Three weeks.

That's how long it's been since the night with Dominic Steele, the night that changed everything and, apparently, meant nothing. Three whole weeks of avoiding eye contact, keeping conversations clipped and strictly professional, and pretending like I didn't still dream about the way his voice made goosebumps rise on my skin. You know, a normal post office affair with your boss's behavior.

The nausea started last week.

I pushed my favorite takeout away from me as it had personally offended me, and don't even get me started on the fatigue. If naps were a sport, I'd be a world champion with five gold medals. At first, I chalked it up to stress, but deep down, my womanly sixth sense started whispering something I wasn't quite ready to listen to.

Now here I am, on my lunch break, picking at a salad I normally love while having a venting session with my bestie, Sophie, on the phone.

"Girl, I swear to God, if he breathes near me again, I might just shove a stapler up his fancy Italian suit pants," I groaned, stabbing a lettuce leaf.

Sophie burst into laughter on the other end. "You mean Dominic Steele? The man you had a fiery one-night stand with and now have to work under?"

"Don't say it like that, it sounds worse!" I huffed.

"Oh, honey, it is worse. You caught feelings, and now Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy is acting like you're invisible. Like you're one of those dried-up plants in the office corner."

I snorted. "You know I watered that plant for three weeks before realizing it was fake?"

"That explains your love life perfectly."

We both laughed, and for a moment, the ache in my chest dulled.

"Anyway," I sighed, "I decided I'm keeping it strictly professional. He made it clear it was a mistake. So I'm matching his energy. Cold. Professional. Emotionless. Like a well-dressed robot."

Sophie cackled. "A sexy robot who might be pregnant."

"Shh!" I whispered, glancing around like someone might have bugged the office. "Don't jinx me! I haven't even taken a test yet. For all we know, I could just be having an allergic reaction to salad."

"An allergic reaction that causes cravings and boobs hurting as they went through fight club? Okay, Emily. Denial looks good on you."

I rolled my eyes and smiled despite myself. "Let me survive today first. Then I'll think about peeing on sticks tomorrow."

Just as I was about to reply to one of Sophie's ridiculous jokes, a loud DING echoed from the elevator. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of high heels clacking like they were trying to declare war with the marble floors.

And then she appeared.

A Barbie.

I swear, if Barbie got possessed by Regina George and thrown into a pink tornado, this would be the result. Platinum blonde hair in bouncy curls, a tiny hot pink dress that looked like it lost a fight with a sewing machine, and heels that made her legs look like they had their own Instagram account.

She eyed me like I was the dirt under her overpriced Louboutins.

"Hi, can I help you?" I asked politely, even though my inner voice was screaming, Girl, you look like you were spat out of Barbie's plastic throat.

She gave a little snort. "I'm Sabrina Rodriguez. Dominic Steele's fiancée. So technically, I'm your boss too." She gave me a once-over, nose scrunched as I smelled like expired milk. "Now, go get me a strawberry latte from across the street. Two minutes. Chop chop."

My heart. Stopped.

Fiancée?

I blinked. When? How? Since when?! I felt the world tilt slightly. The salad in my stomach turned traitor and tried to climb its way back up.

Still, I nodded with a smile that felt stitched onto my face. "Sure, ma'am."

Ma'am?! Ugh, kill me.

She strutted off into Dominic's office like she owned the place, leaving a trail of artificial vanilla perfume and heartbreak.

The moment the door closed, I bolted to the restroom.

The second I locked the door, I collapsed against it, sliding down like I was in some low-budget rom-com. Except there was nothing romantic about this.

I was the other woman.

I was the girl he cheated with.

And now everything made sense. The coldness. The "It was a mistake" line. The silence.

"You stupid, naive idiot," I muttered to myself, wiping away tears. "You fell for the boss on the first night. You might be pregnant, and he's freakin' engaged to a Barbie demon."

After a few minutes of ugly crying and motivational self pep talks, I pulled myself together. Lipstick reapplied, eyes patted dry.

Barbie asked for a latte. So Barbie gets a damn latte.

I crossed the street, got the stupid strawberry latte, and grabbed a few pastries for myself. Because apparently, my appetite didn't get the heartbreak memo. Didn't I just eat like twenty minutes ago? I wondered. Maybe I'm growing a second stomach.

Back at the office, I dropped my pastries and headed to Dominic's office, latte in hand. I was still distracted, mentally composing an email to HR about hostile pink environments, when I opened the door without knocking.

Big mistake.

There they were.

Dominic and Sabrina. Making out like it was the Titanic and they were trying to repopulate the ship.

I nearly dropped the drink. My hand trembled, but my face stayed neutral. Years of dealing with customer service, Karen's had trained me well.

I cleared my throat.

Dominic looked up, startled, like a deer caught in headlights. Then, quick as lightning, his face morphed back into its usual cold expression.

Sabrina turned and looked at me like I'd just farted on her Gucci dress.

"What?" she snapped.

I smiled sweetly. "Your drink, ma'am."

She waved me off like I was a fly buzzing around her crown. "Just drop it and leave."

I walked in, placed the drink on the table, and turned to leave. But not before giving Dominic a look.

A look that said, I know.

Then I said, loud and clear, "Anything else, Mrs. Steele?"

Dominic flinched.

Barbie glared.

I smirked internally.

She waved her hand like she was blessing me with permission to breathe. Rude.

As I walked out, I made sure to sway my hips just a little extra. If I were going to be the office scandal, I was going to be the hot one.

You don't get to have me, Dominic Steele. Enjoy your pink nightmare.

I sat at my desk, unwrapped my pastries, and took a massive bite. I didn't care if I cried and chewed at the same time. I deserved this croissant and an Oscar for my performance.

Tomorrow, I'll take the test. Tomorrow, I'd face reality.

But today?

Today, I survived. Barely.

Shit.

 I didn’t plan for Emily to see that. If Sabrina hadn’t flung herself at me like a hormonal mosquito, this entire mess could have been avoided. But no, of course she had to pounce on me right in the middle of the office like we were on a damn soap opera.

 And just my luck, Emily saw it.

 The memory of her walking away with that sass in her step, her chin lifted like the queen she is, slams back into my brain like a car crash. No drama. No shouting. Just a cold, heartbreaking look that said, “I already know.”

 I swear, if Sabrina wasn’t already on my nerves, I would’ve applauded Emily’s grand exit. Emily might not say much, but her silence screams louder than words. I know she was hurt. And dammit, that’s the last thing I ever wanted to do.

 I turned my attention back to Sabrina, who was still lounging in my office like she owned the place, batting her fake lashes at me like that would somehow erase the disaster she just caused.

 “This should be the very last time you try to kiss or be intimate with me at work,” I said, coldly. My voice was steel, every syllable cutting sharp. “I’ve told you time and time again I keep my personal life out of the office. Get that into your thick skull. The next time you try something like this, I’ll have my security drag you out and ban you from ever stepping foot on these premises again. Don’t play with me, Sabrina. I’m not in the mood.”

 She blinked at me like a confused chihuahua and tried that God-awful thing she calls a pout. If horror had a face, it would be that expression.

 “Sorry, daddy,” she cooed in what I think was meant to be a seductive voice. Instead, it came out sounding like a dying pigeon.

 I swear, every time she calls me that, a brain cell commits suicide.

 Look, I won’t lie Sabrina is beautiful. She’s got the kind of looks that get men stupid. But not me. I’ve seen what’s under the pretty wrapping. A self-centered, spoiled little brat with the emotional intelligence of a wet sponge.

 “So to what do I owe this visit?” I asked, not even trying to hide my irritation.

 She plopped down into the chair opposite me, crossing her legs like she was auditioning for a perfume ad. “Can’t I come say a little hello to my soon-to-be husband? Or is that a crime now?”

 I let out a dry laugh. “You? Say hello? Sabrina, don’t insult my intelligence. Just get to the point. What do you want?”

 She sighed dramatically. “Fine. I want to go shopping with my girls. I need you to sponsor it.”

 Bingo. There it is.

 I raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t your father rich so why do you continuously make me sponsor your silly shopping spree and by the way, didn’t I just give you my card yesterday for a shopping spree? What more could you possibly need to buy?”

 She smiled sweetly, and for a second I swear I saw a demon flicker behind those fake lashes. “First of all, I take money from both you and daddy. Second of all, there’s always something new to shop for, baby.”

 Of course there is. With Sabrina, the world is one big mall and I’m her unlimited ATM. She could max out a black card on throw pillows and lip gloss.

 I sighed and rubbed my face, already feeling the headache building behind my eyes. Against my better judgment, I pulled out my wallet and handed over my card again. Her face lit up like she just won the lottery.

 “Thanks, baby!” she squealed and leaned across the desk to plant a kiss on my cheek. I didn’t even flinch; I’d mastered the art of emotional disassociation with her years ago.

 She twirled dramatically toward the door, her heels clicking like nails in my coffin. Just before she left, she turned with a sickeningly sweet smile.

 “Oh, by the way, Daddy wants us for dinner tonight. Be ready by 8pm. Okay, bye baby!”

 And just like that, the demon was gone.

 As soon as the door clicked shut, I leaned back in my chair and exhaled deeply. If I had any hair left to lose, it would’ve gone grey by now.

 I reached for my phone and dialed the only person who could help me navigate this circus my best friend and lawyer, Theo Brown.

 “Hello, Dom,” he answered smoothly, probably sipping on whiskey and watching reruns of Suits.

 “How much longer, Theo? How much longer do I have to keep pretending to be Sabrina Rodriguez’s fiancé before I lose my mind and start a new life in the Bahamas under a fake name?”

 He chuckled. Bastard.

 “A little while more, man. Just a little. Hang in there. I’m drawing up the final deal for the merger. Once it’s sealed, you can cut ties and ghost her like a bad Tinder date.”

 I groaned. “Dinner tonight with Bald Head and his Barbie daughter. You know he’s going to bring up wedding plans again. I’ll have to sit there, smile, and act like I’m in love with his offspring while they feed me overpriced steak and misery.”

 “I feel for you, bro. You’re the real MVP,” he said, laughing.

 “Screw you, Theo. This isn’t funny. I’m dying inside.”

 “Still laughing, though,” he said before I hung up.

 I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts drifting back to Emily. Her smile, the way her nose scrunches when she laughs, how she blushed when I called her mine… Damn.

 I shaked that thought out of my head, nope there’s no way I can fall for her. I can’t afford to go down that path again.

 My mind flashback to my family, the Steeles aren’t a family. They’re a monarchy dressed in pinstripes and money. My father believed love was weakness. My mother mastered the art of silent cruelty. I remembered falling in love when I was twenty-two, I fell in love with a girl I met in grad school. Her name was Rose. She was soft, artistic. Real.

 I brought her home once.

 Just once.

 They tore her apart.

 Not with words. With silence. With judgment. With their cold eyes and sharper smiles. I remember my father threatening me in his study room to choose her or my inheritance.

 So I let her go.

 I remembered her begging me not to leave her, she cried in my car trying to convince me to fight for our love and to choose what we have.

 But I was too afraid of losing the empire, afraid of disappointing the only people who ever taught me how to survive and also scared of what my parents might do to not just me but her also. So I chose to give up on her instead, I thought I was protecting her.

 Weeks later, I found out Rose died in a car crash.

 Drunk driver. Wrong place. Wrong time.

 I never got to say goodbye.

 Never got to say I was sorry.

 I don’t love easily. I don’t trust the feeling. I run from it, bury it, kill it before it kills me.

 And I can’t afford to love Emily. I’m not capable of that no matter how much I crave it.

 I groaned and slammed my head gently against my desk.

 I just need to get the dinner over with first. Then I’ll take the next step to end this charade once and for all.

 I’m done letting Sabrina and her baldy headed father mess up my life.

 I’m done playing nice for the sake of a business deal.