Lovesick

1

EMILIA

The elevator doors glided open on the lobby floor, and I stepped inside, smoothing down the front of my dress as I exhaled. It was early, but the office was already stirring with life—associates rushing in with coffee cups, paralegals exchanging last-minute details on cases.

As the doors began to close, a hand slipped through, stopping them. I glanced up and found myself looking into the familiar, kind face of Thomas Reed, a senior attorney at Rockwell Legal Group. Or, RLG for short. Thomas offered me a polite smile as he stepped inside, adjusting his suit jacket.

“Morning, Emilia,”

he said, pressing the button for the thirty-second floor. The same floor I was going to. “Early start?”

“As always,”

I replied with a small smile. “You too.”

He chuckled. “Not by choice. My wife thinks I work too much as it is.”

I didn’t doubt that. Thomas was one of the firm’s best litigators, a man who spent more nights in the office than at home. But unlike many of the others at RLG, he was polite, friendly even. He never looked at me like I was invisible. Or worse, disposable.

Especially as the CEO’s executive assistant, I didn’t have it easy. My job was stressful, yet I loved it. I liked working hard, and I was good at my job. But, of course, I enjoyed my free weekends where I could just hang out at home and watch movies all day. Eat frozen pizzas, even if I knew they were bad for me. I loved them. Just as much as I loved drinking Pepsi.

Those were two of my bad habits, but I made up for it by running on the treadmill every morning. And I mean every morning. I hadn’t skipped a day since I was twenty-five, and two years later, I managed to always get on that treadmill with no excuses.

I was proud of myself for that. For being consistent and determined. But maybe my determination didn’t always come as a blessing in my life.

Especially not when it comes to my boss.

“That’s because you do work too much,”

I said, arching a brow at Thomas. “You should listen to her.”

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?”

I exhaled sharply. “Boundaries.”

Dean’s chuckle was low and amused. A sound that curled around my spine and settled deep in my stomach. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to step away. If I moved, he’d win. If I acknowledged the way his presence made my skin feel too tight and my breath too shallow, I’d be right back where I started—with no defenses, no barriers between us.

I would fall right back into his arms.

His fingers grazed over my hip, the touch so light I might have imagined it if not for the way my body reacted. My stomach clenched. My breath caught. I hated that I didn’t pull away. Hated that even now, when I knew better, he could unravel me with so little effort.

Shit…did I actually know better?

“I miss the way you used to look at me.”

His words were a whisper against my ear, his breath warm, intimate.

God.

I closed my eyes for half a second, just long enough to push away the memories of his hands on my skin, his mouth at my throat. The way he used to murmur my name in the dark like it was a prayer and a sin all at once.

His lips grazed the side of my neck, his hand moved to my stomach. He pulled me back against his body, and I sucked in a sharp breath as he held me close against him.

“Dean,”

I breathed, unable to move.

“Hmm, there it is,”

he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my skin. “You saying my name like that makes me fucking hard, and you know it.”

I did know it.

That’s why I started calling him sir and Mr. Rockwell again.

“We can’t do this here,”

I told him, finally able to push back.

But he didn’t move away. He only tightened his grip around me and held me close. “If not here…where?”

I sighed. “Nowhere. Dean—”

“I have to be honest, kitten. I was enjoying this. Getting the cold shoulder. You trying to stay away from me. But it’s not doing what you hope. It’s only making me want you more.”

Dammit.

I swallowed hard, trying once more to get him to step away from me. “Dean, please. Stop this. It’s not fair.”

“No?”

he mocked. His hands moved upward until he cupped one of my tits. He squeezed hard, his two fingers pinching my nipple through my blouse and bra. “I think it’s pretty damn fair. You’re playing games with me, and I don’t like that. I’m the one who plays with you. It’s not the other way around, and you should know it. Actually,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling my skin. “You do know it. And you like it. You’ve always liked it but for some reason, it’s hard for you to admit. Why is that, kitten?”

Because I was in love with him, and I hated it.

I hated how fast my heart beat for him. I hated how often I thought of him, and I hated how I couldn’t stop my feelings from growing. Even when I decided to pull away, he was still so present in my thoughts. In my heart. In my whole damn being.

“I hate you,”

I whispered, my voice cracking. Too many emotions flooded my body and I couldn’t control them.

He laughed harshly, making my body stiffen. “No, you don’t.”

His hand dropped to my hip, and he turned me around in one swift move, pressing me against the counter. His eyes locked on mine, and while he had taken a step back, he was still right there, towering over my five-foot-six frame. He made me feel so small.

His jaw ticked as he let his eyes move all over my face. He watched me intently, taking in every inch before his eyes lingered on my lips. He lifted his hand and cupped my jaw, his long fingers tightening around it. “You can pretend all you want, Emilia, but you can’t hide the damn fact that you want me to keep fucking you. I can see it in your eyes. The longing, the need. You want me. And you better let me have you again, or I will make this hard for you.”

His thumb pressed against my bottom lip before he pushed it into my mouth, pressing down on my tongue as he slid deeper inside. “Stop playing around.”

It was a warning. One that sent me spiral out of control. My sense of rationality disappeared instantly.

I wrapped my lips around his thumb, sucking it in more while my eyes stayed on his. He bit down on his bottom lip, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s it. My sweet Emilia.”

Something flickered in his expression. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. Then, slowly, he set his mug on the counter to place his hand on my hip. He knew exactly how to get under my skin. He did it all the time, even when he wasn’t touching me.

He leaned in closer, his thumb pushing even deeper into my mouth. “You will stop ignoring me from now on or I will make this place hell for you.”

My heart betrayed me, hammering too fast, too loud as he outed that threat.

Any sane woman would’ve immediately reported this. Everything he ever said and did. But I wasn’t sane. Not when it came to Dean Rockwell.

I was desperate.

He finally took a step back, pulling his thumb out of my mouth, and pushing both his hands into his pockets. That cocky, almost arrogant look on his face would haunt me all day. All night. God, it would haunt me forever. But in the best way possible.

But he wouldn’t even give me time to process it before he said, “Come see me in my office after lunch.”

I didn’t have time to respond. Actually, I didn’t have the words to speak anyway. I just stood there, watching as he left the break room while my body kept on melting for him.