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Part of me suspects she's just enjoying the drama of the fake relationship becoming real, but I can't deny her PR instincts have been right so far. The plagiarism scandal has started to die down with Sean by my side, presenting a united front.

So I stay.

And avoid Sean like he’s the edge of a cliff I keep stumbling toward.

If only I could stop remembering how it felt to have him by my side, in my bed, his skin against mine.

I don't regret our night together. I want many more nights together, and what it would be like if our relationship were real. That realization scares me because I know better.

I know Sean isn't a man given to commitments. Jen has told me about meeting women in his life and neither of them stayed long enough. I’ve once witnessed him end things with a woman who wanted more. It was the first woman I’d seen around him back then and I thought they were an attractive couple. But I remember the aloof look in his eyes as he told her that he liked the sex but he couldn't give her more beyond that.

I fear it might break me if he said that to me. What if sex was what he wanted and I'm the one reading into things?

I sigh, checking my appearance in the bathroom mirror one last time. Dark circles beneath my eyes betray my lack of sleep, but nothing a little concealer can't fix. The navy pantsuit projects the confidence I need to channel today.

“You can do this,” I tell my reflection. “It's just business.”

But when I step out and see Sean in the kitchen, looking hot in a simple outfit of faded blue jeans and clean white shirt while helping Eric with breakfast,just businessfeels like the biggest lie I've ever told myself.

“Morning,” I say, keeping my voice neutral as I pour coffee.

“Hey. Sleep okay?”

“More or less.”

Sean pats my hand. “Don’t worry, the meeting will be a success.”

A thrill passes through me at his touch. For several seconds, I sit there staring at my hand, unable to move it, his brief warmth making my knees weak.

“Mommy, will you take me to school today?”

I blink, sipping the rest of my coffee.

“No, sweetie.” I ruffle his hair. “Busy with work stuff. I have an important meeting today.”

“You're always busy with work stuff,” he mumbles into his cereal.

The comment stings because it's true. But now isn't the time to unpack my mom guilt.

“Sean will take you to school, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’ll pick you up from school.” I kiss the top of his head. “Be good today. I love you.”

“Love you too, mom.”

I grab my bag and head for the door.

“I’ll see you later at the office. Drive safe,” Sean’s baritone voice flows out to me as I skip out of the house.

Today’s investor meeting starts late. Someone’s flight got delayed, and the coffee machine is broken. Classic. My palms are clammy as I wait in the conference room, staring at the screen with our Lemon LLC deck pulled up, and twirling a granola bar I won’t eat.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I begin once we're settled. “Thank you for joining us today. Before we get to our exciting new developments, I'd like to address the recent challenges we've faced.”

“Regarding the social media influencer's plagiarism accusations," I continue, “our analyses show the negative press has decreased by sixty-three percent in the past week. Our transparency campaign has shifted the narrative.”

Murmurs. Nods.

Richard Barnes leans in. “And Camille Ross?”

“We found a potential connection of this being an orchestrated attack. We’re looking into the best way to reveal our findings and put an end to these accusations.”