10. Shiloh

Chapter ten

Shiloh

The next morning is like waking up in a hurricane.

Rain slams against the cab window, a relentless torrent that blurs the Atlanta skyline into a wash of grey. I lean my forehead against the cool glass, watching droplets race each other down. My stomach churns—not just from the anger stewing inside me because of Liam but also from the thought of the plane jostling through this storm.

"Airport's busy today," the cabbie remarks, pulling up to the departure curb. I barely nod, too caught up in my own headspace to engage.

"Thanks," I mutter, handing him the fare and stepping out into the deluge.

The rain is immediate, soaking through my blouse as I dash for cover, dragging my suitcase behind me. I can't shake off the tightness in my chest or the anxious flutter tickling my ribs. It's not just the weather—it's everything.

Or, if I’m being honest with myself… it's Liam.

I tossed and turned all night after getting back to my hotel room, angry at what I’d participated in, frustrated with Liam, and on fire from his touch. The way his fingertips had grazed my thigh under the table—the way he’d grabbed my elbow, commanded me to look at him.

I can’t get him out of my head, and it’s making me crazy.

Once I'm inside, the bustle of the airport wraps around me. The noise of departure boards clicking and distant announcements is a stark contrast to the muffled sounds of the storm outside. I weave through the crowd, keeping my head down.

I'm through security faster than I expected, probably because I packed light—too angry last night to care about options. But it's only as I adjust my bag on my shoulder that I notice the commotion up ahead.

"What do you mean canceled?" a man bellows, his face red and his veins popping.

He's not alone in his outrage. A steady stream of passengers drag their luggage away from the gates, faces twisted in irritation, spewing complaints about delays and cancellations.

"First the delay, now this? Unbelievable!" a woman snaps, her words stabbing the air as she yanks her carry-on behind her.

A knot forms in my throat. I edge closer to one of the departure screens, squinting at the flashing red text that spells out what I already know: FLIGHTS CANCELED DUE TO SEVERE WEATHER CONDITIONS.

Swallowing hard, I gulp down the anxiety that’s building in my chest. The possibility of being stuck here with Liam is not something I'd prepared for. That's when I hear his voice, that deep, commanding timbre that seems to carry over the chaos.

"Look, I need a flight out of here now, and it doesn't matter which one!" Liam's back is to me, a rigid line of tension visible even through his tailored suit jacket. His hand slams against the counter, palm flat and fingers splayed—a physical punctuation to his demand.

"Sir, as I've explained," the gate agent replies, her voice strained but professional, "all flights are grounded until the storm passes. There's nothing we can do at this moment."

"Then find something we can do!" Liam’s words slice through the terminal, drawing disapproving glances from stranded passengers nearby.

"Sir, if you continue to raise your voice and threaten staff, I will have no choice but to call security." Her eyes flicker to the phone on the desk as if contemplating making good on her warning right then and there.

It's almost surreal, watching Liam—the man who controls courtrooms and bends multimillion-dollar deals to his will—being put in his place by an airline employee half his size. Given our current situation, it should be amusing, perhaps even a bit satisfying. But instead, all I feel is a sinking sensation in my stomach.

"Fine!" he snaps, turning sharply on his heel, and that's when his gaze locks onto mine.

Shit.

I do not want that energy directed at me.

He stalks toward me with determined strides, intent and unyielding, a man on a mission. My heart races, not entirely from fear of the brewing storm outside or the threat of a bumpy flight.

"Shiloh," he says, his voice clipped as if he's gritting his teeth against the situation—or maybe against having to deal with me. "We're renting a car."

I blink up at him. "Renting a car? Liam, what are you—"

"Flights are canceled," he interrupts, his tone brooking no argument. "Weather’s a mess, and I need to get back to Boston. We're driving." His jaw sets in that stubborn way it does when he's made up his mind.

"Driving? Liam, that's—"

"Look, Shiloh," he cuts me off again, his words sharp like the edge of ice. "I don't have time for this. I have meetings, commitments. I'm not going to sit around waiting for the skies to clear." There's an impatience in his stance, a ferocity in his eyes that tells me arguing would be futile.

"Okay," I say, even though a thousand questions pound against the inside of my skull. Why does he need to rush back so badly?

And more importantly, why do I feel the need to follow him, despite the fact that every fiber of my being is screaming that this is a bad idea—a very bad idea?

"Isn't that too far?" I ask, trailing after him, my heels clicking loudly on the polished airport floor. The question feels stupid even as it leaves my lips—Boston is hours upon hours away by car, especially under the blanket of an unforgiving storm.

Liam doesn't slow his pace, doesn't even turn to look at me. "It's necessary," he says curtly, and there's something in his voice that tells me not to press further. His long strides are determined, carrying him with a purpose I find both infuriating and oddly compelling.

I can't stop him; that much is clear. Liam Nolan does what Liam Nolan wants, consequences be damned.

We reach the rental car counter, which is buzzing with a line of similarly stranded passengers, their faces etched with frustration and fatigue. But when Liam approaches, the air shifts—it's like everyone senses the hurricane that's just walked up, ready to make landfall.

"Give me a car. The best one you've got left," he demands, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

The agent behind the counter looks up, weary but wary, clearly recognizing the kind of man who won't take 'no' for an answer. "Sir, we're nearly out of vehicles because of the weather..."

"Then get creative," Liam snaps, impatience bleeding into his words. "I have places to be."

My stomach churns uneasily. Am I really about to embark on this ill-conceived road trip with a man who could only politely be described as my boss—and, more accurately, as the source of my most complicated emotions? The same man who, just last night, was asking me if I wanted to be—

No, I shake the thought away.

"Fine, sir. Let me see what I can do," the agent relents, tapping away at the keyboard with practiced resignation.

And so, we wait. I stand slightly behind Liam, watching the tense set of his shoulders and the way his hand clenches and unclenches at his side. There's a tempest brewing within him, and I can't help but wonder if I'm about to get caught in its eye.

The agent's eyes flicker with a mix of sympathy and annoyance as he glances between his computer screen and Liam. "Like I said, we're almost out of cars. Everyone had the same idea when the cancellations started."

Liam leans in, his jaw set hard enough to chisel stone. He pulls out a wad of cash, thick and impatient, and slams it down on the counter with a thud that seems to echo my racing heartbeat. "Then make something happen. Get me a damn car."

Money talks—a language that seems universal—and the agent's resigned sigh tells me he understands it fluently. My chest tightens at the sight, the raw power Liam wields without hesitation.

"Alright," the agent concedes, scooping up the cash. "I'll see what we have." His fingers fly over the keyboard, and within moments, he retrieves a key from a drawer behind him and slides it across the counter towards Liam. "Last one. It's yours."

"Good." Liam grabs the key, and I'm right behind him as he turns on his heel.

"Wait, my bag—" I blurt out, stumbling over my words as much as my feet. "It's already checked."

"Mine too," he growls without looking back. "They'll get them to us, or they'll have a hefty lawsuit dropped on them."

There's no room for argument in his voice, just a steely certainty that brooks no dissent. I swallow hard, following him through the sliding doors into the rain-soaked world outside.

The rain is a relentless drumbeat, pounding on the roof of the rental car as we stand just outside. I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to draw some warmth into my bones, but it's no use. The chill isn't just from the weather.

"Why are you in such a hurry to get back to Boston?" I ask, raising my voice over the storm. "Maybe we should wait it out."

Liam's gaze cuts through the rain like a blade. "I can't stand to spend any extra damn time with you," he snarls, his jaw set, eyes flashing with something I can't quite read. Anger? Frustration? It doesn't matter.

“I could fly back,” I start as the car pulls up—a shiny silver Mercedes. “If you don’t want—”

He tosses his bag into the trunk and then stands there, glaring at me. "Get in the car, Shiloh."

"Or what?" The question slips out before I can reel it back in, my own temper flaring up. But the look he gives me, dark and unreadable, has me biting back any further retort.

I hesitate, watching him. Every logical bone in my body screams at me to walk away and find another way back. But instead, I slide into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut against the storm. There's something about Liam—something that keeps me tethered to him despite the chaos.

As Liam puts the car into gear and we pull out of the lot, I stare out the window at the blurry lights of the airport receding behind us. My thoughts chase each other like the raindrops on the glass.

Have I made a huge mistake?

Why am I so intent on staying close to a man who seems to despise me, a man whose very presence stirs up a storm inside me as perilous as the one outside?

The windshield wipers beat a steady rhythm, and Liam’s silence is a cold void next to me. I shiver, though not from the rain anymore.

This drive back to Boston is going to be long, and I can't help but wonder what awaits us at the end.