling relaxed and carefree, more than I have in so long, I take it a little step further. Pushing out my lip, dipping my chin toward my chest, I flutter my lashes and give him my best puppy-dog pout.
The sudden sound of his warm laughter makes Dawson laugh, too, but I hold the pose. You would think a grown woman—one who, only a few days ago, could barely tolerate being in the same room as Andrew—wouldn’t be so relaxed, but I am. There’s something about being around him as a father versus him as the arrogant prick with the Powers name.
“Give them what they want,” Andrew finally says.
Immediately, Dawson and I face one another and simultaneously squeal. He throws his hands in the air, and I perform a crazy little shimmy, my arms out to my sides.
“Oh, yeah,” Dawson adds.
“We are so going to taste-test every single thing,” I tell him as I rub my hands together.
“Can you share with me, too?” Andrew asks from across the table, regaining my attention.
The way he looks back at me makes the warm, fuzzy feeling turn to a smoldering flame that pools low in my stomach. Playful, yes, but there’s most definitely something else hidden within those intoxicating eyes.
“I think I can share a bite or two,” I say.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but the weight of fear and confusion lifts off my shoulders, and I’m allowing myself to have fun. There’s definitely a change between us that I’m not sure I’m ready for. The problem with that is, I’m pretty sure Andrew doesn’t care. He strikes me as a man who makes refusal impossible.
“How was dinner?”
I jump in surprise to the sound of Aimee’s voice.
“Are we a bit skittish?” she asks, stepping away from the refrigerator and cocking her brow at me.
“Creeper,” I say with a laugh. “I didn’t expect you to still be awake.”
“It’s nine!”
The look of curiosity is all over Aimee’s face. I can already hear the questions she’ll ask me, and I’ll stand here, shrugging, because I honestly don’t know the answers.
All I know is, I showed up to dinner, fully intending to have a business conversation with Andrew and Miranda about our trip to California. I was blindsided—no, I was set up. I know that now, but I’m still not sure what Miranda thought she was doing.
“Why are you acting so weird?” Aimee steps around the counter, moving in closer. “You look guilty.”
“Guilty of what?” I say with a laugh. I spin around and move down the hall, toward my room.
“Don’t move. I know you’re hiding something.”
I stop and turn around.
“I’m not sure what you’re hiding,” Aimee says.
She's going to keep following me until I tell her something juicy. Ugh. Rude best friend.
“But what I do know is that I haven’t seen you this nervous in, like…I don’t know. Forever maybe. Something’s up.”
“Nothing is up,” I tell her, turning back to go to my bedroom.
Yet she still follows. “Never once have you come home from dinner with that kind of smile after a night with Mr. Corduroy. So, who is he?” she badgers me with questions as she steps inside my room just enough to keep me from being able to block her out.
“It’s no one. I had a business dinner with Andrew,” I tell her, hoping she’ll drop the conversation and move on.
“Business dinners are never good.”
“Yep. Not fun.” I have to turn my back to her, for fear of her once again seeing right thr
ough me.
“My ass,” she challenges me. “You’re like a beacon going off, screaming, I did something dirty. Or maybe it’s that you want to do something dirty.”
I roll my eyes, my back still toward her.
“My question is, who is the man responsible for this smile you’re wearing?”
“Annoying,” I say, refusing to give her any details.
“Evasive. You should know, I won’t stop,” she says in a singsong voice.
“Oh my God, you nosy bitch.” I turn around to face her. “I was supposed to meet Miranda and her son, Andrew. Only Andrew showed up, and Miranda didn’t.” I can practically read her nasty thoughts. “Then, Dawson, his six year old, joined us, and I spent the evening talking about dragons and knights. We shared dessert and laughed. That’s why I’m smiling.”
“Andrew, huh?” she says, practically glowing with questions.
“It was not Andrew. It was Dawson who made the evening enjoyable,” I assure her.
“Okay,” she says, finally backing out of the doorway, “if you say so.”
She holds her hands out, and I say nothing. I move closer to the door, and just as I'm about to shut it, I hear her laugh.
“I think I need to get a glimpse at this Andrew character.”
Instead of responding, I close the door and fall back onto my bed.
“It was Dawson,” I whisper to myself, refusing to accept that Andrew has gotten to me.
15
Drew
Zoey, my best friend since grade school, pops into my office, beaming and laughing.
“Drew,” she yelps as she rushes over to me, throwing her arms around my neck. “He asked me to marry him, and I said yes!”
“I’m so happy for you.” I smile and place a kiss on her cheek. “Though I still don’t believe he’s worthy of you, I'm happy you’re happy. We should celebrate soon.”
“You don’t think anyone is worthy of me.” She points her finger into my chest with her brow arched, as if daring me to argue the point. “Now, first things first. We need to discuss a little something I saw a few nights ago when I was at Alinea with George.”
It’s now my turn to give her a questioning stare as I watch her smug smile reach her eyes. “And what’s that?”
“I saw you and my adorable godson dining with an absolutely gorgeous woman. So, please feel free to give me all the details. And, when I say feel free, I do mean, tell me now.”
“It was nothing.”
“Lies.” She props herself on my desk and waves her legs back and forth while knowingly looking at me.
Zoey has always been able to see through me.
“I’ve known you for over twenty years, Drew love, so don’t think it’s best to lie to me. You should know by now that you’re unable to fool me. I can sense your lies, hesitation, and need to brush things off. Now, spill.”
“I’m not lying,” I mutter as I turn to focus on an email that came in.
Reagan Halloway
Meeting Request—RE: Stintson and Powel
I hover my mouse over the meeting invitation and feel Zoey’s chin rest on my shoulder.
“Is her name Reagan? Pretty name for a very pretty girl.”
“Go away, Zoey.” I use my shoulder to nudge her and gain some space. “Now, I don’t want to celebrate with you if you’re going to be a pain in my ass about this. It’s nothing,” I slowly say, hoping that she understands to leave it alone this time.
“Bullshit.”
She grabs me up from my office chair and drags me out of my office with her arm wrapped through mine. Remy’s in the hall with Reagan, and I let him know I’ll be out with Zoey. He nods, and I don’t miss the way Reagan’s looking at me and Zoey, trying to weigh the interaction between us.
Two days have passed since my lunch with Zoey, and I haven’t seen Reagan in the office, which has made my mood unpredictable. I’ve been snapping at my staff, and I didn’t keep track of what was said during an important meeting. Luckily, Remy covered for me, and we were able to secure the Stintson and Powel Corporation account, financing their employees’ 401(k) and retirement accounts.
The dinner Reagan and I shared with Dawson plays heavy in my head. I can’t stop thinking about her and the way she was with him. Normally, I don’t bring him around the women in my life. I don’t want to confuse him or have to explain as to why, on most occasions, he’ll never see them again after one or two nights at most. The casual women I see from time to time don’t know about him. He’s the part of my life I’m very private about. I don’t want him to get any ideas or expose him to my dating world. Although the dinner we had wasn’t a date, and Reagan’s an employee, so it shouldn’t matter.
But it fucking does.
Everything that’s happened since the day I met her until now has been fucking with my head. The longer we’re apart, the more I think about her and want her. I miss her feisty mouth and her attitude.
I’ve been working from the early morning until late at night. I’ve been burying myself in work since Jennifer has Dawson, and I haven’t seen him since the night she brought him to the restaurant. We don’t have a solid custody agreement. We share our time with him, and if either of us is out of town, the other one has Dawson. It works this way.
As hard as I’ve been working, busying myself with each account I’m handling, everything reminds me of Reagan. Whenever I see her name on an email or on messenger, I want to say something smart and piss her off.
The door to my office swings open, and Zoey walks in and sits on the chair in front of my desk.
“To what do I owe this pleasure? I’ve seen you twice in one week. I’m so lucky.”
“Cut the shit. I just talked to Remy, and he said you’re being an asshat again, so it’s my best friend duty to bring you out of this mood and rescue the rest of the staff from your inability to be cordial. So, pack it up, and come on. You’re coming with me, so I can feed you and be the pacifying best buddy you’re in need of. I will say, you look like shit, and I think you kinda smell, too. So, get your ass up, and let’s go.”
“I have meetings, Zoey,” I bite out, annoyed she thinks it’s okay to come into my office and tell me what to do. Actually, I think what annoys me more is that she’s calling me out on my shit. “I’m fine. I’m behind with work, and I need to get this done.”
“No,” she tells me, “you don’t. You work twenty-four/seven. It’s noon, and I’m sure you haven’t had anything to eat. Coffee doesn’t count, so let’s go. I’m starving, and there’s Thai takeout with our names on it.”
She claps twice, and when I don’t move, she pokes her head out of my office door and calls for Remy.
“Zoey!” I shout, getting up from my chair, and moving around my desk to bring her back inside my office. “What the hell are you doing? People are working, and there are clients in the office today. I don’t need this right now.”
She narrows her eyes at me due to the harsh tone I used on her. I'm normally not this complicated or stubborn, but I’m too frustrated to deal with her today.
“Let’s go then, or I will make a scene.”
“Fine.”
I shut off my computer and bring the files I need to review tonight before the meeting next week.
When we get to Zoey’s apartment, we sit on her living room floor with beer and Thai food scattered around.
I should’ve known better than to agree to lunch with her. Other than Remy, she’s the only person who knows me and everything I’m feeling. She can get me to admit and confess the things I’d rather keep bottled up inside.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
I lean my head against the couch cushion and place the white take-out container on the ground before lifting my head again to answer. “My mother’s newest assistant, Reagan, has got this damn attitude and thinks she’s a godsend to the company. Everyone adores her, yet she rolls her eyes at me whenever I’m near her. She does her best to come nowhere near me.”
Zoey’
s eyes widen, and she nods while eating her chicken pad Thai.
“I don’t know what it is about her. I can’t stop thinking about her, and that night George saw us, I watched how she was with Dawson. It felt good, seeing him laugh, and how she treated him was something I’ve never seen from his own mother.”
I don’t go on. As little as I’ve said, when I turn to Zoey, I know she knows exactly what I’m feeling. She’s notorious for reading me like an open book, and she knows what to do to get me to open up. The look on her face tells me she knows everything she needs to know. She’s processing my words, allowing them to set her mind into overdrive. That look she has on her face is going to get me in trouble; I just know it.
“You need to ask her to dinner. Be nice to her, and stop barking at her every chance you get. I know you, Drew. It’s been a few years since your divorce, and you’re still letting that bitch hold you back. I get that Dawson is your world, but when are you going to take the time to be happy? Dawson and the company aren’t going to make you complete—not fully at least. I’ve seen you with so many different women over the years that I’ve lost count. No one’s gotten to you like this, not even Jennifer.”
“I don’t know how to approach Reagan. She’s so shielded and restrained. I don’t think one date will be enough to show her how I feel.”
“Then, try for one, and see where it leads you.”
The next morning, when I get into the office, I place a venti latte on Reagan’s desk and leave her a note, wishing her a good day.
I take off my suit jacket and power on my computer before tackling my eight-thirty conference call. Before I make the call, there’s a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” I tell whoever’s at the door.
I don’t look up until I’m connected with the call and let them know I’m present for the meeting. When I press mute, I look up and see Reagan. She’s wearing a slimming black dress with capped sleeves. Her toned and tan arms look smooth, and the way she has her hair tied to one side, cascading past her shoulder—
