Daxton was in deep shit. He knew it the second he walked into the building the next day and saw Kamree. She had the phone next to her ear, a slightly annoyed and frustrated expression on her face. But damn, she still looked beautiful in her light purple blouse. And that black pencil skirt she usually wore probably adorned her waist. It should be a sin to look that good.

Eventually, she'd be all his.

That night he stayed at work late and walked into her in the men's restrooms had to be the most perfect night of his life. Not only did he get to see how adorable she could look while flushed, but he found out the biggest information of his whole life.

Kamree Philips would be the woman he'd marry. She was his mate.

She'd sang a Danika Leighton song as he'd walked into the room. Before he even recognized who it was, he knew by the absolute breathtaking tone that whoever came out of the stall would be his. He could feel it.

Even now, as he walked toward the assistant's desk and said hello to Becca, his father's assistant, he could feel it. Like a pied piper calling to him, beckoning him closer.

Kamree bit her lip as Daxton leaned against the counter. Her eyebrows drew together as she frowned in concentration. A pen balanced, tottering carefully on her third finger, ready to take notes.

"Of course, Sir." She twirled the pen in between her fingers. Her face dropped further. The pen stopped.

Daxton's alertness rose. Who was on the other side of the line?

"Yes, Sir." Kamree swallowed, then arranged her features into a fake smile. "Thank you, Sir."

"What's wrong?" Daxton asked the second she put the phone down.

Kamree jolted, "Mr. Cavenaugh, good morning." She gave a small, distracted smile. Behind her eyes, he could watch as her thoughts ran through her mind. As if only a piece of her was fully present.

Daxton nodded at the phone. "Who was on the other line?"

Kamree's gaze drifted off the desk and onto him. "Your father."

Unintentionally, Daxton tensed. "What did he want?"

She shrugged. "He wants me to stay late today."

It was Daxton's turn to frown. But what caught him most by surprise and amped up his confusion was Becca's understanding look.

"Do you... have a previous engagement?" If she said yes, that she had a boyfriend... Dear Creator, what if she had a boyfriend? Aces were known to do that. Even if they weren't mates.

"No." His shoulders relaxed. "Just a small conflict." She turned to Becca. "Becca, will you be able to—"

"Done and done."

Kamree relaxed, sending a relieved smile at Becca. What did he have to do to get a smile like that? "Thank you so much."

"Is there anything I can help with?" Daxton offered.

Immediately in a better mood, Kamree gave Daxton a warm, genuine smile that made his insides flop. "You just keep being an awesome boss."

Daxton chuckled at that. "I wouldn't know how to be a proper boss if it bit me in the ass."

There was Kamree's traditional eye roll. "You're doing just fine, Mr. Cavenaugh."

"Daxton," he corrected.

"Daxton," his name rolling off her lips still had to be the sexiest thing. "Is there something we can help you with?"

There actually was a reason he stopped by other than to admire the scenery. "My mother will stop in today, around one. Can you make sure lobby security knows and escort her up?"

"Of course."

"Thanks."

He then made his way to the office door with his name on it.

~

Gibson's restaurant could make anyone feel classy. The hostess led Daxton and his mother to a smaller table in the back covered with a white cloth. A white and purple arrangement of flowers rested in the center of the place settings. It was the fanciest, most opulent, expensive restaurant he knew of in all of Sarias. Good thing he had his father's credit card.

He held the chair out for his mother before seating himself. The waiter came by not much later and asked for his drink order, to which he asked for a white Chardonnay his mother had always been fond of.

His mother, Catherine, gazed around in mild satisfaction. His father often took her to places such as this.

They ordered their food—a portion size probably the size of half of his fist—and sat back.

"Daxton," His mother smiled gently, proudly up at him. "You look so handsome today. I like the suit."

"I always wear a suit, mother."

"I know. But it's still weird to see my baby all grown up."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Not even ten minutes into the meal, and already he was exasperated by his mother. "Mother." He gave her a look.

"Carrie called last night." She switched topics.

At the mention of the name, Daxton's body tensed. "What did you tell her?"

"The truth." She swirled the wine around in her wineglass before taking a sip. Daxton always thought that if one were to melt down crystals into a liquid, that's what Chardonnay—or any white wine, really—would look like. "You were at a charity function—"

"Good."

"—and that you'd call her back tonight."

He barely bit back the groan that rose to his lips. Calling Carrie would be the last thing he'd want to do when he finally stumbled home.

Catherine must've caught some type of emotion or expression on his face. She gave him a reproachful, disappointed look. "She's your fiancée, Daxton. Call her."

Fiancée.

Yet another reminder of why he was in deep shit. "I will."

Kamree flew into his mind. He'd rather call her. Ask her how her night was going. What she did in her free time. Even after working with the girl for the last year or so, he never really knew much about her. Was she a reader? Did she exercise often? What was her favorite food? As soon as the words ran full sprint through his thoughts, he vowed to learn more about her. Maybe he'd invite her out and they could go for dinner and a movie. Did she like movies?

Their food came not much later. Appetizers of pan roasted mussels marinated in garlic sauce with grape tomatoes and shallots. His main entrée was a fillet mignon carefully surrounded by jumbo shrimp and roasted broccoli sitting in a garlic butter sauce. His mother had ordered a caprese salad arranged beautifully in a circle of tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil, dripping with extra virgin olive oil.

Daxton watched his mother push most of her food around her plate. He'd paid attention and altogether counted only two bites that landed into her mouth.

"Mother." He waited until she looked up at him with her grey eyes before continuing. "Please eat more."

Catherine gave him a false smile in response. "I am."

"No, you are not." When he hugged her before they left the office, he could almost feel her spine. It killed him to watch as his mother fought to keep up her weight. She'd gone through it before, and it hurt him to see the internal struggle she dealt with. He'd do anything to get her to eat a full meal. Pay any price.

Catherine's lips thinned. Anger—the kind that comes out more and more lately—came through. She set her fork down. "Do not think you can tell me what to do, Daxton."

He treaded into dangerous territory. Unfortunately for him, it seemed his only response lately has been to stomp his way around until he got what he wanted. This would not work well with his mother. "You barely eat anything anymore, mother." He added the next sentence more for his own safety. "I'm worried about you."

If Catherine was a dragon—and wasn't that a great thing to compare your mother to—she'd be spitting fire by now. Her grey eyes hardened into steel. "I am a grown woman. I will make my own decisions. And I sure do not have to defend myself against my own son."

This would not be something he could do in public. "I'm sorry, Mother."

Catherine picked the purple napkin off her lap and dabbed her lips before setting it back down, this time on the table, and rose from her chair.

Frustrated, Daxton shook his head. "No, mother, please don't go."

But Catherine already had picked up her purse. "I'm finished." Catherine stepped around the table to press a kiss on Daxton's cheek. He felt no warmth, no love from it, only coldness and routine. "Call Carrie. Tonight."

"Do you need me to call for Brian?"

"No. I can find my way home. Goodbye, Daxton."

"Goodbye, mother."

He'd been left alone at the table, eating his lunch by himself, and wondering if other men his own age dealt with the same feeling of isolation. Even in a world filled with people and success, he felt alone.