Page 17 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

"Liam has a really bad relationship with his father, stepmom, and half-brother," she confides, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone might overhear. "It's a sore subject for him.And well, it's probably why he's been cruel to you. Because of your connection to—what’s his name again?"

“Chris.”

I can see Jackie cringing like I’ve just said a bad word. Honestly, I get that reaction to Chris.

“Yeah—that guy,” Jackie says. “Liam’s dad divorced his mom and married his mistress. I guess it was really rough for Liam growing up—he was only ten at the time.”

My breath catches in my throat. So much of Liam's behavior suddenly clicks into place like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. The harshness, the distance—it's not about me; it's about the ghosts he's wrestling with from his past.

"And he can be exacting," Jackie continues, her gaze returning to mine. "Demanding, precise, and sometimes uncompromising. But once you get the rhythm of the job, Shiloh, you'll be great. Trust me, he doesn't just let anyone stick around. If he didn't see potential in you, you wouldn't be here."

"Really?" There's a spark of hope in my chest at her words.

"Absolutely." She smiles reassuringly. "Just hang in there. You're tougher than you think."

Tougher than I think? Maybe.

Or maybe I'm just stubborn enough to want to prove I can handle whatever Liam throws my way. But Jackie's insider knowledge gives me something new—a context for Liam's iciness that I didn't have before. And with that, the seed of determination takes root.

"Thanks, Jackie," I say, feeling a little more fortified. "For everything."

"Of course," she responds warmly. "That's what friends are for."

Chapter seven

Liam

I’m going out oftown with Shiloh, and I'm not sure if I’ll be able to keep myself under control.

This isn’t like me. I don’t go crazy for women and don’t fall fast and hard. In fact, I rarely fall at all because I don’t believe in love.

But with Shiloh… fuck, it’s like I can’t breathe whenever she’s in the room.

I jam my laptop into the messenger bag with less care than I should, but hell, nerves are getting the better of me. A sleek black town car waits downstairs, and I can’t shake the edginess crawling under my skin.

With every step toward the elevator, Shiloh's face flashes in my mind—her easy smile these last few days that's undoing me bit by bit. It’s like she’s forgotten the unspoken thing simmering between us, or maybe she’s just damn good at playing it cool.

The city blurs past the tinted windows as I try not to think about the upcoming hours trapped in a metal tube with her. At the airport, I clear security with practiced ease, my thoughts tumbling over each other.

She didn’t quit. She didn’t report me even after I cornered her in my office and threatened to ‘punish’ her.

Does she want this tension as much as I do?

When I board, Shiloh is already there, tucked into her window seat in business class and reading a book. Her presence hits me, an electric jolt despite my telling myself I’m imagining things. No one else would even notice, but I know the silence between us is thick with words we haven't said.

"Good morning," is all I manage, the words feeling clumsy in my mouth.

"Morning," she replies without looking up, and something about her casual dismissal irks me more than it should.

I stow my bag overhead, a part of me wanting to say more, to break this maddening quiet. But I don’t. Instead, I slide into the seat beside her with only the barest brush of acknowledgment.

She’s absorbed in her book, and I can't help myself—I sneak a glance at her. She's all soft curves in those tailored slacks and that simple white top that fits just right. It's professional, but on Shiloh, it's also unintentionally enticing.

My gaze lingers longer than it should, drawn to the outline of her nipples pressing against the fabric. She never wears a proper bra, and it's like she's doing it on purpose, torturing me.

Every damn meeting, every brief crossing in the hallway—it's there, that subtle detail that no one else would even notice, that sets my blood on fire.

What would it be like to taste her? To hear the sounds she'd make if I were sucking on those pert nipples, pulling them into my mouth—

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