3. Liam

Chapter three

Liam

I'm flipping through a contract, red pen in hand, when the door to my office swings open without a sound. I look up, ready to scold Jackie about knocking, but she’s not alone.

She’s standing there with my new assistant… and that assistant is Shiloh Sanders.

My pen freezes mid-sentence, and I'm not just surprised; I'm sucker-punched by reality. She stands frozen like she's been rooted to the spot, a deer caught in the high beams of an oncoming truck.

Her eyes are wide, fixed on mine, and no one moves. In the silence, memories slam into me—her voice echoing in my ears. That night, we let our guards down, and our lips met in a reckless collision. Her kiss wasn't just a kiss; it was a damn revelation. I only met her one night, but I’ve never forgotten her.

And now, right here in my office with LED lights buzzing overhead, the memory of her taste mingles with the scent of lemon-scented polish and expensive leather.

I try to focus on the now, the professional distance I should maintain, but it's futile. My gaze, traitorous as it is, drifts from her frozen face down to where her blouse—a plain, no-nonsense white—betrays her reaction. Her pert nipples are pebbled underneath the silk, almost definitely wearing an unlined bra.

It’s a detail that shouldn’t matter, but it does because it’s Shiloh, and every goddamn thing about her matters too much.

"Did you get lost on your way to the mail room?" I ask, voice more gruff than intended.

She blinks, and I can tell she's trying to regain her composure, to find her place in this unexpected confrontation. But the air's already thick with things unsaid and feelings best forgotten.

Or so I try to convince myself.

"Actually," Jackie interjects, her voice slicing through the tension like a well-honed blade. "This is your new personal assistant." She gestures toward Shiloh with a flourish that feels too bright for this moment. "We've just wrapped up her onboarding paperwork."

Shiloh's gaze flits to Jackie, then back to me. There's a silent message in her big brown eyes, some plea for understanding—or maybe it's forgiveness. I don't know. I can't read her right now.

"Right—I just remembered she was starting today." The words taste like ash in my mouth. I trusted Jackie implicitly and left the hiring process entirely in her capable hands.

But this? This is a complication no one needs.

I should have been more careful. Should have given some input—any input—on who would be working so closely with me. Because as much as I want to deny it, the truth claws at the edges of my mind: I haven’t stopped thinking about Shiloh since that night.

Not even close.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Nolan?” Jackie asks.

"No, not at all—welcome aboard," I manage to say, though it feels like each syllable is being dragged from deep within my chest.

"Thank you, Mr. Nolan." Shiloh’s voice is soft and unsure, not the confident, teasing tone I remember all too well.

"Call me Liam," I correct her, almost against my will. The formality sounds wrong on her lips.

"Right. Liam." She nods, but the way she says my name—it's like a touch, a whisper across my skin. And damn it, the memory of her lips is suddenly there again, burning through me.

I remind myself that she’s likely still with Chris. My brother. The thought alone should be enough to douse any lingering flame of desire.

It isn’t.

"Jackie," I address my executive assistant, grasping for normalcy. "Is everything set with Ms. Sanders here?"

"Absolutely. She's all yours," Jackie replies, oblivious to how that makes me feel.

Or maybe she isn't oblivious, she's just too professional to show it.

"Good. Thank you."

As Jackie exits, leaving me alone with Shiloh, I'm acutely aware of everything—the sound of her breathing, the subtle shift of her feet on the plush carpet, the unseen weight of every reason why this is a terrible idea.

"Sit down," I say, pointing to the chair opposite my desk. “Let's talk."

And God help me because I don't know how I'll resist the pull of her gravity now that she's in my orbit again.

Shiloh stands across from me now, frozen, her slender frame rigid, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She's nervous, I can tell.

Her shoulders are pulled up ever so slightly, a defense against whatever she thinks I might say or do. It's a stark contrast to the carefree girl I remember—the one who laughed too loud and challenged me at every turn.

"Take a seat, Miss Sanders," I command, repeating myself. She flinches almost imperceptibly, and I mentally curse myself for letting my emotions slip through the cracks of my composure.

Shiloh complies without a word, lowering herself into the chair as though it might swallow her whole. The distance between us feels like miles, yet every instinct I have screams that it's not nearly far enough.

Silence stretches out, thick and tangible. My pulse hammers in my ears, loud against the stillness of the office. The air is charged with a tension that's all too familiar—a dangerous current between us that I've been trying to ignore since the moment she walked through the door.

"Liam," her voice is soft but steady, "how have you—"

"If I'd known it was you, I wouldn't have hired you."

Her mouth closes, and the vulnerability in her eyes is enough to twist something deep inside me. Mortification blooms across her face, and I can see her swallow hard, fighting back the emotion that threatens to spill over.

"Wh—why?" The question is barely above a whisper, her voice trembling with the weight of unshed tears and confusion.

"Because," I start, my tone steeling as I try to reinforce the walls between us, "I'm not in the habit of doing favors for my self-righteous brother."

Chris always had a way of getting under my skin, his holier-than-thou attitude grating on my last nerve. And now here she is, Shiloh, an unexpected pawn in our lifelong game of one-upmanship.

"Good," Shiloh's voice slices through the tension, a hint of steel beneath the softness, "because Chris and I broke up two months ago."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut—the sudden rush of heat, the undeniable pull towards her. The image of her, soft and wanting beneath me, flashes unbidden across my mind. I push it back… force it down. This is dangerous territory, a line we can't uncross.

But part of me wants to—to claim her in ways I've only allowed myself to fantasize about in the darkest corners of the night.

"Is that so?" My voice is rough with barely concealed hunger, the beast within straining against the chains of decorum and decency. I want her, have wanted her since the first time I laid eyes on her, but she was always Chris's.

Until now.

Shiloh nods, a flicker of something unreadable passing over her face before she schools her features into composed neutrality. "Yes, it's over."

I lean back in my chair, trying to regain some semblance of control. I can't do this—not now, not with her watching me with those wide, knowing eyes. There's too much at stake, too much to lose if I give in to the temptation she presents.

"I wasn't aware of that," I manage to say.

"So, does that mean you’ll be able to tolerate my presence?" Her question is direct, eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that leaves no room for evasion. “Because I really need this job.”

It ruffles my feathers, this straight-shooting side of her that seems to pierce through my defenses. I'm not used to being on the back foot, especially not in my own domain.

But Shiloh Sanders has a way of upending my world.

"Consider this a trial period," I tell her, my tone clipped, trying to reinstate the distance between us, the professional barrier that should exist. "We'll have to wait for our first trip to see if we're copasetic.”

"Wow, nice SAT word," she mutters—then her eyes go wide like she’s forgotten I’m her boss, like the taunt slipped out unintended. She averts her gaze as I stare at her, cocking my head.

"Go back to Jackie," I say abruptly. "She’ll give you a rundown of what I need from you this week."

Shiloh stands up, her movements graceful and deliberate. As she turns to leave, I can't help myself—I watch her, taking in the sway of her hips, the subtle curves that her professional attire does little to hide. My gaze zeroes in on her ass, and I'm struck by an unwelcome surge of desire.

Shiloh Sanders is my new assistant.

And I’m in big trouble.