Brandon's POV:

I woke up to my alarm blaring, my head pounding so hard it felt like someone had taken a hammer to my skull. I groaned, barely able to open my eyes as pain pulsed through my temples. I could not even remember how much I had drunk last night, let alone how I made it back home.

Dinner with Emma flickered through my memory, but everything after that was just a hazy blur. Emma? I really hoped she had made it home safe. I sat up in bed slowly, not wanting to push my luck or make my head feel any worse.

As I glanced around the room, I spotted a figure stretched out on the couch. My heart sank. Who the hell was that? Please tell me I didn't bring someone home and dump her on the sofa. That wasn't something I would do. I wasn't that reckless.

I eased out of bed and crept over to the couch, barely breathing as I tried to make out who was there. For a moment, everything felt uncertain. Then, as my eyes adjusted, I realized it was Emma. Please, someone tell me I didn't just spend the night with her. She was the only person who managed to keep me together, the one constant who never faded into the background. Damn it! What had I done?

I started pacing the room, forcing myself to remember anything from last night. My thoughts just tangled together, leaving me with nothing but confusion.

"Brandon? Are you alright? Why are you pacing like that?" she asked, her voice still groggy with sleep.

"Did we sleep together last night?" I blurted out, my words tumbling out in a rush. I sounded desperate and panicked. She just looked at me and started laughing, her tired smile widening as I stared at her in confusion.

"No, we didn't have sex last night. Relax, sir. You just asked me to stay, so I did," she replied, still chuckling.

I let out a long breath, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.

"Well, that's a relief. One less thing to stress about. Why did you sleep on the sofa?" I asked.

"Because you told me to. You invited me to sleep in your bed, but I turned you down." She laughed, shaking her head.

"Really? I'm sorry. Did I do anything else I shouldn't have?" I asked, worried I might have crossed some line.

"Nothing at all. You're actually pretty funny when you're drunk. I have to admit it," she said, giving me a warm smile.

Relief washed over me. I was glad I hadn't done anything embarrassing.

"Thank God for that. I'm going to grab a quick shower. There's another bathroom down the hall if you want to freshen up," I muttered.

"Thank you. I need to stop by my place before we go to work, just to grab some clothes," Emma responded, stretching a little.

"Alright, that works. Do you need a box for your stuff? I know you girls actually change into clean clothes, unlike most guys," I joked, grinning at her.

"I don't do that. That's gross, but I know plenty of guys who do," Emma said, laughing and shaking her head. I pulled a couple of towels from my drawer and handed them to her. Since the bathroom was down the hall, she pulled off the covers and stood up to grab the towels. She wore one of my old t-shirts, and I had to admit she looked good in it.

I kept telling myself to stop thinking about her that way. It was wrong, and I knew it.

"Thank you," she said, her smile quick and genuine.

I gave her directions to the other bathroom before heading into my own shower. We had to move fast, since we still needed to swing by Emma's place so she could change for work.

......

We reached the office five minutes before our shift started. On the way, we stopped for breakfast—there was no way I could function without coffee.

Emma and I walked into the building side by side, and I felt the stares and heard the whispers almost right away. Everyone seemed to notice us. Some of the people watching us were friends with Darcy, and I had no doubt she would hear about this before the day was over. In a way, it might work out for the best. If I showed up at the Gala with Emma, it would look even more believable that something was going on between us.

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Simmons?" Emma asked, her voice switching back to that steady, professional tone. I appreciated it, especially after last night.

"Painkillers and a bottle of water, if you don't mind," I replied, managing a weak smile.

She nodded and left to grab what I needed.

As soon as I got to my office, I spotted Darcy sitting in my chair. The sight of her there set my teeth on edge. I was certain I had told everyone she was no longer allowed in my office.

"What are you doing here?" I snapped, my voice coming out harsher than I intended.

"Don't pretend you haven't missed me, Brandon." She flashed a smile that used to undo me.

I shut my eyes for a moment and forced myself to take a few deep breaths. Even after six months apart and several weeks with no contact, I hated to admit she was right. I did miss her.

She stood up and came toward me, stopping right in front of me. She wore a little black dress that clung to her in all the ways I remembered. Her curves, her long legs, those heels—all of it caught my attention, and I felt myself tense up as I tried not to stare. I forced myself to look her in the eye.

"What do you want?" My voice was unsteady, not nearly as confident as I wanted it to be.

"I was hoping we could have a little fun, for old times' sake," she muttered, letting her finger drift slowly across my chest.

I swallowed, heat rising through me. I knew I should stop her, but she always managed to break through my defenses, and she knew it. This wasn't the first time since the breakup that she tried to pull me back in. If she were really happy with the guy she left me for, she wouldn't keep coming back to me.

"Darcy," I warned, already feeling my self-control slipping.

"Come on, baby, you know you still want me," she murmured, her hand sliding lower, leaving no doubt about what she wanted.

I let out a groan.

Darcy pressed her lips against mine, and for a second, I kissed her back, lost in old memories and old feelings. But reality snapped me out of it, hard and fast.

I refused to let myself fall back into her arms, not this time.

I pulled away from her lips and stepped back, my voice sharp.

"No, Darcy. This isn't going to happen again. I'm not here for you to use whenever you feel like it. You're the one who left, remember?"

"You love when I tease you. Admit it. The sex got even better after we split, and what he doesn't know can't hurt him." She reached for me again, but I stepped out of her reach.

"No. It's over. Besides, I'm seeing someone else now. Get out, Darcy. Don't come back. I mean it. Unless you're here to sign the divorce papers, I want nothing more to do with you," I retorted, my voice flat. For the first time, I made it clear I was done.

"What? Who? Who the hell is she? Is it that little assistant of yours? Were you screwing her even before I left you? I bet you were," she spat, her words bitter and shar

Was she actually jealous? Maybe she had finally lost her mind. She had no right to act this way, not after being the one who walked away. Still, I found myself almost amused at how angry she was getting. Part of me wanted to admit that yes, I was with Emma, but I decided she could figure it out on her own at the Gala.

"It's none of your business, Darcy. That's the answer to all your questions. Now get out of my office. Go. Now," I scoffed, my tone leaving no room for argument.

"Whatever. You'll come back to me because you still want me, Brandon," she snapped, then stormed out of my office.

As she headed for the door, Emma stepped inside. My gut twisted— I could already tell this would turn ugly fast.

"I knew it. I knew you were sleeping with my husband, you bitch," Darcy hissed at Emma.

"Excuse me? Who do you think you're talking to? Don't you dare insult me, Darcy. Whatever is happening, or not happening, between Brandon and me is none of your business. You left him, remember?" Emma retorted, her voice steady and cold.

I could not help feeling a bit surprised by her. For the first time, Emma stood her ground against Darcy, and I had to admit, it made me smile.

Back when Darcy and I were still together, Emma never stood up for herself whenever Darcy lashed out at her. Now that I was no longer with Darcy, she finally defended herself. Darcy flipped her hair, let out a loud groan, and stomped out of the office.

Emma turned to me with a questioning look.

"What was that?"

"She came here wanting to sleep with me, but I told her no. Said it wasn't happening this time. I mentioned I was seeing someone, though I never gave her any names. She just assumed it was you," I explained.

"Oh... okay. God, I can't stand that woman. I know she's still technically your wife, but she's something else, sir," Emma blurted, her tone full of irritation.

I laughed and nodded, which made her crack a smile too. She set the painkillers and water down on my desk.

"We need to get to work. There's a lot on our plates. I've got several trips coming up, so we'll need to sort everything out," I responded, shifting gears.

"Of course, sir. I'm all yours," she replied with a playful grin.

I could not help but smile when she said that, even if she did not mean it the way it sounded. She caught herself, shook her head, and laughed, then went to her desk to get started.

Emma's POV:

Leaving the office that evening filled me with quiet relief. Whispers and sideways glances trailed after us, all because Brandon and I had stepped into the building together. Some people seemed unable to mind their own business, prying into stories that were never theirs to tell.

Brandon did his best to distract me, always ready to cut off a rumor before it grew legs. Anyone who tried to start something found him standing in their way, calm but clear. I longed for the comfort of my apartment, a glass of wine in hand, and a night where no one expected anything from me. If only by morning their curiosity would find a new target, and we would fade from their conversations.

As soon as I arrived home, I undressed and went straight to the bath. The warm water made me feel better. I put on my pajamas and decided to order food since I disliked cooking for one. At times, I hated being single, but work often left me with little time for anything else. I took a glass and a bottle of wine from the fridge, sat on the couch, and thought about what to order for dinner.

I was about to call the restaurant when my phone rang, and Brandon's name showed up.

"Please tell me I do not need to go back to the office," I muttered before picking up.

"Hello sir, is everything alright?"

I heard him laugh on the other end.

"Emma, we were not at work. Call me Brandon," he said, laughing.

Maybe he was not calling to talk about work. Why else would he have called?

"Hey Brandon, everything all right?" I said, laughing a little.

"So, what's up? What are you even doing right now?" he asked.

A story was on the tip of my tongue, but there was no point in spinning tales. Honesty seemed easier.

"Honestly? There isn't much going on. Planning to order takeout and pour myself some wine. That's my big plan for tonight." I let out a long sigh.

"That's not going to fly. Come to my place instead. I'll cook something, and we can be bored together if that's what you want. And before you freak out, no, this isn't a date." His laughter was warm.

"Last night was actually fun— at least until you drank him under the table," he added.

"You realize I'm already dressed for bed?" I laughed.

"You have twenty minutes to get ready. I'll have a driver waiting." Without another word, the call ended.

For a long moment, my gaze fixed on the phone in disbelief. Was my opinion even considered here? Apparently not. I let out an exasperated sigh, barely resisting the urge to remain glued to the couch, but eventually forced myself to move.

Somehow, I made it to my bedroom, slipped into fresh clothes, and grabbed whatever I thought I might need.

Heading to his place again left me feeling conflicted. There was no denying that last night had turned out surprisingly well. His company had made the whole thing enjoyable, even when he lost control after a few drinks.

Making my way around the apartment, I double-checked that everything was turned off. Just as I reached for my bag, my phone buzzed with a new message. Instinct took over and I checked the screen. It was Brandon.

Brandon said, "I'm parked outside." Wait—he's actually here?

Hadn't he mentioned a driver was coming for me? Guess he changed his mind. Truthfully, I was relieved I wouldn't be riding with a stranger. With the door closed behind me, I finally headed out.

Brandon was propped up against his car when I stepped out.

"Hey there." He greeted, his voice full of enthusiasm.

"Well, well." I grinned, returning the greeting. "Wasn't expecting you. I thought you were sending someone?"

"I figured I'd skip the middleman and do it myself. Don't want to be lazy." He shrugged casually, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I chuckled softly, shaking my head as I walked toward the passenger side. He slid into the driver's seat, and in no time, we were headed down the road, making our way from my modest apartment to his grand house—or maybe it was a mansion. I wasn't sure anymore.

"So, I'm making chicken with sweet chili. And there'll be rice and steamed vegetables to go with it. Are you okay with that?" he said, breaking the silence.

"Sounds pretty good. But please tell me you're not cooking this because you've figured out what a sad, pitiful existence I have," I replied.

"Not exactly. I just figured I'd call and see what you were up to, since I was bored and in the mood for some company." He laughed, glancing over at me.

I smiled, unsure whether it was the truth or just a line to make me feel better. But either way, it worked.

"Anyway, I really do appreciate it. I could use some company."

We hadn't even come to a complete stop before Brandon was already pulling the car over. Without wasting a second, he jumped out and rushed to my side, opening the door for me.

I raised an eyebrow at him, slightly confused. He didn't strike me as the type of man who'd make an effort like that.

"What? I've got excellent manners, Miss Emma. You probably didn't notice before, but that's because it's hard to be polite with all the stress and chaos I've been juggling." He flashed me a grin.

"Alright, if you say so. Thanks, I guess," I added, matching his playful tone with a cheeky smile.

"Get out before I change my mind," he teased, a laugh escaping him.

"Yes, sir," I responded with a dramatic eye roll, already stepping out of the car and heading for his front door. I paused, waiting for him to open it.

At least he's got the energy to do that much himself, I thought with a smirk.

He stepped inside first, and I followed him into the living room. As I glanced around, something caught my attention—pictures of him and Darcy that had been on display last night were now gone.

I couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and sadness. It seemed like a brave step for him to take, but at the same time, it made the house feel emptier, lonelier.

"I figured it was time to let go of all of them." I heard him sigh softly behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of the sadness that had returned to his face—the same look I'd seen last night. He noticed me looking and quickly tried to mask it, forcing a smile.

The room grew quiet between us. For a moment, neither of us spoke, but the weight of the silence lingered. Our eyes met, and something about the stillness made me uneasy. Without thinking, I took a step back, putting some distance between us.

Brandon cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably and straightening his posture.

"I've been looking for a new place, too. A small bachelor apartment. No point in holding on to a big house when there's no one to share it with—no wife, no kids," he said, his voice quieter now.

"I'm sure one day you'll have all of that, Brandon." I smiled gently, trying to lighten the mood.

"I hope so. How about this? After dinner, you can look over my place choices and tell me what you think." His smile flickered, hopeful yet uncertain.

"Of course. I'd be happy to."

"Thank you. Come on, let's have a glass of wine and start making dinner," he stammered, his face lighting up.

I followed him into the kitchen, where everything was neatly set up and ready to go. Taking a seat at the counter, I watched as Brandon poured us each a glass of wine before he started on dinner.

"Can I help with anything?" I offered, watching him move about the kitchen.

"No, it's all good. I'm a bit... obsessive when it comes to the kitchen. Everything has to be done my way, with a little bit of mystery thrown in," he joked, his eyes sparkling. "You just relax and enjoy your wine."

I followed his advice, settling back as he moved into his rhythm in the kitchen. I couldn't help but smile, watching him. He was completely in his element— calm, composed, like this was where he truly belonged. Honestly, he seemed like he should be a chef instead of whatever else he did for a living.

"Have you always cooked?"

"Yes. It's one of my favorite things. One day, I plan to open my own restaurant," he replied without missing a beat, glancing over his shoulder with a smile.

"You definitely seem at ease with it. I can cook, but I absolutely hate it. It just stresses me out." I chuckled softly.

"Maybe one day we can cook together. I'll help you figure out why it stresses you out." He laughed too, turning back to the chicken he was preparing.

"That would be nice. Because, honestly, I swear I'm destined to be alone forever. I need to figure out how to stop stressing out in the kitchen." I smiled with a hint of amusement.

Brandon paused mid-task, then turned to face me, leaning casually against the counter.

"Come on, Emma, that's nonsense. No way you're going to be alone forever."

"I wouldn't be so sure. I've got a boss who's a bit of an idiot and always steals my time. So, yeah, I'm starting to think it's a real possibility." I gave him a mischievous grin, playing along.

He saw right through the teasing, his smile growing wider as he caught the joke.

"Alright, maybe I sound a bit like a fool. But trust me, a woman as beautiful and kind as you? She's not going to be alone forever. The right guy is out there for you, Emma," he explained, pushing off from the counter and looking at me with sincerity.

I could feel the heat creeping up my cheeks, a blush spreading across my face. His words were making me feel shy in a way I hadn't expected.

He chuckled, walking over to me and leaning his elbow casually on the counter, stopping just a few inches from where I sat.

"Are you blushing?" he teased, his smile wide and knowing.

"No. Not at all," I responded quickly, trying to laugh it off. "But you... I'm sure you get compliments all the time, Emma."

"Not from my boss," I answered, my lips twitching, fighting the smile that threatened to break free.

"You love it, don't even try to deny it." He grinned and winked.

With that, he took a step back, returning to his work, but the teasing glint in his eyes remained.

The room fell silent after that.

But I couldn't shake the question that kept circling in my mind. Was Brandon flirting with me again? It seemed like he did it more and more as we spent time together.

The truth was, I didn't even know how I felt about any of this.

Brandon's POV:

A knot formed in my throat as I traced my tongue along my bottom lip. Emma let out a soft, involuntary moan the moment she tasted the chicken.

"Wow, this is incredible," she said, meeting my gaze.

"I appreciate that," I replied, giving her a small smile.

Even as she spoke, my attention wandered. That lingering sound she made kept replaying in my mind. There was an unexpected sexiness to it—almost too intimate, even though she likely hadn't meant anything by it. I couldn't quite explain why my mind kept drifting in that direction.

For over two years, we had shared countless hours at work. I'd always known she was lovely and easy to get along with, but nothing ever sparked like this before. Suddenly, desire crept in, catching me off guard. Maybe being single has made me notice things I ignored in the past. Back when Darcy and I were together, I never let my eyes wander. Especially not toward Emma, who always kept things strictly professional.

Nobody else could catch my attention. My focus was entirely on Darcy, nobody else mattered.

"Brandon, is something bothering you?" she asked, bringing me back to reality.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that, Emma?" I replied, biting my tongue before I called her something else by mistake.

"I just wanted to say the food's fantastic. You really know your way around a kitchen," she said with a smile.

"I mean it, thank you. Feels strange getting back in the groove. Honestly, it's been ages since I cooked for anyone. Back when I was with Darcy, cooking was something I loved doing for her. At first, she appreciated it, but as our relationship fell apart, it was like nothing I did in the kitchen could please her. She started coming up with reasons to avoid dinner, or she'd pick apart every meal. Looking back, maybe I should've seen it coming," I said, letting out a sigh and sinking further into the chair. "A few months before she finally left, she seemed determined to tear down whatever confidence I had left—especially when it came to the bedroom or the kitchen. She used to love it when we made love or had spontaneous, passionate sex. She'd complain about everything, said I was boring, claimed I'd lost my spark. For a while, I actually believed her. Then, when I started seeing other people, things shifted. The women I was with never seemed to mind what I brought to the table. Funny enough, Darcy even came back for more more than once. That did a lot to restore some faith in myself. To be honest, Darcy even showed up a few times wanting to hook up, which made me realize maybe I hadn't lost it after all. But this dinner tonight? This is the first time I've cooked for anyone since her."

"She doesn't know what she's talking about, honestly. You shouldn't let her words get to you," Emma said, shaking her head.

"I get that now. Still, it creeps up on me sometimes. Back then, I just took it all in and let it mess with my head," I admitted.

"It's the worst, isn't it? When the person you love—someone who's supposed to care about you—spends their energy making you feel like you're never good enough," she said, her words gentle.

Something about the way she spoke made me wonder if she was speaking from her own experience.

"Has this ever happened to you?" I asked, curiosity edging into my voice.

"Yeah. I dated someone for a year who made my life miserable. He was cruel, always putting me down, and it escalated until he hit me. That was it for me. I cut him off after that and never looked back," Emma said.

"That takes guts to walk away. Guys like that are just pathetic. I'm relieved you got out when you did."

"I am too, honestly. But let's talk about something else. How did you learn to cook like this?"

"Dad was the one who taught me. He was an excellent cook. Every recipe he mastered, he made sure I learned it too. He passed away three years ago, and I still think about him every day," I said, a heaviness settling in my chest. I still miss him every day.

"Dad warned me about Darcy more than once. He believed I deserved better, but he understood how much I cared for her. Maybe I should've taken his advice, but he never tried to stop me from following my heart."

"That's heartbreaking. I'm sorry for your loss," Emma responded.

"Thanks. He really was the best. But Emma, you've been part of my team for over two years, and I barely know a thing about your story," I said.

Curiosity kept tugging at me, making me want to know more about her. Emma had this quiet way of making you feel heard. Opening up felt easy when she was nearby. Whenever I needed to let off steam or deliver a speech meant for no one in particular, she always stuck around, listening. Lately, the weight I carried felt different—heavier and more tangled—yet she never turned away.

"It's not really your responsibility to know my story, Brandon. But getting to know you? That's definitely my responsibility." A quick smile played on her lips.

"Maybe so, but I'd like to know you for real. Spending time like this, away from the office, feels good. Let's finish dinner, pour ourselves some wine, and see where the conversation takes us." I smiled at her, hoping she'd be on board.

"Sure, if you want. There's not a lot to tell, honestly." She gave a half-shrug.

"Something tells me there's a lot you're not saying, Emma." A smirk tugged at my lips.

There was something about her that hinted at a deeper story.

"If you say so. Now be quiet, I'm eating." She rolled her eyes, laughing as she stuck out her tongue. "

"Whatever you say," I replied, doing as she asked. She laughed again, and the air lightened as we went back to our meal.

Watching her savor each bite brought a smile to my face. But every little sound of pleasure she made was starting to drive me a bit wild.

Pushing away distracting thoughts, I focused on my meal. Maybe if we finished eating quickly, I'd have a chance to calm myself down and stop feeling her every little reaction deep in my gut.

"That was incredible!" she exclaimed, setting her silverware aside with a satisfied sigh.

"It means a lot that you enjoyed it. But, fair warning—you're on dish duty now," I teased, flashing her a grin.

"Okay." She shot me a playful smile, scooping up the dirty plates and making her way to the sink.

"Emma, I was joking." I laughed, following behind her.

"After a meal like that? Washing up is the least I can do."

"I'm not letting you wash everything," I responded.

Emma ignored me, determined to start scrubbing. Typical—she could be so stubborn.

Ignoring my protests, she turned on the faucet and started scrubbing away. I stepped behind her, reaching for the dish towel, just to tease.

"Nope! Hands off!" Her hand shot out to swat mine away.

"Emma, you know there's a dishwasher, right?" I couldn't hold back a laugh.

"I'm not bothered. Now go on, let me take care of this," she said, glancing over her shoulder at me.

Her words made me grin.

Taking her time, she finally turned around, ending up wedged between me and the sink. The gap between us shrank to nothing. She didn't seem fazed by how close we were, but I felt every inch of distance disappear, a sharp longing building inside me. She peered up at me from beneath those long lashes.

There was a playful glint in her gaze, and I found it impossible not to be drawn in.

"If you don't let me do this in peace, I'll splash you with water." She grinned, daring me to test her.

"Now, that's just cruel," I said, placing my hands on the countertop, caging her in.

"Honestly, I think it'd be hilarious." She giggled. With that, I leaned closer, shrinking the space between us until only a whisper separated our bodies.

I couldn't say I had a plan. All I knew was that I wanted to test the air between us—to see if she felt the pull as strongly as I did.

"No, it really wouldn't be."

"Why don't you try getting even closer?" she said, lips twitching into a secretive smile as her eyes never left mine.

"I could, but I probably shouldn't," I replied.

"Yes, that might be a bit too much, wouldn't it?" She smiled.

The way she looked at me then, there was a spark—something that felt dangerously close to longing, though maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see. I caught myself before things went any further and took a step back, exhaling quietly.

She went right back to washing dishes, not saying a word, her focus fixed on the task. Dragging my fingers through my hair, I tried to clear my head.

If I wasn't careful, I'd end up making a move I couldn't take back.