Worth the Fall: A Single Dad, Romantic Comedy (Flirting with Forever Book 2)

The bathroom mirror reflects a version of me I barely recognize. A sharp navy suit, tailored to perfection, hugs my frame, while my strawberry-blond hair is twisted into an elegant chignon. It’s the kind of outfit that’s supposed to exude confidence, but my red-rimmed eyes betray the sleepless night I’ve spent obsessing over every detail of today.

My cue cards tremble in my hands as I mutter, ‘You’ve got this.’ I force a smile at my reflection, one that feels more like a grimace. ‘You’re smart, prepared, and you’ve literally argued cases in front of federal judges. What’s a room full of partners?’

But it’s not just any room. It’s the senior partners of Harrison & Brooks. The ones who decide the future of the firm—and whether or not I’ll finally land the partner track I’ve been clawing my way toward for years. My stomach twists with every thought of what’s at stake. This isn’t just about a title or a bigger office; it’s about proving to myself that I’m more than the woman who let her life be consumed by Cameron’s shadow for over a decade.

The door creaks open behind me, and I jump, spinning around to see Miguel leaning casually against the frame. Barefoot, with sweatpants slung low on his hips and a gray T-shirt clinging to his chest, he looks like he just stepped out of my dreams—or a Calvin Klein ad. His curls are messy, his face still soft from sleep, and his smile, as always, is devastating.

‘You’ve been in here for a while,’ he teases, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep. ‘What are you doing? Coaching yourself through a trial?’

I groan, clutching the cue cards to my chest like a lifeline. ‘I’m practicing for my presentation. It’s important.’

Miguel’s smile softens as he steps into the bathroom, leaning a hip against the counter. ‘Important, huh? And you’re practicing… in front of the toothpaste?’

‘It’s not funny,’ I say, glaring half-heartedly. ‘This presentation could make or break my career. I can’t mess it up.’

He plucks the cue cards from my hand with infuriating ease, flipping through them as though they’re a casual magazine. ‘Let’s see… Ah, here’s the part where you dazzle them with your analysis of market trends. Riveting.’

‘Miguel!’ I snap, lunging for the cards, but he holds them above his head, grinning like a schoolboy.

‘You need to relax,’ he says, tossing the cards onto the counter. He steps closer, his hands sliding up to cup my face. The warmth of his touch stills my racing thoughts as his dark eyes lock on mine. ‘Mia, listen to me. You’re going to kill it. You’re smart, you’re prepared, and you’ve worked harder than anyone to get here. If they don’t see that, they’re idiots—and frankly, you’re too good to waste your time on idiots.’

His voice is steady, calm, and annoyingly convincing. I feel a lump rise in my throat, and I blink quickly to keep the tears at bay. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper, my voice barely audible. ‘But what if⁠—’

Before I can spiral into another wave of self-doubt, his lips brush against mine. Soft at first, tentative, like he’s testing the waters. But the moment I lean into him, it deepens. His hands move to my waist, pulling me closer, and I lose myself in the sensation. The worries and fears that had consumed me moments ago melt away, replaced by the heady warmth of his kiss.

By the time we pull apart, I’m breathless. His forehead rests against mine, his grin lazy and satisfied. ‘There,’ he says softly. ‘Now you’ve got your lucky charm.’

A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. ‘That’s your big plan? Kiss me into confidence?’

He shrugs, his hands lingering on my waist. ‘It worked, didn’t it?’

I swat his chest, my cheeks warm. ‘I need to finish getting ready.’

He steps back, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘Fine, fine. But just remember—you’re a badass, Mia Mason. Don’t let them forget it.’

As he walks out, I turn back to the mirror. The woman staring back at me isn’t the trembling, self-doubting mess I was moments ago. She looks strong, capable—and maybe just a little bit in love.

By the time Linda pounds on my apartment door, I’ve almost convinced myself that I’ve shaken off the worst of my nerves. The hum of preparation—double-checking cue cards, smoothing my suit for the millionth time—has kept my anxiety manageable, or so I think. That is, until the sharp, insistent bang, bang, bang of her knock rattles through the apartment like a gavel calling court to session.

Before I can even make it to the door, Miguel is there. He opens it with his usual calm, his rumpled gray T-shirt and sweatpants a stark contrast to the whirlwind about to barrel through the threshold.

‘Linda,’ he says, blinking at the sight of her, ‘it’s… early.’

‘And so is her meeting! Step aside, Miguel, this is a crisis.’ Linda snaps, brushing past him without a second glance. Her sensible heels clack against the hardwood as she enters, brandishing a pink bakery box in one hand and her oversized purse in the other. ‘Emergency stress donuts!’ she declares, as though announcing the verdict in a high-profile case.

I step into the living room just in time to catch her surveying my apartment like a general assessing the battlefield. Her eyes land on me, and her mouth tightens into a line. ‘Mia Mason, what are you doing pacing around like a lawyer on trial? Sit down. Eat something. You can’t argue your way to partner on an empty stomach.’

I open my mouth to protest, but Linda is already thrusting the box of donuts into my hands. ‘Chocolate-glazed, jelly-filled, and something with sprinkles because you need joy this morning,’ she says briskly. ‘Eat.’

Miguel leans casually against the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. ‘She’s been up since five,’ he offers. ‘Lots of pacing. Minimal eating.’

Linda whirls on him. ‘And you let her?’ she demands, hands on her hips. ‘Honestly, Miguel, you live here now. Step up.’

‘I—’ Miguel’s smirk widens as he holds up his hands in surrender. ‘Got it. No pacing. More eating.’

‘Good,’ Linda says with a decisive nod before rounding on me again. ‘Mia, sit.’

Caught between her no-nonsense tone and Miguel’s amused expression, I plop down on the couch, the donut box balanced precariously on my lap. ‘I’m fine, really⁠—’

‘You’re not fine,’ Linda interrupts, plucking a chocolate-glazed donut from the box and pressing it into my hand. ‘You’re spiraling. I can see it in your eyes.’

I glance at Miguel, who looks thoroughly entertained. ‘I’m not spiraling,’ I say weakly.

Linda arches an eyebrow. ‘You have a presentation in a few hours. You’re wearing your nerves like a bad scarf. And knowing you as well as I do, you’ve skipped breakfast. That’s three strikes.’

I take a hesitant bite of the donut, the sugary sweetness melting on my tongue. ‘Happy?’ I mumble around the mouthful.

‘Ecstatic,’ Linda says, plopping down beside me and rummaging through her bag. ‘Now, let’s fix your lipstick. That coral shade washes you out.’

‘I like this lipstick,’ I argue, but she’s already pulling out a tube of something decidedly more vibrant. Miguel saunters over, watching the scene unfold with the casual air of someone who knows better than to intervene.

‘I’m not changing my lipstick,’ I protest weakly as Linda unscrews the cap.

‘Yes, you are,’ she counters, dabbing the color onto my lips with surprising precision. ‘This is a power red. You need power today. Coral is for brunch.’

Miguel chuckles from the corner, and I glare at him. ‘You’re not helping.’

‘Not my circus,’ he says, holding up his hands. ‘Though, the red does look good.’

‘See?’ Linda beams, stepping back to admire her handiwork. ‘Much better.’

I stand, brushing crumbs from my skirt and glancing at my reflection in the hallway mirror. The red lipstick is bold, almost startling, but there’s something about it that makes me stand a little taller. ‘Fine,’ I concede. ‘The red stays.’

‘Good,’ Linda says, clapping her hands together. ‘Now, where’s your briefcase?’

‘By the door,’ I mutter, grabbing a napkin to wipe my hands.

‘And your cue cards? Do you need me to hold flashcards while you rehearse? I’m excellent at reading disapprovingly.’

‘Linda,’ I say, exhaling slowly, ‘I appreciate this. I do. But I think I’ve got it under control.’

Her eyes narrow. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes,’ I lie. ‘Miguel already gave me a pep talk this morning.’

At this, Linda’s gaze shifts to Miguel, her expression unreadable. ‘Good,’ she says after a long pause. ‘I hope it was effective.’

Miguel flashes her an easy smile. ‘I’d like to think so.’

Linda studies him for another beat before nodding. ‘Alright, then. But if you even think about tripping in those heels today, imagine me sitting in the audience with a very disappointed face.’

‘I’ll do my best not to,’ I say, smiling despite myself.

Linda adjusts her blazer and shoulders her bag with a flourish. ‘That’s my girl. Now go out there and make them realize what a mistake it would be not to put you on the partner track.’

She heads for the door, pausing only to shoot Miguel one last look. ‘Take care of her,’ she says, her voice softer now, almost conspiratorial.

Miguel nods, his expression losing its playful edge. ‘I will.’

When the door clicks shut behind her, I let out a long breath, slumping back onto the couch. ‘That woman is a force of nature.’

Miguel crosses the room, plucking the donut box from the coffee table and holding it out to me. ‘She’s not wrong, though. You could use another one of these.’

I take a jelly-filled donut, my nerves settling as his hand brushes mine. ‘You’re not going to let me live this down, are you?’

‘Not a chance,’ he says, his grin softening. ‘But for the record, I like the red lipstick too. Power suits you.’

The boardroom feels more like a battleground than a conference room. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a sweeping view of the city skyline, but it’s wasted on me. My focus is entirely on the long, gleaming oak table and the formidable figures filing in one by one to take their seats. Senior partners of Harrison & Brooks. The people who could decide my future with a single raised eyebrow.

I stand at the front of the room, gripping my laser pointer like it’s a weapon. My tailored navy suit feels both too tight and too loose all at once, and I will myself to stay calm. Confidence, I remind myself. Channel every ounce of confidence Miguel kissed into me this morning. You are prepared. You belong here.

The partners settle into their seats, their faces unreadable save for the occasional sharp glance. I offer a polite smile, adjusting the stack of papers on the podium in front of me. My slides are ready, my cue cards are perfectly ordered, and my arguments have been practiced to death. This is my moment.

I click to the first slide, take a breath, and begin.

‘Good morning,’ I say, my voice steady despite the storm brewing in my chest. ‘Today, I’ll be presenting our strategy to secure the Meyer acquisition and ensure long-term profitability for the firm.’

So far, so good. My voice doesn’t shake, and the first few slides flow seamlessly. I see some heads nodding around the table, which I take as a positive sign. But as I move to click to the third slide, a glimmer on my sleeve catches my eye.

At first, I think it’s a trick of the light. But no, there it is—a speck of glitter, faint but unmistakable. My heart sinks. Of course. Felicity’s glitter bomb of a mermaid art project must have left more of a mark on me than I realized. I brush at it discreetly, hoping no one notices.

The speck refuses to budge. Worse, as I glance down, I notice another glint near my wrist. Then another on the lapel of my blazer. Panic flutters in my chest, but I force myself to keep talking, moving to the next slide. Maybe it’s not noticeable. Maybe they’ll just think the projector light is catching something.

‘Here we see a comparative analysis of Meyer’s quarterly earnings,’ I say, clicking to a detailed bar graph. But the moment I gesture toward the screen, something catches my eye—a sticker. A tiny princess crown sticker, stuck to the underside of my sleeve.

My heart lurches. Felicity must have planted it somewhere last night when she hugged me goodbye before bed and I transferred it to my suit. I try to surreptitiously brush it off, but it’s stuck fast. Of course, it’s the one sticker with industrial-strength adhesive.

‘Let’s move on to the key growth projections,’ I say, my voice an octave higher than it should be. I take a small step to the side to redirect their attention to the slide—and that’s when it happens. My heel catches on the edge of the carpet.

Time slows as I stumble forward, arms flailing. The papers on the podium scatter, and I lurch toward the table to catch myself. My palms hit the polished wood with a resounding thud, and the room goes silent.

Heat floods my face as I straighten, smoothing my blazer like nothing happened. My heart is hammering, but I force a smile and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. ‘Well, at least I’ve got your attention now.’

For a beat, the room remains silent. Then laughter breaks out, rippling through the senior partners like a wave. Even the notoriously stoic Mr. Gilmore cracks a smile. Relief washes over me, and I seize the opportunity to turn the moment in my favor.

‘Let’s call that my warm-up act,’ I say with a grin, earning another round of chuckles. ‘Now, where were we?’

I regain my footing—literally and figuratively—and dive back into the presentation. The adrenaline coursing through me sharpens my focus, and I lean into the humor, weaving it naturally into my points. I use the stumble as a metaphor for adaptability in business strategy, turning what could have been a disaster into an asset.

By the time I reach my closing argument, the room is alive with nods and engaged expressions. I can feel the shift in the energy—this is going well. I click to the final slide, my voice strong and steady.

‘In conclusion, our proposed strategy not only secures the Meyer acquisition but positions Harrison & Brooks as a leader in long-term profitability. Thank you for your time, and I look forward to discussing how we can move forward.’

The room erupts into applause. Real applause. Not the polite kind they offer to every junior associate who manages to stumble through a presentation without passing out. Genuine, approving applause.

‘Impressive work, Ms. Mason,’ Mr. Gilmore says, his tone carrying more weight than the words themselves. ‘We’ll be in touch soon.’

I nod, keeping my expression professional even as my heart soars. As the partners file out, a few offer words of encouragement, and I bask in the glow of what feels like a hard-fought victory.

It’s only when I step into the hallway and glance down at my blazer that I notice it: a tiny trail of glitter on my lapel. I groan, brushing at it futilely. But instead of feeling mortified, I laugh. Felicity’s glitter and stickers might have nearly derailed my day, but they also remind me of how far I’ve come—and who I’ve become.

With my head held high, I stride toward my office. Today, I nailed it. Glitter and all.

When I return to my office, still riding the high of my presentation, the first thing I notice is laughter. It’s light, bright, and unmistakably Felicity’s. My heart swells at the sound. I push open the door, and I’m greeted by a sight that makes my breath catch.

Miguel is leaning casually against my desk, a vision of ease in his dark suit, holding a familiar grease-stained bag from my favorite sandwich shop. His tie is slightly loosened, the way it always is by this time of day, and his dark curls look almost too perfect to be real. Meanwhile, Felicity is perched in my office chair, spinning herself in wild circles, her giggles echoing off the walls. Her curls bounce with every rotation, and in front of her on the desk is a bright-pink gift bag stuffed with overflowing tissue paper.

‘Daddy, look!’ Felicity exclaims as she whirls again. ‘I’m so fast!’

Miguel chuckles, shaking his head. ‘Careful, kiddo. We’re here to celebrate, not redecorate Mia’s office with you flying into the walls.’

At the sound of my heels clicking across the threshold, Felicity’s spinning chair jerks to a stop. She spots me and lights up like the Fourth of July. ‘Mia!’ she cries, tumbling out of the chair and sprinting toward me.

‘Whoa!’ I laugh, dropping my bag and crouching just in time to catch her. Her little arms wrap tightly around my neck, her face pressed against my shoulder. ‘What’s all this excitement for?’

Miguel pushes off the desk, his mouth curving into that easy, devastatingly perfect smile I can never get enough of. ‘We thought you might need some reinforcements,’ he says, holding up the sandwich bag like a trophy. ‘Lunch, hugs, and a little surprise.’

Felicity pulls back just enough to beam up at me. ‘We brought you a present!’ she says, pointing at the pink bag on my desk. ‘It’s for your office!’

‘A present?’ I glance at Miguel, who shrugs in that casual, confident way that tells me he knows exactly what kind of chaos I’ve walked into.

‘She worked very hard on it this morning,’ he says, his voice filled with quiet pride. ‘Wanted to make sure it was perfect.’

Felicity squirms out of my arms and bounces on her toes. ‘Open it, open it!’ she squeals, her energy infectious.

Laughing, I walk over to the desk and pick up the gift bag. It’s pink, glittery, and clearly picked out by Felicity herself. ‘This looks fancy,’ I say, tugging at the tissue paper. ‘You’ve outdone yourself already.’

Felicity giggles, climbing back into the chair and spinning slowly as she watches me. Miguel leans on the desk beside me, his arm brushing mine, the heat of him grounding me as I reach into the bag and pull out a frame.

The moment I see what’s inside, my breath catches. It’s a picture, clearly drawn by Felicity, and it’s everything. In the middle of a riot of glitter and stickers is a figure that’s unmistakably me. I’m standing tall, wearing what I think is supposed to be my green suit, with my hair in a ponytail and a big pointer stick in one hand. Surrounding me are stick-figure people who seem to be clapping or cheering—her interpretation of my presentation, no doubt. Above the drawing, in shaky, determined letters, are the words Mia, The Best Lawyer Ever.

I stare at the picture, my throat tightening as tears prick at the corners of my eyes. The bright-pink frame, dotted with rhinestones and stars, only makes it more perfect. ‘Felicity,’ I whisper, my voice catching, ‘you made this for me?’

She nods so enthusiastically that her curls bounce. ‘I did it all by myself! Daddy said you needed more pretty pictures in your office. And I picked the frame, too!’

‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, my voice thick with emotion. I set the frame down carefully and turn to her, crouching so we’re at eye level. ‘Thank you, sweetheart. I love it so much.’

Her eyes widen. ‘You do?’

‘I do,’ I say, pulling her into a hug that’s all squishy cheeks and wild curls. ‘It’s going right on my wall. First thing.’

She squeezes me back, and her voice is muffled against my shoulder. ‘It’s ’cause you’re so good at talking to the bosses.’

I pull back just enough to kiss her forehead, brushing her hair out of her face. ‘And you’re so good at making art. I think we make a pretty great team.’

Miguel steps closer, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. ‘She couldn’t wait to give it to you,’ he says softly, his voice warm and filled with pride. ‘Kept saying, ‘Mia’s gonna love it so much.’’

‘She was right,’ I say, standing and glancing back at the picture. ‘I do love it. It’s the best thing in this office.’

‘Better than your books?’ Felicity asks, wrinkling her nose as she gestures to the rows of law tomes behind my desk.

‘Way better than my books,’ I confirm, and she beams.

Miguel leans in, his lips brushing my temple as he whispers, “I knew you’d love it.’

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I glance up at him, my smile soft. ‘She gets her thoughtfulness from you.’

His fingers graze mine as he steps back, his smile tugging at something deep in my chest. ‘I just deliver the supplies. She’s the real mastermind.’

Felicity, now back in the chair, spins herself again before declaring, ‘Can we have ice cream now?’

Miguel chuckles, reaching out to steady her before she topples over. ‘What do you think, Mia? Donuts to celebrate the best lawyer ever?’

I glance at the picture again, then at the two of them—Miguel, steady and loving, and Felicity, all wild curls and endless joy. My heart swells so much it feels like it might burst.

‘Absolutely,’ I say, grabbing my bag and lacing my fingers through Miguel’s. ‘Let’s go get ice cream. Dessert first is always better in my opinion.”