27. Shiloh

Chapter twenty-seven

Shiloh

It’s my birthday, which means I’m dressed to the nines—exactly how I like.

I stride into the high-rise building, my heels clicking a determined rhythm on the polished marble. Today, I'm twenty-three and feeling every bit of my age—like I've just leveled up in the game of life. My outfit is a carefully chosen armor: a chic blouse coupled with a skirt that's playful yet professional. It's a big day.

After all, I've got plans to corner Liam once everyone leaves, to finally say... something.

I reach for the elevator button but then pause. The usually bustling atmosphere feels oddly muted today. Curious, I tap my foot, waiting for the elevator doors to part. When they do, I step inside and press the button for our floor.

As the doors open again on Aegis Legal Group’s office, I'm greeted by silence.

Where is everyone…?

The sporadic click of a keyboard from somewhere far off is the only sound disrupting the stillness. It's eerie—like walking onto a stage after the audience has left.

"Odd," I mutter to myself, and I pick up the pace, my heart doing a weird little skip—not from fear, but from an inexplicable sense of anticipation.

I round the corner, my desk just coming into view outside Liam's office, and that's when I see them. Jackie, leading a cluster of secretaries and a couple of paralegals, all huddled around my workspace. What the—

"Surprise!" Jackie's voice cuts through the silence, and suddenly the air fills with colorful balloons. The crowd parts like they're unveiling a masterpiece to reveal a cake so stunning it could be a centerpiece at an art gala, surrounded by an array of flowers vibrant enough to shame a rainbow.

"Happy Birthday, Shiloh!" they chorus, and I can't help but let out a startled laugh, my earlier trepidation melting away under their warm smiles.

"Guys, you shouldn't have," I say, but the grin stretching across my face betrays my true feelings. Jackie steps forward, her own smile a beacon of mischief and genuine affection, and envelops me in a hug that feels like coming home.

"Of course we had to," she insists as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then she hands me a card. “Open it whenever you want. Happy birthday, Shy.”

The staff start to drift back to their desks, their well wishes lingering in the air long after they've gone. I flick my gaze over the card, then slip a finger under the seal. It's not just any card—it's one of those fancy ones that feel like they should be kept forever.

Inside, a check flutters out, and I catch it before it can drift away. My eyes widen at the figure etched onto the paper—a number that zeroes alone can't convey. And there, at the bottom, is Liam's signature, bold and decisive, a promise made tangible.

"Wow," escapes from my lips. I tuck the check back inside the card, my heart thumping in an erratic rhythm against my ribs. This is more than generous; it's a statement, almost a declaration.

From him. Liam.

I tuck the card into my purse, a soft sigh escaping as I do. That's Liam for you—grand gestures hidden behind a veneer of nonchalance. I glance around, half-expecting to see him leaning against his office doorframe with that signature smirk on his face, but he's not there. Strange, considering I could have sworn I saw him lingering by my desk earlier.

Shaking off the odd sense of disappointment, I start to unpack my bag, setting up for another day of work. It's then that I spot something out of place—a gift, tucked away like it's shy of the attention. A curious frown etches on my forehead as I reach for it.

It's clearly a book, wrapped in brown paper that crinkles under my touch and secured with a pale blue ribbon tied neatly in a bow. My fingers tremble slightly as they work to undo the knot, careful not to rip the wrapping.

Flipping over the package, my heart stutters at the sight of Liam's handwriting scrawled across a note stuck to the back. 'Be Gentle,' it reads. Two simple words, yet they send a rush of warmth flooding through me. They're a reminder of his meticulous nature, of the way he handles everything with care—even when his exterior suggests otherwise.

"Be gentle," I murmur to myself, a smile playing on my lips.

With reverent hands, I peel away the paper, revealing a book that looks like it's been cherished by time itself. The hardcover is worn, its corners rounded from years of being held and loved. A faint musty scent rises from it, the kind that only truly ancient pages can produce. Carefully, I open it to the first page, my breath catching in my throat.

Oh my God. He didn’t… did he?

Jane Eyre - First Edition, 1850 - by Charlotte Bront?.

I can’t believe what I’m looking at; it has to be a replica. But there it is, the confirmation of its age and rarity—a first-edition copy of Jane Eyre from 1850. My fingers trace the delicate print as if they could absorb the words straight into my skin.

I gasp, my heart pounding louder than the ticking clock on the wall. This isn't just an old book; it's a piece of history, of literature—priceless in every sense of the word. How did he even find it?

My eyes flicker toward Liam's office again, the door now a barrier between us. He's outdone himself. These books cost fortunes, easily dwarfing the generous down payment he gave me for my new apartment.

For a moment, I cradle the tome like a newborn, feeling the weight of its significance in my hands. To anyone else, this might be a collector's item, a pretty addition to a shelf. But to me, it's a world—a world he's giving me access to.

Tears well up in my eyes, unbidden. With a quick motion, I flick them away, terrified of damaging the precious gift.

This isn't just generosity; this is personal.

I set the book down with utmost care as if the desk might suddenly spring to life and snatch it away from me. My pulse is a staccato rhythm against my wrist, each beat urging me toward Liam's door.

"Here goes nothing," I whisper to myself. With a shaky breath, I knock on the polished wood, waiting for that familiar baritone.

"Come in," comes the voice from the other side, steady and sure.

I push open the door, my palms clammy now. He's standing by the window, silhouetted against the morning skyline, but at the sound of the door, he turns, and his face lights up with something like... excitement. It's infectious, sending a thrill through my veins.

"Shiloh," he says, and his voice has a warmth that makes my name sound like a caress. "Did you get my gift?"

The words lodge in my throat, thick and unmovable. All I manage is a nod, trying to convey a world of gratitude in a single gesture. My hands are trembling, whether from the emotional weight of the gift or the intensity of his gaze, I can't tell.

"Good." His smile deepens, satisfied, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm glad."

There's a pause, a moment suspended in time where I'm just standing there, lost for words.

Then something snaps inside me, a thread of restraint I hadn't even known was there—the last vestiges of everything I’ve been holding back. In a matter of seconds, I'm around his desk, and my arms are flung around him. His chuckle vibrates against me as he wraps me in an embrace, strong and encompassing. I sink into the hug, letting out a breath.

"Shiloh," he murmurs, his voice muffled by my hair. His fingers skate up and down my back in long, soothing strokes that seep warmth into my bones. "I guess that means you like it."

"I love it," I breathe out, the words coming easier now, wrapped in the safety of his arms.

The scent of his cologne fills my senses, a subtle blend that's become a comforting constant in my daily life. It's rich and understated, just like the man who wears it, and I breathe it in, committing the moment to memory.

Liam's laughter fades into a contented sigh, and he holds me just a bit tighter for a heartbeat or two longer. This is different; this isn't charged with the electricity of desire or the heat of a stolen moment.

It's just us, Liam and Shiloh, no pretenses, no expectations. It's intimate in a way that goes beyond the physical, touching something deeper within me.

For the first time, Liam's embrace isn't a prelude to something more—it's simply an end in itself. And it shifts something between us, a tectonic slide of understanding, of possibilities too vast to comprehend all at once. It's a promise without words, a silent acknowledgment that we're on the brink of something new.

Pulling back slightly, I search his face, finding genuine affection in his eyes. They hold mine, steady and unwavering, and I find hope there—hope that dances on the edge of reality, whispering of things yet to come.

In the sanctuary of his gaze, I feel a sense of belonging that's been absent for so long. The rest of the world fades away as my focus narrows down to this moment, to us. He glances briefly at the open door, a small acknowledgment of the risk we're taking, but it doesn't deter him. With deliberate gentleness, he leans in and places a kiss on my lips.

It's a soft touch, a brush of lips that speaks volumes. There's no urgency in this kiss, only layers of emotions unfolding between us, wrapping us in a connection that's both new and terrifyingly familiar.

His lips move against mine with a tenderness that catches my breath, deepening the kiss slowly, reverently. It's a conversation without words, a shared vulnerability that binds us closer than ever before.

We part, the air between us charged with the unsaid. Liam cradles my face in his hands, thumbs tracing the lines of my cheeks with a care that makes my heart swell. His eyes are alight with something I can't quite name, but it feels like joy mixed with a hint of relief, as if he's been holding his breath waiting for this very moment.

"Happy Birthday, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low and warm, causing a flutter in the pit of my stomach.

I melt under his touch, under the weight of those two words that seem to echo through me. All I want is to stay in his arms for the rest of the day… but I can’t. I have to get back to my desk before someone suspects something.

"Jackie wants to take you out for drinks after work," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile, "but when you're done, I'll be waiting for you here."

The promise in his words sends a thrill through me. He'll be waiting—for me.

I step back, breaking contact with Liam, and take a deep, steadying breath. With one last glance at his satisfied smile, I turn away from him and walk back toward my desk. The moment I leave the sanctuary of his office, the air feels different—cooler, less charged. But the tingles haven't left me; they dance across my skin, reminders of the connection we just shared.

As I settle into my chair, I can't help but wonder what he has planned for later. The anticipation is a live wire in my veins, electric and insistent.

My hands tremble slightly as I try to focus on the computer screen in front of me, but it's useless. His words keep replaying in my head, a mantra that drums up more questions than answers.

I'm tingling all over, every nerve ending seems to buzz with an energy that's both exhilarating and terrifying. And then, almost as if it's an afterthought, a wave of nausea rolls through me. It's odd—I haven't felt sick all day. I pause, hand resting lightly on my stomach, wondering.

Nerves, I tell myself. It's just nerves because of Liam, because of this thing between us that's growing more complicated by the second. It's the fear of getting caught, the thrill of the forbidden. That has to be the reason.

But there's a part of me that isn’t quite convinced. A small voice in the back of my mind whispers that maybe it's something more, something deeper. I push that thought away. Now is not the time to entertain such ideas.

For now, I need to get through the rest of the day, survive drinks with Jackie without giving anything away, and then... then I'll come back here, to him, to whatever waits in the charged silence of his office after hours.

I let out a shaky breath and try to concentrate on the mundane tasks in front of me, using the routine of work to anchor myself.

But no matter how hard I try, I can't fully shake the sensation that everything is about to change.