Falling for Fate by Caisey Quinn

worked as assistants in various departments of his company. Dean stopped to order a whiskey neat. A few people came by to congratulate him and shake his hand as he paid for his drink. Keaton called out and he excused himself.
    “See anything you like?” his friend asked, taking a drink of his own highball glass and stepping a few feet away from his female fan club.
    “Sure. Just wish most of them didn’t work for me. You know there’s a no intracompany dating policy.”
    Both men glanced around for Daniel Maxwell, but he was nowhere to be seen.
    “Yeah, I’m familiar with the policy. I also know that he’s screwed an assistant or two in his day.”
    Dean tried not to wince. His mother had known too. Yet she’d stayed married to the bastard. Right up until cancer took her from both of them when he was fifteen. After she’d died, he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of that house and off to NYU. But he was still a sucker for his dad’s promises and approval, just like she’d been. So his dumb ass had majored in business law and gone back for his master’s in finance. And now, he’d be brushing elbows with the son of a bitch at work every day.
    “True. But I’m not him. I’m actually sticking to that policy for the sake of my own sanity.”
    The last thing he needed was some crazy piece of ass storming into his office and spewing some shit about being pregnant or threating to go public with a sex tape or whatever. His dad had dealt with those situations by throwing money at them. But he’d be damned if he was going to be a carbon copy of that heartless bastard.
    “Well, the world is your oyster, my friend. I’m sure there’s at least one sweet little thing here that doesn’t work for you.” Keaton clapped him on the shoulder and Dean raised an eyebrow at him.
    Taking another drink of his whiskey, he glanced around. The crowd was made up of mostly twenty-something’s, women ranging from streetwalker slutty to high-end business casual. A few in fuck-me heels and a few who’d probably want a ring first. He sighed. It was like being presented with a buffet of ham sandwiches when you had a craving for filet mignon.
    “Right. I’m sure there is,” he said, forcing a smile for a blonde who’d made eye contact while he was surveying the crowd.
    “Dude. Pick one. Hit it and quit it and move the fuck on already. Please tell me you left the obsessive mopey version of yourself behind at the beach.” Keaton had no trouble plowing through half of Manhattan. They were all the same to him. Bored with Dean’s usual shit, he stepped back over to the women congregating near them.
    The blonde he’d smiled at made her way over. “For someone who’s supposed to be celebrating, you sure don’t look to happy about being here.”
    The sway in her hips told him that she was interested in more than conversation. She was attractive. He should’ve felt that old familiar tug, the twitch of his cock behind his zipper. But he felt nothing. Well, maybe a little bit of dread at the thought of having keep up a bunch of small talk. He hated small talk.
    He opened his mouth to say something about the irony of celebrating the fact that he was about to be up to his ass in work. But a flicker of light caught his eye.
    A woman sitting at the bar had the exact same shade of hair and skin as the one he’d been looking for. For the past three months, if he were being honest. And her body was made up of the same slender, feminine curves. Her shoulders shook when she laughed in a way that reminded him of how she’d been sobbing when he’d caught up with her on the beach.
    “Keaton, can you buy this beautiful young woman a drink?” Dean grabbed his friend and practically slung him into the blonde’s path.
    He watched as the woman at the bar dug into her purse and pulled out a cell phone. She nodded to her friend and hopped down off her stool. She passed by, barely out of arm’s reach, phone to her ear and purse in hand.
    It was