Chapter 7

Olivia Bennett

T he week had passed in a blur of learning the routine. But tonight, the old place transformed into a den of decadence for a spooky cocktail party hosted by some clients. I pushed through the throng of people, their laughter and chatter a living thing against the backdrop of all the eerie decor.

I caught sight of the tray first, a moving beacon of orange, white, and yellow. The candy corn cocktails. Anticipation surged through me. I had been looking forward to these from the moment I’d seen the drink menu. I sidestepped a couple locked in an intense debate over the best horror flick and reached for a glass. It was a layered masterpiece, mimicking the iconic Halloween treat, finished with a cloud of whipped cream and a sprinkle of candies on top.

I took my first sip, and the sweetness hit me, my childhood nostalgia wrapped in a velvet punch of alcohol. What more could a girl ask for? The crowd melted away for just a moment, it was just me and this perfect concoction. I knew it was going to be a holiday favorite.

“Here’s to one hell of a night,” I muttered under my breath, raising the glass to no one in particular before the creamy top tickled my nose and the spiked sweetness danced on my tongue as I took down the rest of the drink in one gulp.

My eyes lifted from the now empty glass and locked with Liam’s. A smirk played at the corner of his lips, as he ignored the conversations around him. His attention was like a tangible touch against my skin.

“Care for a dance?” The question came from a guest behind me. I turned, breaking the silent exchange with Liam, to face the gentleman who had approached me. He offered a hand with a confident smile, and against my better judgment, I accepted.

As the night unfolded, the tempo of music and laughter blended into a heady mix. Dance after dance, drink after drink—I lost count. I was caught in the buzz, yet through the thrumming crowd, Liam’s presence lingered. I could feel his eyes on me like a magnetic pull I couldn’t shake off. Then I was spinning into the arms of another man, one who swayed with the overconfidence of liquor. I giggled, acting normal, but my body was more rigid, and then Liam stepped in, making his silent claim.

“Mind if I cut in?” There was no room for refusal in his tone. The guy just nodded and let him take me. Thank fuck… but also, dancing with Liam probably wasn’t the best for me either for entirely different reasons.

I found myself suddenly in Liam’s embrace, the slow song wrapping around us. His hand pressed against my back, fingertips grazing the dip of my spine—a very deliberate and possessive touch. His body heat mingled with mine, the subtle scent of his cologne enveloping me, intoxicating me even more than the drinks that had come before.

“Jade,” he murmured, voice low, “you look… breathtaking.”

My dress clung to me like a second skin. I adjusted a strap, feeling vulnerable and raw, on full display for him. My smoky cat-eye makeup made me feel like a goddess as I glanced up at him through my lashes.

“Flattery is a dangerous game, Mr. O’Connor,” I teased, but my heart betrayed me, racing at his closeness.

“I like games,” he shot back, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “And like I said, call me Liam.”

Fuck. This was wrong. The boundary between boss and something more blurred with each step we took. I was acutely aware of every point where our bodies touched. This was a dance far more perilous than any I’d engaged in before.

The final chord of the song hummed through the room as I pulled away slightly, my head spinning from more than just the alcohol. “I need another drink,” I murmured, feeling Liam’s eyes on me as we edged through the crowd.

“Of course,” he replied.

I didn’t see any waiters close, so I made my way to the bar, snatching up a candy corn cocktail. I tipped it back, eager for the sweet burn to loosen my shoulders. It betrayed me, the liquid rebellion veering down the wrong pipe. My body convulsed with a sharp cough, and I spun, decorum be damned. A spray of festive orange and white splattered across the front of my dress and onto Liam. His suit—a casualty in my cocktail crossfire—now bore the abstract art of my embarrassment, right down to his crotch.

“Fuck.” I gasped between coughs, my face blazing hotter than any burn of alcohol. “I’m so sorry.”

Liam stood frozen for a breath, then his lips quirked, not quite a smile. “It’s just a suit, Jade. Are you okay?”

My throat burned, my pride seared. The intimacy between us on the dance floor had left an ache in its wake, one that I had wanted to forget about with alcohol, but embarrassment apparently did the trick. No amount of spiked candy corn could’ve ruined the moment better than that. Liam’s reflexes were swift, his hand darting out to snag a handful of napkins from the nearby table. He led me as he cut through the thickening crowd, our escape less graceful than our dance earlier. His fingers grazed mine, the touch sending a jolt despite the chaos.

Gods, this man .

“Here,” he said, pressing the napkins into my hands as we found refuge in a dimly lit alcove. The shadows felt like a cloak, hiding the stain spreading across my dress and the blotches marring his crotch.

Stop looking at his crotch, Oli .

“Are you okay?” His voice was a low rumble, concern threading through the words as he asked me again. I cleared my throat, something far more dangerous bubbling in me. I needed to get away from this man.

“Yeah, my ego’s just bruised.” I managed a weak chuckle, but it sounded hollow even to my ears. Our eyes met, and his gaze held weight. I focused on blotting the mess on my chest, trying not to think about the warmth radiating from him or the scent of his cologne that lingered in the air. Or just how fucking close he was to me. “I’ll be fine,” I added, my voice a little too sharp, betraying my frustration. “My dress, not so much. I’m going to have to head home.” I started to turn away from him to leave.

“Wait.” Liam’s hand rested lightly on my arm, stopping me. “Come with me. I’m sure I have something here you can change into.”

I should just go home and try to forget all about splattering an orange cocktail all over, well… his cock… but I followed him through the throngs of guests and then through all the scary rooms of the haunted mansion before we finally made it to another set of stairs on the opposite side of the building.

We ascended the narrow staircase tucked in the shadowy corner off the hall of horrors. Its creaks and groans matched our every step, and part of me wondered if he didn’t fix it because he wanted to know when someone was coming. The second floor was quieter, the din from the party below muffled by thick walls. He led me down a dimly lit hall. My heels clicked against the wood. At the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door, revealing a space that caught me off-guard.

It was a studio apartment, compact but stylish. Then the realization dawned on me. He lived here. All this time, I’d assumed he had his own place, but I guessed it made sense—Dead Man’s Mansion was his home.

The room was a mix of modern and vintage. To my right, an exposed brick wall ran the length of the room, its rough texture offset by the smooth, sleek lines of a midcentury modern couch in a deep forest green. A large flat screen adorned the wall above the fireplace in front of it.

A few steps farther in on the left was the kitchen area, with its stainless-steel appliances and clean white subway tiles. A small, round table nestled in the corner softened the starkness, where an antique candelabra stood proudly in the center, its black candles burned down halfway.

On the wall above the couch hung a huge vintage Ouija board. It was spooky and beautiful and completely my kinda vibe. Across from the couch, the mantle over the small fireplace was crowded with an array of curiosities: an old raven skull encased in glass, a set of blackened, twisted candles, and a small, framed print of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” The fireplace itself didn’t look functional, but he had filled it with a string of orange lights and faux cobwebs, creating a cozy, eerie glow.

Last but not least, a giant bed sat unmade in the back corner across from the kitchen with two small end tables on either side. Everything in here matched my love of all things spooky. It was just more… organized.

He gave me a curious look, a hint of apology in those piercing green eyes. “Sorry about the mess,” he murmured, although there was little to apologize for. I could feel the shift in our dynamic, the lines between boss and employee blurring as I stood amidst his home.

“Nothing to apologize for,” I said, looking for whatever he was referring to. What? The unmade bed? That was a rookie mess.

Liam walked over to what seemed to be a closet. His hands moved deftly, rummaging through the clothes. He pulled out an oversized shirt, the color a deep maroon that made me think of autumn leaves and rich red wine. It was his shirt, and the idea of wearing it sent an odd thrill through me, as if by slipping it over my head, I’d be enveloped in a part of him—his scent, his presence.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“Here,” he said, holding it out to me. “I figured you could wear this and just cinch the waist with the little leather belt you have on now.”

I took it, the fabric soft and slightly warm from being in the tight space of the closet. He wasn’t wrong—the length was decent enough. My fingers grazed over the material, imagining it on me, a private piece of Liam wrapping around my frame.

As I was looking at the shirt, Liam began unbuttoning his own right there in front of me. The smooth confidence in his movements was unnerving. More skin was revealed with each undone button, broad shoulders and hard muscles coming into view. He shrugged it off, and for a moment, I was caught like a deer in headlights, gawking at him.

“Uh—” I stammered, heat crawling up my cheeks. I turned sharply, giving him some semblance of privacy, though none was really afforded in this open studio space. Why didn’t he just go to the bathroom? Behind me, his chuckle was low and knowing. He knew what he was doing to me.

“Sorry,” he said, though his tone suggested he was anything but. “Didn’t mean to give you a show.”

Oh, he definitely wanted to give me a show.

His words were light and teasing and contradicted the tightness that had sprung up inside me, coiling around my ribs like ivy. I clutched the shirt closer, a makeshift shield against the palpable pull building in the room.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I asked.

“It’s okay. You can change. I’m decent and turned around. Go ahead,” he said, and when I turned to him, I saw his back, fully dressed in a new black, silky button-up and pants.

“Thanks,” I murmured. There was a silent countdown in my head, then the rustle of fabric as I shed the spoiled dress, feeling suddenly vulnerable in nothing but my undergarments. My skin prickled with awareness, and I wondered if his senses were as heightened as mine, if he, too, felt this charge in the air as I stood almost completely naked in his living room… or bedroom? It was a studio apartment after all.

I took the shirt and slipped it over my head, the smell of him—a mixture of cologne and something inherently Liam—enveloping me. It was both comforting and unsettling. I cinched the belt around my waist, the large garment now taking on a new form, one that hinted at curves but still left everything to the imagination.

“Done,” I called out, more to steady my own nerves than anything else. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the electricity that seemed to hum through my limbs. Every sensation felt heightened, from the softness of the shirt against my skin to the distant thump of music filtering from the party below. To the man standing in front of me. Liam pivoted on his heel, giving me space to breathe.

“Ready?” His words cut through the silence like a knife.

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and stepped past him, leading the way back to the party. The tension was heavy, like a current of water that both of us seemed to be trying to ignore but instead were drowning in.

Once we were back downstairs, the music thrummed louder. Liam guided me to a secluded corner, away from the chaos of the event. We were cocooned by shadows. He leaned in, close enough that I could count the small flecks of gold in his emerald eyes.

“Much better,” he murmured, his gaze tracing the line of his shirt on my body. “You wear it well.”

His cologne wrapped around me again, woodsy and warm. My heart fluttered wildly, betraying my composed facade. Why did he have this effect on me?

“Thanks,” I managed, my throat tight. Our eyes locked, and the world shrunk to just this moment, to just us. His hand was a whisper away from mine.

“Jade,” he said, but the word was more breath than sound. It was as if he were about to bridge the gap—ignite this spark and let it burn.

“Is this okay?” I asked, not moving, barely breathing. The butterflies in my stomach were a hurricane now, relentless and exhilarating.

“More than okay,” he replied, his voice low and intimate. The space crackled with something fierce, and for a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me.

But then the moment shattered. Glass crashed to the floor, followed by angry shouts. Liam’s gaze snapped away from mine, zeroing in on the source of the disturbance. Two men, faces twisted with rage, were locked in a vicious tangle of limbs and curses.

“Stay here,” he commanded, but I was already moving, my federal agent instincts kicking in. Weaving through the startled crowd, I reached the fighters just as Liam did. He grabbed one by the collar, pulling him back with strength that belied his lean frame. I wedged myself between them, pushing the other man away with firm hands.

“Enough!” My voice cut through the noise. “Break it up now!”

“Back off, bitch,” the man I’d pushed grumbled, his words slurred by alcohol. I readied to protect myself, just like I always had in the past. But in the next moment, Liam’s fist met his face so hard, he went limp.

The crowd backed away, giving us space, watching with a mix of fear and fascination.

Liam looked down at the man, out cold, drool and blood leaking from the corner of his lip. “You shouldn’t have talked to her like that. Now—” He turned toward the other guy that was still upright. “Let’s not ruin the night for everyone.” Liam’s tone held that edge of authority that made people listen. “Why don’t you go take a walk and cool down?”

The guy didn’t say anything, just looked at Liam with bugged eyes before turning away to leave.

Liam had protected me, and yeah, maybe it had been just an over partying drunkard, but throughout my life, that rarely happened. It was the reason why I’d become an agent to begin with, why I did all the things I did. That small thought twisted through my chest, leaving me feeling raw and vulnerable in a way I’d never been before.

The stiffness began to dissipate as the partygoers returned to their conversations and drinks, the fight quickly becoming just another ghost story for the haunted house.

My adrenaline slowly ebbed away. I rubbed my temples, the alcohol suddenly catching up to me. Or maybe it was the twinge stirring in my chest that Liam had caused. Either way, I’d had enough excitement for one night.

“Jade?” Liam’s voice was close. I turned to find him just a few steps away, watching me with concern etched on his face.

“I’m fine,” I assured him, forcing a smile. “I’m going to call it a night.”

“Of course,” he replied, his eyes searching mine. “You sure you’re okay?”

I nodded, already backing away. Liam was drawn into a conversation with the party hosts, likely smoothing over the ruffled feathers caused by the uninvited brawlers. Our eyes met one last time, and I saw the question there, the silent ‘what if’ that lingered.

But the night had taken its toll, and the what-ifs would have to wait. With a final wave, I slipped out into the night.