9. Kim
I had nothing to wear.
That wasn't technically true anymore. Xavier had sent over the clothes from Isabelle's team after the family dinner—all of them, every dress and blouse and pair of shoes that had paraded through his apartment that night. They'd arrived in garment bags and boxes, filling my tiny closet to bursting.
So I had plenty to wear. I just couldn't decide.
"What about this one?" Zoe held up a green dress, her small arms straining with the weight of the fabric. "It's so pretty, Mommy."
"That might be too fancy, baby."
"What about this?" She dropped the green and grabbed a black one.
I laughed despite my nerves. "I'm not trying to look like a spy."
"Why not? Spies are cool."
I sat on the edge of my bed, surveying the chaos of clothes scattered across every surface. Zoe had appointed herself my official stylist, which mostly meant pulling things off hangers and making dramatic pronouncements about each one.
"This one!" She emerged from the closet triumphantly, holding a deep burgundy dress with a modest neckline and a hem that would hit just below my knee. "It's the color of princess dresses."
I took it from her, holding it up. It was beautiful, actually. The neckline wasn’t too low, with a knot around the waist that would do wonders for my figure. It would have to do. I didn’t have time to search for anything else anyway.
"You have good taste, baby."
Zoe beamed. "I know."
I changed into the dress while Zoe offered commentary from her perch on my bed. Then came hair. I let it down, smoothing it into soft waves—and makeup, which I kept simple. A little mascara. A neutral lip. Nothing that screamed "I'm trying to impress you."
Even though I absolutely was.
"You look beautiful, Mommy." Zoe's voice was reverent. "Like a queen."
I knelt down to hug her. "Thank you, baby. You're my best helper."
"I know," she said again, and I laughed and kissed her forehead.
Dani's door was already open when I walked Zoe down the hall. She took one look at me and let out a low whistle.
"Well, well. Where are you off to looking like that?"
"Just dinner with a friend."
"Must be some friend." Her eyes narrowed. I thanked her, kissed Zoe goodbye, and headed for my car.
The drive to Manhattan took forever. Traffic, construction, and my own nerves made every minute feel like an hour. I rehearsed conversations in my head, tried to anticipate questions, and reminded myself that I'd already met Eleanor Dubois and survived.
This would be fine. This would be totally fine.
Le Bernardin was intimidating from the outside. Elegant awning, discreet signage, the kind of place that didn't need to advertise because everyone who mattered already knew it existed.
A valet appeared the moment I pulled up, and I handed over my keys without letting myself think about how my beat-up Civic looked among the Mercedes and BMWs.
It didn't matter. I didn't care.
I walked inside with my head high.
The hostess led me through the restaurant—all soft lighting and white tablecloths and the gentle clink of expensive silverware—to a private table near the back.
Eleanor Dubois was already seated, a glass of wine in front of her, looking exactly like the kind of woman who dined at places like this every week.
"Kim." She rose to greet me, pressing a kiss to each cheek. "You look lovely. Please, sit."
I sat. A waiter appeared immediately, presenting menus, pouring water, and asking about wine preferences. Eleanor handled it all with practiced ease, ordering a bottle of something French that I couldn't pronounce.
"I'm so glad you could come," she said once we were alone. "I've been wanting to get to know you better. Away from all the family chaos."
"I appreciate the invitation."
"Tell me about yourself." She leaned forward with a genuine interest in her eyes. "Xavier talks about you constantly, but I want to hear it from you. Where did you grow up? What do you dream about? What makes you happy?"
I answered her questions, carefully at first, then more openly as the wine flowed and her warmth put me at ease. I told her about aging out of foster care, about working my way through community college, about Zoe and how becoming a mother had changed everything.
She listened without judgment. Asked follow-up questions that showed she was actually paying attention. Laughed at my jokes and shared stories of her own—about raising three children, about building a family from complicated pieces, about loving people even when they made it difficult.
Somewhere between the appetizer and the main course, I realized I was enjoying myself.
"Now," Eleanor said, setting down her fork, "I have to ask. And I want the truth, just between us girls."
I braced myself.
"What do you really see in my grandson?"
The question hung in the air. I could give her the rehearsed answer, the one designed to sell the arrangement. I could talk about chemistry and connection and all the things fake girlfriends were supposed to say.
But looking at her, at the genuine curiosity in her eyes, I found myself telling the truth.
"He surprises me," I said slowly. "Everyone talks about him like he's this shallow playboy, but that's not what I see.
I see someone who's kind when no one's watching, who works harder than anyone gives him credit for.
" I paused, something clicking into place as I spoke.
"He's not who he pretends to be. He's better.
And I think... I think he's starting to figure that out. "
Eleanor was quiet for a long moment. Her eyes glistened slightly in the candlelight.
"That's exactly what I hoped you'd say," she said softly.
The rest of dinner passed in a warm blur. By the time we finished dessert, it felt less like an interrogation and more like talking to a friend. A terrifyingly wealthy, impossibly elegant friend, but still.
"Thank you for tonight," I said as we stood to leave. "I had a wonderful time."
"So did I." Eleanor pressed another kiss to each cheek. "Take care of him, Kim. He needs someone like you."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded.
She swept out of the restaurant in a cloud of expensive perfume, leaving me standing by the coat check, still processing everything.
I was waiting outside for the valet to bring my car when my phone rang.
Xavier.
I answered. "Hello?"
"How'd it go?"
I glanced around, half expecting to see him lurking behind a potted plant. "How did you know it just ended? Are you stalking me or something?"
"Of course not." A pause. "Maybe a little."
I laughed. "It went fine. Your grandmother was lovely."
"That's a first. She's never lovely. She's intimidating and terrifying and occasionally charming, but never lovely."
"She was lovely to me." My car appeared, the valet climbing out. "She kept asking what I saw in you."
"And what did you tell her?" His voice dropped into something teasing. "Was it my charm? My devastating smile? My incredible—"
"It's none of your business."
"Come on, Kim. Just tell me. I'll give you something special for being a good girl."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "Keep your something special and mind your business."
"You're no fun."
"I'm very fun. You just don't deserve my fun."
He laughed, the sound warm in my ear. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But I will find out eventually."
"Good luck with that." The valet held open my door. "I have to go. My car's here."
"Drive safe."
"I will."
"Kim?"
"Yeah?"
A pause. "I'm glad it went well."
Something fluttered in my chest. "Me too. Goodnight, Xavier."
"Goodnight, Kim."
I hung up and climbed into my car, my heart beating faster than it had any right to.
The next day at work, something had shifted.
It was subtle. The air between us felt different—charged, aware. Every time our eyes met, something sparked. Every accidental touch sent electricity up my arm.
"Here's the Henderson file," I said, setting it on his desk.
"Thanks, girlfriend." He grinned up at me. "How's your day going?"
I gasped. "Don't call me that at work."
"Why not? It's technically true."
"It's technically fake."
"Fake is still a type of true." He leaned back in his chair, stretching in a way that made his shirt pull across his chest. "So. Are you ever going to tell me what you and my grandmother talked about?"
"Nope."
"Not even a hint?"
"Not even a syllable."
"You're cruel."
"I'm professional." I turned to leave. "Unlike some people."
"Wait." He caught my wrist as I passed. Gently, not demanding. "Seriously. She didn't give you a hard time?"
I looked down at his hand on my wrist, then up at his face. His expression was genuine, concerned. Not teasing anymore.
"She was wonderful," I said. "Really. You don't have to worry."
"I always worry." He released my wrist slowly, his fingers trailing across my skin. "You bring out the worrier in me."
"I didn't know you were a worrier."
"Neither did I." He smiled, something soft in his eyes. "Stay out of my business, Mr. Dubois."
I walked back to my desk, hyperaware of his gaze following me.
The morning passed in a blur of work punctuated by moments of... whatever this was. Xavier found excuses to stop by my desk. I found excuses to enter his office. Jokes and banter and looks that lasted a beat too long.
Around two o'clock, I brought him another file. He stood as I entered, meeting me in the middle of the office.
"You know," he said, "you never did tell me what you see in me."
"We're not doing this again."
"Just one hint." He stepped closer. Too close. I could smell his cologne now, something warm and woodsy. "One tiny hint."
"No."
"Please?" He was smiling, but there was something else beneath it. Something hungry.
"Xavier..."
His eyes dropped to my lips.
My breath caught. The air between us went thick and heavy. He was going to kiss me. Right here, in his office, in the middle of the workday. And I was going to let him.
My phone rang.
We both jumped. I fumbled for my phone, my heart hammering.
The caller ID showed Zoe's school.
"Hello?" My voice came out breathless.
"Ms. Young? This is the nurse at Greenwood Elementary. Zoe isn't feeling well. She has a fever, and we'd like you to come pick her up."
The haze cleared instantly. "I'll be right there."
I hung up and looked at Xavier. "I have to go. Zoe's sick."
"I'll drive you."
"You don't have to—"
"Kim." His voice was firm. "I'm driving you."
We were in his car within five minutes, weaving through traffic toward Zoe's school. I tried to stay calm, but my mind was racing. Fever. How high? What if it was serious? What if—
Xavier's hand covered mine on the center console. "She's going to be fine."
"You don't know that."
"No," he admitted. "But I know you, and I know Zoe, and I know that kid is tougher than anyone gives her credit for."
I didn't respond, but I didn't pull my hand away either.
We arrived at the school in record time. I rushed to the nurse's office, Xavier right behind me, and found Zoe curled up on a cot, looking small and pale.
"Mommy!" She reached for me immediately, and I scooped her up, pressing my lips to her forehead. Warm. Too warm.
"Hey, baby. I'm here."
"I don't feel good."
"I know. We're going to take you home."
"Mr. Xavier!" Zoe spotted him over my shoulder and reached out. "You came, too!"
Xavier stepped forward, letting Zoe grab his hand. "Of course, I did, munchkin. Had to make sure you were okay."
Zoe clung to him, her small fingers wrapped around his larger ones. She didn't let go as we signed her out, didn't let go as we walked to the car, didn't let go even after Xavier buckled her into the backseat.
"Will you sit with me?" she asked him, her voice small and pitiful.
Xavier looked at me. I nodded.
He climbed into the backseat while I drove, my eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few seconds. Zoe had curled against his side, her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed. Xavier had his arm around her, holding her steady, murmuring something I couldn't hear.
The sight made something crack open in my chest.
Back at the office—because I had nowhere else to go and Xavier insisted we not leave her alone—he had Zoe set up in the small conference room within minutes. Blankets appeared from somewhere, along with a pillow and a bottle of water.
"I'm calling a nurse," he said. "Someone I know. She'll come check on her, make sure it's nothing serious."
"Xavier, you don't have to—"
"I want to." His eyes met mine. "Let me do this."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
The nurse arrived within the hour. She was kind and competent, checking Zoe's temperature, looking at her throat, asking gentle questions. Her verdict: a mild virus, nothing serious. Rest, fluids, and children's Tylenol.
I sagged with relief.
Throughout all of this, the office buzzed with curiosity. I saw the looks—assistants peering through the glass, executives whispering in the hallway. Xavier Dubois's secretary's daughter, sick in the conference room. The gossip would be all over the building by tomorrow.
I didn't care. Let them talk.
Zoe fell asleep on the conference room couch, her color already looking better. I sat beside her, stroking her hair, while Xavier dealt with something at his desk.
"I need to run something to Sebastian's office," I said when he returned. "His assistant asked for the quarterly projections."
"Go. I'll stay with her."
I hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"Kim." He sat down on the other end of the couch, gentle enough not to disturb Zoe. "Go. She's safe with me."
She was. I knew she was. That was what scared me.
I grabbed the file and headed for Sebastian's office, navigating the halls on autopilot. Dropped the projections with Margaret, exchanged a few words, and turned to head back.
As I approached the conference room, I heard voices.
Zoe's, high and sweet. Xavier's, warm and patient.
And a third voice. Elegant. Commanding.
My heart stopped.
I rounded the corner and looked through the glass wall.
Xavier was still on the couch, Zoe now awake and sitting up beside him. And standing over them both, her expression sharp and curious, was Eleanor Dubois.
She turned as I appeared in the doorway. Her eyes met mine.
"Kim," she said pleasantly. "What a lovely surprise. I didn't know you had your daughter at the office."
My throat went dry. My mind went blank.
This was it. The moment everything fell apart.