5. Liam

Chapter five

Liam

I slam the folder down on my desk with more force than necessary. The sound echoes through the silence of my office at Aegis Legal Group, and I don't need to look up to know Shiloh's there, just outside the door, probably with another perfectly organized itinerary in her hands.

"Come in," I bark without lifting my gaze from the mess of papers scattered across my desk.

The door creaks open and Shiloh steps in, all efficiency and poise. She's been with me for two weeks now, soaking up the chaos of my schedule like a sponge. She straightens her glasses and places a neat stack of documents in front of me.

"Your calls are lined up for the afternoon," she says, her voice steady as she ticks off each appointment with her pen. "And I've sorted your emails—urgent responses are flagged."

"Good," I mutter, still not looking at her. I can't let myself. It's bad enough that I catch whiffs of her floral perfume, the kind that's subtle but somehow fills the room, reminding me of...

I shut down the thought before it takes hold.

"Did you follow up with Harrison about the merger details?" I demand, finally meeting her gaze. There's a hint of something there, a quick flash of uncertainty that she masks almost immediately.

"Doing it next," she replies, the words quick, but her tone doesn't waver.

"Shiloh." I sigh, leaning back in my chair and pinching the bridge of my nose. "You get flustered too easily. This isn't a game. You need to prioritize."

She frowns, a slight crease forming between her brows, and I have to look away again.

Damn it, why does she have to be so… compelling?

"I'm on top of it, Liam," she asserts. I notice her hands clenching at her sides, a telltale sign she's holding back her frustration. "I'll handle Harrison before the day is out."

"See that you do." My voice comes out harsher than I intend, but it's better this way. Better to keep her at arm's length, to remind myself she's my assistant, nothing more.

"Anything else?" She asks, her eyes scanning my face for something I can't let her find.

"No. That's all."

"Okay." She nods and turns to leave, her shoulders set and her steps deliberate.

"Shiloh." The name escapes my lips before I can stop it, and she pauses, glancing back at me. I should say something else, apologize maybe, but the words stick in my throat.

Instead, I just nod, dismissing her.

She leaves, closing the door softly behind her, and I'm left with the echo of my own stubbornness. I tell myself I'm pushing her for her own good, to make her better at her job. But deep down, part of me knows the truth—I'm trying to resist the pull she has on me, the unwanted desire that's threading its way under my skin.

"Focus, Liam," I mutter to myself, scrubbing a hand over my face. I can't afford distractions.

Not from Shiloh, not from anyone.

I’m on my way back from lunch with a client a few days later when I get a call from one of my richest friends—a baseball player down in Atlanta who’s sure to be in some kind of trouble.

I pick up, my voice smooth as I say, “Liam Nolan.”

"Liam, it's Derek. We've got a situation down here in Atlanta," comes the hasty reply. The voice is rushed, tinged with apprehension, and I can almost picture Derek Turner, one of my highest-profile clients, pacing the floor of some opulent mansion.

"Talk to me," I say, striding into the lobby downstairs from Aegis.

"It's about the wife of another player... there's a scandal brewing, and it could blow up any second. I need you here, man."

"Understood," I respond, already mentally rearranging my week. "I'll be on the next flight out."

"Thanks, Liam. You're a lifesaver."

The line goes dead just as I walk through the elevator doors on the top floor, and I tap Shiloh on the shoulder as I walk back into my office. "Shiloh, get in here."

Moments later, the door swings open with a soft whoosh, and she steps back into my office, her presence both unsettling and essential. "You called?"

"Change of plans." I don't look up from my screen. "I need you to book me a flight to Atlanta first thing tomorrow morning. Find a hotel close to our Atlanta offices and clear my schedule for the next three days."

"Right away." There's a slight quiver in her voice, but when I glance up, she's all business. "Will you be needing anything else while you're there?"

"Make sure the car service is available round the clock. And—" I stop myself, realizing I'm about to add 'make it discreet.' But with Shiloh, it's an unnecessary reminder; she knows how I operate.

"Got it. Anything else?" She has a notepad poised, pen in hand, ready to capture every detail.

"Arrange a meeting with Harrison before I leave. He needs to be kept in the loop." I watch as she scribbles notes, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Consider it done." She nods crisply, then hesitates. "Will there be anything else specific you'll need from me while you're gone?"

"I don’t know—maybe stop asking so many questions, Shiloh?" I raise an eyebrow, a hint of irritation lacing my words. Her thoroughness is part of what makes her an excellent assistant, but right now, it grates on my nerves. Each question she asks feels like a small jab at my already thin patience.

"Only trying to anticipate your needs," she replies, her tone even but her eyes betraying a flicker of defiance.

"Anticipate silently." It's a low blow, but I can't help it. The less I engage with her, the better I can control the dangerous impulses she unwittingly stirs within me.

"Understood." Her jaw sets, but she doesn't argue. Instead, she turns on her heel, leaving me to wrestle with the conflict roaring inside my chest—the need for professional distance warring against the pull of forbidden desire.

Turning back to my computer, I try to refocus on the contracts in front of me. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, Shiloh's presence still lingering like an aftertaste. The click of the door signals her return and my frustration peaks.

"Shiloh," I start, not bothering to mask my annoyance as I swivel around in my chair to face her. "I thought I made myself clear—"

Her eyes are wide, earnest. Too earnest. "I just need to confirm—the flight to Atlanta. You prefer the window seat, right? And you'll want to stay at the usual—"

"Enough!" The word ricochets off the walls of my office, sharper than I intend. It slices through the air, and for a moment, I see something flicker across her expression.

Hurt? Fear?

I can't quite tell, and I hate that it bothers me… but I need to make it clear that she can’t keep interrupting me like this.

Or maybe I just want her alone.

Maybe I get off on intimidating her.

"Shut the door," I command, cutting her off mid-sentence. My voice is terse, my patience frayed to the very limit.

She pauses, her lips parting as if to protest or question, but then she complies with a nod that's almost imperceptible. The click of the lock as she twists it shut seems to echo in the sudden stillness between us.

I push back from my desk, the leather chair protesting beneath me. I'm on my feet before I realize what I'm doing, propelled by a restlessness I can't name. When she turns back around from the door, I'm already there—closer than I should be.

"Liam—" she starts, but her words hang incomplete as she looks up at me, startled. Her reaction is a physical thing, a swift intake of breath I can almost feel against my skin.

"Shiloh," I say, and there's an edge to my voice I don't recognize. "No more questions." My gaze locks with hers, willing her to understand without further words—the gravity of the situation, the need for efficiency, the unspoken tension that we're both pretending doesn't exist.

"Right." Her voice trembles slightly, and I can see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. It's distracting, unsettling.

She's too close, and yet not nearly close enough.

Shiloh's eyes, wide with a hint of something like fear—or is it anticipation?—hold mine. She's not backing down, not breaking away from the intensity that binds us in this moment.

I know I shouldn't be doing this. As her boss, there are lines I swore never to cross. But as she stands before me, every professional boundary blurs into irrelevance.

The darkest fantasies flash through my mind, each one more forbidden than the last. I imagine tipping her chin up, yanking her over my knee, and spanking her for every interruption, every lingering question that has ever tested my control.

I wonder if she’s wet.

I wonder what kinds of sounds she’d make if I played with her pussy while I spanked her.

Fuck, I’m a sick bastard.

My hand reaches out, fingers closing around her arm with a firmness that borders on possessive. It's an act fueled by raw desire, a physical assertion of the power I hold—a power I desperately want to wield and abandon at the same time. She gasps, her eyes darting to where I’m touching her.

"Liam?" There's a tremor in her voice now, a vulnerability that does dangerous things to my self-control. I wonder if that’s how she would sound begging for my cock—if that’s how it would sound when she came.

No, stop.

Don’t think about that.

"Shiloh," I growl, my voice laced with an edge that's as much a warning to myself as it is to her. "You need to understand—I don't have time for your questions."

She’s turned on. The flush on her face is undeniable. And God help me, that realization only fuels the fire raging within me. It's like I'm caught in a trance, every logical thought drowned out by the primal urge to claim her, to make her mine in the most carnal way possible.

"Are you going to punish me?" Shiloh's words slice through the haze of my desire. She bites her lip, a seemingly innocent action that hits me like a freight train.

My body reacts instantly, an undeniable jolt of arousal coursing through me. It's a visceral reaction, one that I can't control or ignore. The image of bending her over the desk, the sound of her whimpers, the feel of her skin under my hand—the vision floods my mind in vivid detail, and I want her.

I want to fuck her right here, against the cold surface of my office desk, where anyone could walk in and see what we were doing.

"Stop," I command myself more than her, the word barely a growl as I realize I'm getting hard. It's the wake-up call I need, the line drawn in the sand.

This is forbidden territory, and I’m teetering on the edge of disaster.

With clenched fists, I force myself to retreat and round the desk, putting a physical barrier between us. My breaths come out in controlled bursts as I fight to regain my composure—fight to be the man I have to be, not the man I want to be with her.

"Get out," I say firmly, my voice low and rough with the effort of restraint. I can’t let this happen. I can't let her see how much I want her, how close I am to breaking every rule I've set for myself.

"Out, Shiloh. Now."

I don't look at her. I can’t. If I do, I might lose the last shred of self-control I have left.

Shiloh straightens, her movements deliberate as she smooths out her skirt. She's composed on the surface, but I see the signs. Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks bear the rosy tint of arousal, and even from this distance, I can tell her nipples have tightened against the fabric of her shirt. It’s clear she’s affected, yet she doesn’t meet my eyes.

She knows.

Shit , she knows what we almost did… and she wanted it.

"Liam—," she starts, but I cut her off with a sharp gesture.

"Leave, Shiloh."

The air is thick with unspoken words, the room charged with what lingers between us. It’s a line we can’t uncross, a bell we can’t unring. She nods once, barely perceptible, and turns on her heel.

When she reaches the door, she hesitates, as if she might say something else, but then she pushes through and exits. The soft click of the door closing is like the final note of an unresolved symphony, leaving me with a sense of disquiet that I can't shake off.

It’s only when I hear the retreating sound of her steps that I let my facade crumble. My hand goes to the tie at my neck, loosening it as I try to calm the rapid beat of my heart. I drop into my chair, the leather cool against my overheated skin, and close my eyes.

What the hell was I thinking?

I replay the moment over and over—the heat, the hunger, the sheer force of attraction—and it’s with a sinking feeling that I acknowledge the truth.

This wasn't just a moment of weakness; it was a colossal mistake—one that could unravel the very fabric of my career, my reputation, and everything I've worked for.

She's my assistant. Off-limits.

And yet, for those few reckless minutes, I didn't care.

My job, my entire future as an attorney, hangs in the balance. If I was caught harassing my assistant… if she says anything about what just happened… I could be in deep trouble.

I can’t lose control like that.

I scrub a hand down my face, feeling the stubble that pricks at my palm. I should send her away, transfer her to another department, another floor—anything to keep her at a safe distance.

Yet, even as the thought crosses my mind, I know I won't.

Because despite every rational part of me screaming that this is wrong, every other fiber of my being wants her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life

And I’m terrified because I don’t know if I have the strength to resist her again.