8. JAXON
JAXON
Mutually Beneficial
Her lips are even softer than I remember.
That’s the first thought that hits me, sharp and immediate, cutting through everything else.
This kiss is not rushed. Not desperate like the first time. This is slower. Intentional. The kind of kiss that lingers, that builds instead of explodes.
Her hand fists in my shirt, grounding herself. Or maybe grounding me.
I don’t know.
All I know is that I don’t want to stop.
I should.
God, I should.
She’s my employee. She lives in my house.
This is already a complication I can’t afford.
And yet—
My hand is still at her jaw, thumb brushing just beneath her ear, holding her there as I deepen the kiss just slightly. Testing. Waiting for her to pull back.
She doesn’t. She leans in.
Soft breath, quiet sound, and something in my chest tightens in a way I don’t have time to unpack.
We haven’t done much, but I’m already hard, aching in my pants. I don’t know what it is about her, but she gets to me in a way no one ever has.
Hell, I don’t want to stop. I want to take my time with her, peel her out of those clothes, get her into my bed and make her say my name.
Just as I’m about to act on it, my phone rings.
The sound is sharp, jarring. Completely out of place.
Reality crashes back in hard and unforgiving.
I pull back.
The space between us feels wrong immediately. Too cold. Too empty.
Her breath is uneven. Mine probably is too.
We just look at each other for a second.
The phone keeps ringing.
“Sorry,” I mutter, already stepping back.
She nods, but her eyes don’t leave mine right away.
I turn away, dragging a hand through my hair as I pull my phone from my pocket.
It’s my lawyer. There’s no one I want to talk to less—she rarely brings good news—but I don’t have a choice.
I swipe to answer, forcing my voice back into something controlled.
“Halberg.”
“Jaxon, we need to talk.”
The tone is enough to put my entire body on alert.
“What happened?”
I step further into the kitchen, turning slightly away from Zara without fully leaving the room. I don’t look at her. I can’t.
Not right now.
“There’s been a development,” Rebecca says. “Her legal team filed a supplemental argument this morning.”
My jaw tightens. “About what?”
“A shift in strategy.”
I pace once, slow, controlled. “Meaning?”
“They’re leaning into a maternal stability argument.”
I go still. “What does that mean in plain English?” I ask.
A pause. Then—
“They’re going to argue that Lily, as a young girl, needs her mother as her primary caregiver. That emotional development, identity formation, all of it is better supported in a maternal household.”
My grip tightens around the phone.
“They’re pushing for sole custody?” I ask.
“They’re positioning for it,” she says. “At minimum, primary physical custody with you having limited visitation.”
A cold, steady anger settles in my chest.
“That’s not happening,” I say flatly.
“I understand,” she replies. “But we need to be realistic about how courts weigh these arguments.”
I start pacing again.
“They don’t get to use gender as a deciding factor,” I snap.
“They don’t say it’s about gender,” Rebecca says carefully. “They say it’s about emotional needs, developmental support, and the best interests of the child.”
Same thing. Different packaging.
“They’ll present her as a loving, engaged mother who simply wants more time with her daughter,” she continues. “And unless we counter that effectively, it’s a compelling narrative.”
My jaw clenches hard enough to ache.
“She’s inconsistent,” I say. “She cancels. She disappears. She—”
“We know that,” Rebecca cuts in. “The question is whether we can prove it in a way that outweighs the emotional argument they’re building.”
Silence.
I drag a hand over my face. “What do we need?” I ask finally.
There’s a pause on the other end.
Then: “Let me ask you something first.”
I don’t like that tone.
“What?”
“Are you currently in a serious relationship?”
I have no idea where she’s going with this.
“No,” I say immediately.
But my mind betrays me for a split second—back to the kiss that happened just moments ago.
“No,” I repeat, slower this time.
“Is there someone who could become permanent?” she asks.
I let out a short, humorless breath. “That’s not exactly something I can just—”
“Jaxon,” she interrupts. “Listen to me.”
I stop pacing.
“A stable, two-parent household image significantly strengthens your case,” she says. “Especially against a maternal argument. It shifts the narrative from ‘single father with demanding career’ to ‘structured family environment.’”
I stare at nothing.
“Are you telling me I need to start dating for court optics?” I ask.
“I’m telling you that perception matters,” my lawyer says. “And right now, their side is going to lean hard into the idea that Lily lacks a consistent maternal presence in your home.”
My teeth grind.
“I have a nanny,” I say.
“A nanny is not the same as a partner,” she replies. “And it won’t be treated as such.”
Of course it won’t.
“Someone living there permanently,” Rebecca continues, “in a committed relationship with you—that changes things.”
I don’t say anything.
“Marriage carries the most weight,” she adds.
I huff out a breath. “It’s not like I can put an ad in the paper—looking for a wife.”
“I’m not suggesting you fabricate something,” she says. “But if there is someone—if there’s potential—this would be the time to take that next step.”
My gaze shifts.
Zara stands on the far side of the kitchen, hands resting lightly on the counter, her posture deceptively relaxed.
But I know she’s listening.
Her eyes flick to mine. Then away.
“I’m not bringing instability into my daughter’s life,” I say, quieter now. “That’s the whole point.”
“And I agree,” she says. “But understand this—if they win the narrative, they don’t need better facts.”
Silence stretches.
“Think about it,” she says. “We’ll talk again later.”
The call ends.
I exhale slowly, trying to steady something that’s starting to spiral.
I could lose her.
They’re building a case.
They’re shaping a narrative.
And suddenly, everything I do feels… insufficient.
Not enough.
I drag a hand through my hair again, pacing once more.
Schedules. Structure. Consistency.
I’ve built everything around that.
And it still might not be enough.
My chest tightens.
Across the room, Zara shifts slightly.
I glance at her.
And everything slows.
Because she’s standing there in my kitchen.
Already part of this space. Already part of Lily’s day.
Already—stable.
The thought slips in before I can stop it.
Lily likes her. And that’s not a small thing.
And Zara—
She’s incredible with Lily. I can already tell she cares about her. She stepped into the role like she’s been here for months.
It already feels like she belongs here.
I exhale slowly.
This is crazy. No—this is completely insane.
But desperate times call for desperate measures, right?
And I don’t know that I have any other options.
My lawyer made it clear I don’t.
My brains spins through scenarios in record time.
What if this could really work? What if this is exactly what I need? What could help me keep my daughter safe?
I shake my head slightly, like I can physically dislodge the idea.
“Everything okay?” Zara asks.
Her voice is careful. Measured.
I look at her.
At the way she’s standing there, composed but alert. At the way her eyes search mine, not pushing, not demanding—just… present.
Reliable and steady.
They were the exact words my lawyer used.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my daughter,” I say quietly. The words come out before I can filter them.
Her expression softens slightly.
“I figured,” she says. “If there’s anything I can do—”
“There might be,” I cut in.
Okay, slow down, I tell myself. Think this through. I have to present it carefully, in a way that won’t scare Zara off or make her think I’ve completely lost it.
And it has to be mutually beneficial.
Her brows pull together slightly. “Okay…”
I don’t say anything else. Because I don’t have it fully formed yet.
Just the outline. The shape of something that feels reckless and controlled at the same time.
My mind replays the call.
“A stable, two-parent household…”
“Marriage carries the most weight.”
My gaze flicks back to her.
She’s still watching me. Waiting.
Like she’s been from the moment she walked into this house.
And suddenly—I can’t unsee it.
The way she fits here.
The way Lily already looks at her.
The way everything feels just a fraction more… balanced with her in it.
This is insane.
It might actually work.
The thought lands, solid and terrifying.
I stare at her for a long second.
Not as my employee.
Not as the woman I slept with.
But as something else entirely.
A solution.
And God help me—
I think I just found a plan.