Let go. Move on. Forget her. She has a son.

The montage of commands held no weight. I had a counter to every statement ready to go.

Hold on. Go forward. Focus on her. The boy could use a good role model.

I drew my hands back to my lap, searching for that grip I couldn’t seem to get. I hadn’t had such a raw, intense reaction to a woman like this since⁠—

“Constantine?” I looked over to see Blair in the doorway, cutting off the chaos in my mind, for which I was grateful.

Blair had tried to hide her black eye with concealer, and it was hard to look at her without remembering that Daniel had tried to mug her and, in the process of failing to do so, had hit her in the face. I didn’t care if he’d claimed during Hudson’s interrogation that it’d been an accidental elbow and not intentional.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she began, and I gestured her in. She rounded the table and whispered, “You said if Juliette Carmichael ever reached out, to let you know right away.”

I let the name puncture a hole in both my heart and brain. “And?”

“She’s downstairs with security.”

My heart was about to implode, turning into confetti. Relief. Excitement. Maybe even anxiety ripped through me.

“Sir?” I hated it when she called me that. And considering she was almost twenty years younger than me and could be my daughter, it made me feel even more over the hill.

“Tell security to send her up. Bring her to my office. I’ll meet her there now.” I pushed away from the table, ignored my father's annoyed look, and announced, “Excuse me, but you’ll have to continue without me.” I left the conference room before anyone could protest.

I hurried down the hall to my corner office, dropped into my chair behind my desk, and stared out the window, viewing the Manhattan skyline.

I impatiently waited, curious if she’d be in her scrubs again. Maybe a cotton-candy pink this time?

What is wrong with me?

Time was moving too slowly. I undid the top two buttons of my black dress shirt, my tie already gone as of this morning, then held the chair arms, trying to look casual while leaning back.

At the knock, I called out, “Come in.”

The door opened, and she wasn’t in scrubs. Instead, she was clothed in my kryptonite.

Heels, fitted jeans, and a white button-down blouse partially tucked in. Her blonde hair, with hints of auburn strands, lay wavy over her shoulders. Her lips were painted a soft pink and slightly parted as if she’d opened her mouth to say something and forgotten how to speak. Brows, a little darker than her hair, slanted over her beautiful green eyes as she took in the sight of me.

Tongue-tied. Motherfucking same.