Page 15 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

“Shiloh, are you okay?” she asks.

"Um, yeah, I'm just finalizing Liam's itinerary for Atlanta." I gesture toward the papers strewn across the table.

She leans in, eyeing the travel plans. "You've put a lot of work into this."

"Thanks, it—"

"Except, you're going with him," Jackie interrupts gently but firmly.

I blink, feeling the color drain from my face. "What?"

Jackie nods, her eyes meeting mine steadily. "Liam will definitely need your help with the Atlanta case. It's not just about coordinating his schedule; he needs someone there to navigate the complexities, especially since you're already familiar with the file."

"Is that really necessary?" The words stumble out, my voice barely above a whisper. The thought of spending days in close proximity to Liam, dealing with whatever this is between us, makes panic flutter in my chest.

"Absolutely," she reassures me, her tone leaving no room for argument. "He can be... difficult. But you're more than capable of handling it."

‘Difficult’ is one way to describe Liam—complex would be another. And yet, despite the turmoil he's causing inside me, I find myself nodding. Maybe this trip is exactly what I need to figure out why he gets under my skin the way he does.

Or maybe it's a terrible idea. Only time will tell.

"Okay, I'll adjust the bookings," I say, hiding the tremor in my voice behind a mask of professionalism.

"Shiloh," Jackie's voice cuts through my thoughts, and I realize she's been studying me with a furrowed brow. "What's wrong? You seem off…?"

"Nothing." The word is barely audible, even to my own ears, and I can feel the heat creeping up my neck as I avert my eyes from her probing gaze.

Jackie is silent for a moment, and when I dare look up, there's a knowing softness in her expression. "You don't have to talk about it now if you're not ready. But how about we hit happy hour downstairs after work? Venting over a glass of wine might help—I know working with Liam can be intense."

My heart skips—I mean, not literally, because that would probably be concerning—but the idea of talking to someone who gets it is strangely comforting.

"Sure," I agree with a small nod, trying to ignore the way my stomach twists at the thought of sharing even a fraction of what's been haunting me.

"Great!" Jackie beams, and I'm reminded that, beneath that no-nonsense exterior, she's got a warmth that's hard to resist. "It's a date."

I force a smile back at her, but inside, I'm a mess of nerves and conflicting emotions.

One thing's for sure: After today, either Jackie will know everything, or I'll be an Oscar-worthy actress by the time the night is over.

I meet Jackie at Harbor and Vine after work—the wine bar on the first floor of the Aegis building. She’s waiting just inside the door, giving me a kind smile and tilting her head.

"Come on, this way," Jackie murmurs, leading me to one of the secluded booths tucked away in a quiet corner.

As we weave through the crowd, I notice familiar faces from every department—paralegals laughing over shared jokes, assistants comparing notes on their bosses' peculiar habits, secretaries unwinding after a long day, and attorneys debating their cases with the passion of courtroom warriors.

My eyes dart around nervously, half expecting to see him at any moment—the man who's managed to upend my life without even trying. But Jackie seems to understand my sudden tension, her voice low and reassuring.

"Hey, it's Wednesday. Liam goes to visit his mother tonight; he won't be here," she gently reminds me, her words designed to ease my fears.

A wave of relief washes over me, allowing my shoulders to relax as we finally settle into our booth. I sink into the seat, grateful for the plush cushioning and the privacy the high-backed booth provides. Jackie gives me a small nod as if to say, 'You're safe here,' and for the first time all day, I allow myself to believe it might be true.

The waiter is quick to approach, a practiced smile on his face as he offers us the wine list. Jackie waves him off, ordering two glasses of their best red without consulting me.

“I can’t really afford—” I start, but Jackie waves me off.

“I’ve got it,” she says. “I brought you into this role and it seems like it’s taking its toll—so I owe it to you, okay?”

"Thanks," I say, my voice barely above the hum of conversation around us. As the waiter departs, Jackie leans forward, her elbows resting on the table, her gaze intent and searching.

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