Serving My Ex's Engagement Party - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

That day when I got home, I was burning up with fever.
I didn't want to risk getting Alistair sick, so I kept my distance over the next few days, handing him fifty bucks each morning for meals so he could grab his own breakfast and dinner. I figured a little rest would do the trick, but instead, my fever only got worse. Soon, I was delirious—sweating through the sheets, lost in a haze where I couldn't tell day from night or reality from dreams.
And then, Randell appeared again.
In the dream, he was sitting beside my bed, his fingers brushing gently against my cheek. He fed me medicine, wiped my feverish skin with a cool cloth—tender, like he used to be. For years, I'd played the strong, unshakable adult so Alistair wouldn't worry. But in that moment, with Randell's hands on me, I shattered. I grabbed his wrist, sobbing, "Randell, I'm so tired… It hurts so much… I miss you…"
The next morning, my alarm jolted me awake. My body ached, but the fever had finally broken.
Then, the memories of the dream hit me like a freight train.
I bolted upright, scanning the room—no one. The house was silent except for Alistair shuffling around, still home before school.
"Alistair," I called out, voice rough. "Did anyone come by last night?"
He shook his head. "You said no one's allowed in except you, Aunt Eleanore."
I flicked his nose lightly. "Mom, remember?"
The realization that it had all been a dream left a hollow ache in my chest.
Five years. I thought I'd buried Randell deep enough that he wouldn't resurface. So why now? Why did just seeing him unravel me like this?
Still shaky from the fever, I usually skipped makeup, but today, I took extra care—like I was armoring up.
The second I stepped into the office, a coworker elbowed me. "Damn, you're way more connected than I thought."
I frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"You seriously don't know? A client came in a few days ago—apparently from a Deleon Group subsidiary. The Deleon Group. Since when do we land whales like that? If this deal goes through, bonuses for days."
Just as she finished, the elevator doors slid open.
And there he was.
Randell.
The way my coworker's eyes lit up, I realized he was the "young, hotshot exec" she'd been gushing about. Our gazes locked for half a second before I looked away, desperate to avoid whatever this was.
But of course, Randell didn't care. He strode right to my desk, rapping his knuckles against it.
"Good to see you again, Eleanore."
Donovan Barker, my perpetually unimpressed manager, suddenly perked up like a bloodhound catching a scent. "Eleanore, you know Mr. Deleon?"
I knew exactly what he was angling for—if I admitted it, I'd be stuck handling Randell directly. And after one dream had wrecked me, I couldn't risk being near him daily.
So I lied. "I don't know him."
Randell's smirk said he'd expected that.
Without even consulting me, Donovan declared, "Eleanore will lead this project. She'll coordinate directly with Mr. Deleon."
Translation: if I refused, the deal died.
This job—the one I'd fought tooth and nail to keep because it let me leave early for Alistair—wasn't something I could just walk away from. Not over him.
So I clenched my jaw and nodded.
Game on.