24. Shiloh

Chapter twenty-four

Shiloh

The hum of the breakroom fridge is my soundtrack as I pop open my laptop and start sifting through the Trinity application material. I can't help but let a grin spread across my face; it's finally happening.

The cursor blinks on the screen, urging me forward, and my fingers dance over the keys with excitement that's been building up for what feels like centuries.

I glance at the clock—still plenty of time left on my lunch break to make headway. Admission requirements, scholarship options, course outlines—I click through each tab with mounting enthusiasm.

Dublin.

It's not just a dream anymore; it's a plan slowly coming together, pixel by pixel, on this bright laptop screen.

"Shiloh, back to work soon?" Jackie calls out as she passes by the breakroom. She's always keeping tabs on everyone, making sure we're toeing the line.

"Almost done here," I call back, minimizing the window just in case. My heart races—can't get caught daydreaming about Ireland when there are legal briefs waiting for me.

Time to switch gears.

I stand up, stretching, and make my way to the copy room. It smells like warm paper and toner—a comfortingly familiar scent. I feed the printer with crisp white sheets and hit print.

Documents start spitting out one after another, the sound oddly soothing amidst the chaos of deadlines and high-powered egos outside these walls.

While the printer does its thing, I pull out my phone and shoot a quick text to Nadia: Starting my application to Trinity today!

Her reply is almost instant, a flurry of emojis and exclamation marks that make me chuckle. Nadia's been my cheerleader since the beginning, pushing me toward this crazy adventure.

Leaning against the copier, I let myself daydream for a moment. Lectures in grand old buildings, cobblestone streets underfoot, the taste of Irish stew on my tongue.

A fresh start. Maybe even a chance to leave behind the complicated tangle of emotions that's been my life at Aegis Legal Group.

But it’s bittersweet… because I don’t want to leave behind Liam.

We’ve been doing this for weeks now—this ‘co-workers with benefits’ thing—and I still don’t quite know what to make of it. I finally got on the pill thanks to how many nights I’ve spent at his place, and he’s been… god, he’s been using me every night.

Making love to me?

No… not that. Definitely using me.

I like it, though. I crave him. Even when I’m not with him, I want to be with him.

Damn it.

I'm smoothing out a crease in one of the freshly printed pages when the sound of footsteps catches my attention. My pulse quickens, a conditioned response to any hint of his presence. I look up, and there he is—Liam, shutting the door behind him with a definitive click that seems to echo through the small room.

"Hey," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. My smile is automatic, the corners of my lips lifting at the sight of him. In this clandestine space, away from prying eyes, we've found moments of stolen intimacy that both thrill and terrify me.

"Shiloh." His voice is a low rumble as he crosses the room towards me, those intense hazel eyes locking onto mine. There's an urgency in his step that sends my heart into overdrive.

Before I can react or even form another word, he's on me, his arms wrapping around me in a firm embrace that lifts me slightly off my feet. The kiss he plants on my lips is electric, just like the first time at Thanksgiving dinner years ago—intense, desperate, as if he's trying to communicate something words can't capture.

His fingers thread through my hair, gripping gently, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss. It's overwhelming how he can make me forget where we are and who we are with nothing more than the press of his mouth against mine. The papers in my hand become an afterthought, slipping from my grasp and scattering across the floor, unnoticed.

"God, I've been thinking about this all day," he murmurs against my lips, his breath hot and heavy.

"Me too," I whisper back, lost in the moment, lost in him.

Is this what being in love feels like? I question the sensation blooming inside me as we part, my breath catching in my throat. The joy that courses through my veins is pure, untainted by the complications of our reality.

In his arms, I'm not just Shiloh from the legal department; I'm someone cherished, someone desired beyond reason. I think we see each other in a way no one has ever seen me before.

He lingers close, his thumb tracing my lip, sending a ripple of warmth spiraling down to the pit of my stomach. Liam's gaze holds mine, earnest and unwavering.

"I hope you're not busy tonight," he says, his voice smooth as velvet. "I made reservations at L'éclisse, that new place downtown. Managed to get us on the list."

My heart leaps at the thought of an evening out with him, away from these walls that both protect and confine us. A chance to be just two people in love, if only for a few stolen hours. But the fluttering excitement is quickly replaced by the prickling reality of commitments I can't escape, even for him.

"I wish I could," I murmur, the words weighed down by a tinge of regret. "But I've got a call scheduled with the English department at Trinity College tonight." My voice trails off, and I bite my lip, knowing how much he was looking forward to tonight.

Liam's expression shifts almost imperceptibly, his smile faltering as he glances over my shoulder. Curiosity piqued, he steps past me, eyes landing on the printer that hums with the last remnants of activity. The stack of papers in the output tray seems to draw him in, and he reaches for them without a word.

"Application?" His voice is quieter now, the excitement from moments ago replaced with a different kind of intensity.

I nod, feeling a sudden tightness in my chest. "Yeah, it's all part of the process. I have to get it in by next week." I don't mention how much this means to me, how much I dream of expanding my horizons beyond these office walls—beyond our complicated entanglement.

Liam runs a hand through his hair, the lines of his face softening as he processes the sight before him. It's as though he's seeing a glimpse into a future where I might not be just a door away, where the rules that forbid us from being together might no longer apply.

"Trinity College," he repeats, almost to himself, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and something else I can't quite place. Maybe fear.

"Right," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "It's a big deal."

“Do you think you’ll be accepted?" The question hangs between us, and I can tell he's holding his breath.

"I hope so," I admit, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of the application papers. "There's an advisor who's really interested in my scholarship on the Bront? sisters and…"

You could come with me.

The words are ripe on my tongue, ready to spill out and invite him into this dream of mine—perhaps even to Dublin itself. But then I see it. His jaw clenches, and a shadow seems to cross his face, like a cloud passing over the sun. Anger flickers there, and those words shrivel up before they ever leave my mouth.

Liam takes a step back, and it's as if he's suddenly aware of the proximity we've allowed ourselves. He smooths down his tailored suit jacket, a gesture that somehow feels like he's straightening out more than just fabric. It's like he's putting a barrier back between us, one that had momentarily slipped.

"Are you okay?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He gives me a curt nod. "Yes, of course," Liam replies, but his voice betrays him, sounding strained. "I'm fine. And don't worry about tonight, Shiloh. I can reschedule the reservation."

I watch him for a moment, trying to decipher the swirl of emotions that seem to be warring within him. Part of me wants to reach out, to smooth away the crease that has formed between his brows, but I know better. So instead, I swallow hard and give him a small smile.

"Thanks, Liam. That means a lot." But even as I say it, I can feel something shifting between us, some delicate balance we've managed to maintain now teetering dangerously. Liam's gaze hardens, and his next words come out clipped, official.

"Shiloh, this isn't a personal printer,” he says suddenly, voice cold. “Please refrain from using company resources for non-work-related matters."

His tone is all business, but it lands like a slap. My heart sinks, the warmth of our earlier intimacy replaced by a cold sense of rejection. I nod mutely, not trusting my voice. Without another word, he turns on his heel and exits the copy room, leaving me in a sudden quiet that feels too loud.

I'm alone with the hum of the machine and the fluttering of papers as they settle into the tray. For a moment, I just stand there, my hands trembling slightly. With a deep breath, I gather the printed application materials, each page feeling heavier than it should.

What did I do wrong? The question circles in my head, a relentless buzz. I thought things were different between us, that the rules no longer applied.

But here we are, back to square one, with him reminding me of my place.