Page 2 of Lovesick

He laughed. “Maybe. But then who would make sure Rockwell doesn’t run his reputation into the ground?”

I smiled but said nothing. Dean Rockwell wasn’t the kind of man to ruin his reputation. He was the ground. Unmovable, commanding, and mercilessly brilliant. Ruthless. An asshole. And I was in love with him.

A secret, desperate kind of love. One that lived in the quiet spaces between our encounters, in the way he used to look at me when no one else was watching. We had been intimate before—more than once—but not anymore. Because I managed to push him away. It was too much for me to handle, and having a secret affair with your boss wasn’t the best thing you could do. To him, I was just a well-kept secret. A hidden indulgence. And now, I forced myself to pretend none of it had ever happened.

It was only hurting me.

The elevator dinged, signaling our arrival, and as we stepped out, a voice called from down the hall.

“Reed.”

I felt it before I saw him. The weight of his presence. The tension he carried with him like a force field. Dean stood a few feet away, his grey eyes locked onto Thomas. “Conference room, now,” he ordered before his gaze shifted to me. His eyes flicked down, assessing, before returning to my face. A flicker of anger passed through his expression, but it was gone before I could grasp it.

“You too, Emilia,” he said, my name sharp on his lips. “I need you to take notes.”

“Yes, sir,” I told him with a tight smile.

The formality of it stung, even though it shouldn’t have. Not after everything. But I told myself not to go back to first-name basis with him, although he still called me Emilia and not Ms. Hart.

I couldn’t call him Dean anymore. Not in this office. Not ever again. It hurt, but I needed to be persistent if I wanted to put what we had behind us.

I straightened my shoulders and followed them down the hall.

The conference room was already filled with lawyers, their conversations a low hum of legal things and strategy. Dean took his seat at the head of the table, commanding the room without a single word. His suit was sharp, perfectly tailored to his six-foot-seven frame, the crisp white of his shirt emphasizing the strength of his broad shoulders. His tie was slightly loosened, a sign that he had been here long before any of us, already knee-deep in work.

I sat at the far end of the table, my laptop open, fingers ready to type. But my eyes betrayed me. They kept drifting back to him—to the way his jaw tensed, the way his fingers tapped absently against the polished wood of the table. To the cold, calculating glint in his storm-grey eyes as he listened to Thomas present his case updates.

He was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. Sharp edges, unyielding authority, a man who commanded without ever raising his voice. I hated how much I still wanted him, even when he refused to look at me. Even if he made it clear before that I was nothing but a toy to him.

I forced myself to focus, typing down the legal terms I barely registered. But then, just as Thomas finished speaking, Dean finally looked at me. Not a glance. A full, weighted stare.

It made my breath hitch.

“Emilia,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with a hint of annoyance. Anger. Still so much anger. “Did you get all of that?”

“Yes, sir.” My voice was steady, but inside, I was unraveling.

“Good.” His eyes lingered for a second too long before he turned away, moving on like he always did.

Just like when he fucked me senseless in his office many times before.

***

Later that morning, I stood in the break room, pouring coffee into a sleek black mug. The scent was strong, creeping up my nose in the most delicious way possible. I closed my eyes for just a moment until a presence behind me stole all of my focus.

Dean.

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t have to. The air between us thickened, his nearness igniting something in my bloodstream I hated. I braced myself as his voice filled the room.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Emilia.”

A shiver crept up my spine at the way he said my name, low and dark. I kept my grip on the coffee pot steady, focusing on the drip of dark liquid filling it. I tensed, clenching my teeth before easing my jaw again.

“I’ve been working.” My voice was level, but I knew he could hear the slight hitch in it. God, I needed to keep it together.

Dean didn’t believe in personal space, not when it came to me. He reached past me, his arm brushing against mine as he took a mug from the shelf. The briefest contact of his fingers grazing my wrist was enough to get me to falter, but I had to stay strong. I tightened the grip on the handle as if it were the only thing giving me strength.

“You used to work late,” he mused, his voice quieter now. Closer. Dangerous. Taunting. “What changed?”

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