Emma's POV:

Before leaving, I paused to check my reflection in the mirror. Satisfied with how I looked, I grabbed my keys and headed out to the car, ready to meet Brandon.

I wore my favorite red top with a pair of jeans and slipped on some high heels. My hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. I didn't want to overdress and send the wrong message, but I didn't want to look too casual either.

Getting to the restaurant didn't take long. Even though Brandon offered to pick me up, I told him we should just meet there. Anything else would have felt too much like a real date, and that wasn't the impression I wanted to give.

"Hello, ma'am, do you need a table?" the receptionist asked with a warm smile as soon as I walked in.

"Someone is already waiting for me. Mr. Simmons," I said, smiling.

"Of course, he let us know you'd be joining him. Right this way." She smiled.

"Thank you," I responded, matching her smile.

She led me through the main dining area to the back, where the booths were tucked away in a quieter, more private space. It had a VIP feel— exactly the kind of place Brandon would choose.

He was already there, sitting back with a glass of whiskey, scrolling through his phone, probably buried in work emails as usual.

"Good evening," I said, catching his attention with a smile.

As he looked my way, he took a long moment to study me from head to toe. His tongue slipped across his bottom lip, and it seemed he was completely unaware of the habit. When he finally settled his gaze on me, a slow smile appeared.

"Good evening, Emma, you look beautiful tonight," he said, his tone warm and gentle.

My cheeks turned warm at his compliment, and I gave him a small nod as I thanked him. He looked as handsome as ever. I had always seen him dressed in sharp suits, so it felt odd to find him in jeans and a simple shirt. After I thanked the receptionist, I walked into the booth and faced him.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked.

"I'll just have water. I'm driving tonight, so I can't drink." I smiled.

"That's a smart choice," he said, letting out a laugh.

A server came by, took our drink orders, and brought them back a few minutes later before leaving the two of us alone. I could not ignore the uneasy feeling that crept in. Honestly, I had spent countless moments alone with him before. This time, though, felt completely different. We were not at work, and there was nothing professional about this meeting at all.

Brandon took a slow sip of his whiskey, then looked over at me.

"Do you have a dress for the Gala?" he asked.

"I have a few dresses, but nothing that would work for an event like this. I'll find something," I replied with a small smile.

"That's unnecessary. I'll pick one out and have it sent to you," he responded, grinning.

"You have no idea what size I wear or what style I like." I laughed.

"Size 38," he answered, giving me a confident wink.

How did he even know that?

"How do you know my size?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I can tell just by looking at you," he muttered, giving me a playful wink. "Honestly, your curves make it pretty easy to guess."

I laughed and shook my head, feeling my cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.

He must have taken the time to really notice my figure if he knew my size that easily. The idea left me both amused and a little uneasy. Had he actually been paying that much attention?

"Were you checking me out?" I asked, raising my brows and trying not to smile.

"Yes, of course. Come on, Emma. I might be your boss, but I'm still a man. I notice beautiful women, and I notice their bodies, just like anyone else would. But honestly, it's only been in the last two months, after Darcy left," he added.

I shook my head and nervously bit my lower lip. His eyes were on me in a way that felt different from before. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and glanced away. I let out a quiet breath, feeling a bit unsettled since I was not used to this side of him. He was not joking like he always did. He was truly flirting with me, and I had no idea what to do about it.

"So, tell me, do you like red or black? And what about the length—would you rather wear something that hits at mid-thigh or do you want it to fall to your knees?" He leaned forward, shifting back to the topic of the dress.

"You really don't have to go out of your way. I'll pick out something myself. Buying a dress for me is not necessary," I answered, trying to sound light.

"Emma, don't make this difficult. You're doing me a favor by going with me. The least I can do is make sure you have something special to wear. Please, just answer the question for me." His voice took on a firmer edge.

I knew there was no point in trying to talk him out of this. I had known him long enough to realize that once he decided on something, he was not going to budge. I rolled my eyes and pouted a little, which only made him laugh.

"I'm still waiting for an answer, Emma," he said with a grin.

"Fine. I like red, and I'd rather have the dress at mid-thigh length. Thank you," I stammered, glancing at him.

"No need to thank me. This is just my way of showing how much I appreciate you helping me out," he remarked, still smiling. "Now, are you ready to order some food?"

I shook my head and picked up the menu, pretending to study it for a moment. After Brandon and I placed our orders with the waiter, we picked up the conversation again.

"If Darcy asks about us, just tell her we've been seeing each other casually for a few weeks," he muttered, lowering his voice.

Seeing each other for a few weeks? I had thought this whole thing was just to get under her skin for one night.

"Why would you want me to say that? And what exactly do you mean by 'seeing each other casually'?" I asked, frowning.

"If we just say you're my date for the evening, she'll figure out the real reason I brought you. When I say 'seeing each other casually,' I mean going out together, hooking up—casual sex," he answered, almost too matter-of-factly.

Was this really just going to be a web of lies?

"Are you serious right now? What am I supposed to say if she flat out asks me? Should I just admit that you and I are sleeping together?" I blurted, instantly regretting the words as my face went hot.

"Exactly," he said, giving me a mischievous wink. "Who knew you had such a dirty mouth, Emma?" His voice carried a teasing, almost wicked edge.

"Oh, just be quiet. But fine, I'll play along." I laughed as I shook my head.

"Thank you," he replied, flashing me a wide grin.

Brandon went over all the details I needed for the Gala that weekend, making sure I understood exactly what to expect. He made it sound like it would actually be a fun night, and for a moment, I forgot about all the lying. Even so, I could not help but feel nervous. I had never gone to an event like this as a guest. Every time I attended something similar, it was always because I was working for him, making sure everything ran smoothly. The thought of just relaxing and having people wait on me felt unfamiliar. I also knew there would be people whispering and staring, because everyone would recognize exactly who I was.

How predictable.

The boss and the assistant.

Maybe agreeing to this had not been the best decision after all.

But it was too late for second thoughts, and backing out now would only make things worse.

Emma's POV:

"I thought I needed to go home. I definitely drank too much tonight." Brandon tried to laugh, but his words slurred together.

Dinner ended and we found ourselves wandering into a dim bar just a few doors down. Brandon ordered glass after glass of whiskey and beer. I stayed with water and a couple of fruity drinks that did not have any alcohol.

"You know what, you might actually be right." I laughed. "Come on. Let's get you home."

"Oh, this is going to be something to remember." He grinned, his eyes sparkling.

"That is not what I meant," I replied, laughing as I stood up.

Brandon rolled his eyes and tried to get to his feet, but he swayed and nearly lost his balance. I grabbed his arm before he could stumble and kept him upright. Walking him to the car took patience and a firm grip, but I managed it without either of us taking a fall. I helped him into the passenger seat and then climbed in behind the wheel.

"So, where do you live?" I asked, glancing over at him.

I had never been to his place, so I had no idea where to go. Brandon got quiet and tapped his chin with his finger.

I could not help but laugh as he struggled to remember his own address. There was something amusing about watching him try so hard. After a few minutes, he finally blurted it out. I knew he was going to regret tonight in the morning. I typed the address into my GPS and started driving, following the route. The ride felt twice as long as usual, made heavier by the silence between us. When we finally pulled up, I stared at the house, taken aback. The place looked incredible.

The house stretched out behind tall hedges and a wide driveway, much too big for just one person to live in, if anyone asked me. I pulled up to the garage and parked. Then I got out and circled the car to help him.

"Emma, what do you think you're doing?" He laughed, reaching out and tapping my nose with his finger.

"I'm making sure your drunk self actually makes it home," I muttered, laughing along with him.

"Oh. Alright then. You need to get my keys. They're right there." He pointed at his jeans pocket.

I paused, not thrilled about fishing around in his pocket, but there really was not another option. He was way too drunk to handle it on his own. I sighed and slipped my hand into his pocket, feeling around until I touched the cold metal of his keys.

I closed my fingers around the keys and felt the cool metal press into my palm.

"It's a little more to the left," he stammered, flashing a sly, mischievous grin that left no doubt about what he really meant.

I shot him a look, knowing exactly what he was up to, and pulled my hand out of his pocket as quickly as I could with the keys in tow. He turned to me and pouted like a sulking child.

"You're really no fun tonight," he responded, crossing his arms over his chest in mock annoyance.

"Brandon, get your drunk self inside," I blurted with a chuckle. "Stop acting like a total pervert."

"I'm your boss, you do remember that, don't you, Miss Emma?" He tried to sound stern, but that lopsided grin ruined any chance of him being taken seriously.

"Keep moving," I instructed, pointing at the front door and laughing under my breath.

Brandon stuck his tongue out and pushed off the car, wobbling like a kid trying out his legs for the first time, nearly tripping over his own shoes.

I never would have guessed he'd turn out to be this kind of drunk, but I had to admit, he was making the whole night more entertaining. I walked behind him, then darted ahead to open the door before he could try to handle it himself.

"Nice view," he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.

I pretended not to notice, chalking it up to the whiskey and beer. I swung the door open and helped him inside, feeling along the wall for a light switch. When I finally found it and the room filled with light, my eyes grew wide at what I saw.

"Wow..."

He really knew how to decorate. The place looked incredible, and I had only seen the hallway and part of the living room. I glanced around and noticed some framed photos on a nearby table. He still kept pictures of himself and Darcy, including a few from their wedding day. They both looked amazing in those photos. They looked happy, and for a second, my chest tightened for him.

He clearly was not ready to let go of that chapter, and honestly, I could not blame him. He probably thought she would be his forever, that he would spend the rest of his life with her.

"I need a drink," he said, pulling away from me and weaving down the hall. I stayed close, worried he might trip over his own feet.

He wandered into a room that had been converted into a home bar. He headed right for the shelves, but before he could grab anything, I caught his arm and held him back.

"What you really need is coffee and water. You still have work in the morning, remember?" I retorted.

He turned slowly, shooting me a look that made it clear he did not appreciate the advice.

"Yes, mom," he answered, full of sarcasm.

"Where's the kitchen?" I asked, determined to save him from himself.

"Over there," he replied, pointing vaguely toward the doorway we had come through just a few minutes earlier.

That did not help at all. I realized I would have to find it myself. I looped my arm through his and kept him close, steering him away from the bottles on the shelves. After about ten minutes of wandering around that enormous house, I finally stumbled into the kitchen.

"Sit down before you fall over, Brandon. Please." I glanced at him.

"Alright," he whispered, sliding onto the edge of the breakfast counter.

I searched through cabinets and drawers until I found the coffee machine, then set to work making a pot of strong coffee. I poured two mugs—one for him and one for me—and sat across from him at the counter. He stared down at his hands, his face clouded with something heavy and sad.

"Brandon, are you okay?" I asked, my voice softening.

"No, I'm really not. I hate this house. It's too big and too empty. I need to leave. I just... can't stay here anymore." His voice was weighed down by sadness and defeat.

"Why couldn't I move on like she did, Emma? She moved on even before we ended things—so why am I still stuck? It's been six damn months, and I still feel like nothing but a shadow of the man I used to be." His voice trembled, anger and disappointment sharpening every word.

My chest tightened for him. The pain in his eyes was raw, and I would never wish that kind of hurt on anyone.

I reached across the counter and placed my hand gently over his.

"You loved her, Brandon. You still do, and that's why it hurts so much. It doesn't make you pathetic, not one bit. You just need more time. You'll get through this—maybe not today, but eventually. That's what being human means, and it's okay to feel this way. I promise, it won't last forever." I tried to smile, hoping it might help.

He let out a shaky sigh and raked his fingers through his hair.

"I really hope you're right, Emma," he replied quietly, lifting his mug and taking a long sip of coffee.

A quiet settled over us, heavy but gentle. He drifted into his thoughts, probably thinking about everything he had lost and all the pieces he still had to pick up. I did not say another word. I let him sit with his memories until he finished the last of his coffee.

"I probably should head to bed," he said, pushing himself up from the counter but nearly losing his balance the second he stood.

"Come on, let me help you. Just tell me where your room is," I stammered.

"Thanks for looking after me, Emma. Would you mind coming by to pick me up before work tomorrow? I really don't want to call my driver. He'll give me another lecture about drinking too much, and I don't have the energy for that right now." He managed a tired smile.

"Of course," I responded.

We made our way to his bedroom together. As soon as we walked in, he peeled off his underwear and plopped down on the edge of the bed without a second thought. I tried my hardest not to stare, but I caught myself glancing before quickly turning away, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over me.

"Emma, what if nobody ever loves me again? And what if I never fall in love with anyone else?" He looked up at me, his eyes full of uncertainty.

I walked over and sat beside him, turning so I could look at him clearly.

"That won't happen, Brandon. You will find love again when you are ready, and I truly believe there's someone out there waiting for you." I smiled, hoping to reassure him.

"I hope you're right. It just feels unreal sometimes. I'm thirty-two and already going through a divorce. That wasn't what I imagined when we got married seven years ago. By now, I thought we'd have kids, a real family. Instead, I'm just here. Alone. All I have left is work, Emma." The sadness in his voice made him seem even smaller than before.

I inched closer and set my hand on his knee.

"You will have that family someday, Brandon. When you meet the right woman, everything will fall into place. Darcy wasn't that person, because if she had been, you two would still be together."

"Maybe," he muttered, giving a tired shrug before stretching out on the bed.

"Is there anything you need, Brandon?" I asked quietly.

"Will you stay?" he asked.

His question caught me off guard.

That was the last thing I ever thought he would say. He looked at me with pleading eyes, and I could see just how much he needed someone there. I should have told him no, but I could not bring myself to say it.

"Please? I just don't want to be alone tonight." His voice was soft. "There are a few things in that drawer, if you need something to sleep in," he added, glancing toward the nightstand.

"Alright," I said, giving him a gentle smile. "But where exactly am I supposed to sleep?"

He gave a small, hopeful grin and scooted to the far side of the bed, patting the empty spot next to him.

"I'll just crash on the couch," I teased, nodding at the oversized sofa by the window.

"Fine, but I'm going to remember that." He stuck out his lip in an exaggerated pout.

I let him sulk, but within minutes, he was already fast asleep. I slipped out of bed quietly, pulled the comforter over him, and gently brushed a hand across his cheek.

"You're going to be alright, Brandon," I whispered, hoping my words would be true.

I headed back to the kitchen and filled a glass with water for him. He would definitely need it when morning came. Then I searched around for a blanket and a couple of pillows to set up the sofa for myself. In one of the drawers, I found a plain t-shirt that would do for pajamas. I knew I probably would not get much sleep—staying overnight at someone else's place always left me restless. Mostly, I just hoped he would not be upset to find me there in the morning. With how much he drank tonight, there was a good chance he would not even remember asking me to stay.