Page 23 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

"Is it your job to have no spine? To forget your principles?" Her tone stings, and I feel the heat rise in my face.

I scowl at her, my patience fraying at the edges. "I fix things. It's not about picking sides."

"Your paycheck seems to be picking sides for you," she shoots back, her gaze accusing.

I lean closer, my irritation boiling over. "Listen, I'm the one who pays you, remember? You might want to start getting used to how things work around here."

Her eyes flash, and I can tell I've struck a nerve. But she doesn't back down—never does—and that's why I can't get her out of my head.

We pull up to the curb outside Nora's house, and Shiloh's still got that stormy look on her face. I can tell she's simmering with anger, but she stays silent as we step out of the cab. The tension between us is thick enough to slice through.

Nora is at the door before we even make it up the walk, eyeing us like a hawk sizing up a pair of mice. She's got every right to be skeptical—hell, if I were her, I wouldn't trust me either.

"Mrs. Turner," I begin, giving her the most disarming smile I've got in my arsenal. "I work for Derek. I know this is hard, but talking to us could really benefit you."

She looks me over, clearly weighing her options, and I can see the moment she decides that whatever I'm offering might be worth hearing. With a reluctant nod, she steps aside.

As soon as the door shuts behind us, there's the sound of kids playing upstairs—a carefree symphony that grates against the reason we're here. My chest tightens, memories I'd rather forget clawing their way to the surface. Mom's tear-stained face, Dad's empty apologies...

"Focus," I silently chide myself, shoving the ghosts back into their box as we follow Nora to the kitchen table.

"Please, take a seat," she says, gesturing to the worn chairs. Her voice is threadbare, like a warning flag fraying in the wind.

I sit down and, out of habit, glance at Shiloh. She's not looking at me, but I catch the flicker of something vulnerable in her eyes before she turns her expression into indifference. This job's eating away at her, and I'm the bastard serving her soul to the devil on a silver platter.

"Look," Nora's voice cuts through the tension, drawing my attention back to her. "What does Derek want now?"

Her eyes are dull, the kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones. I understand her fatigue all too well; I see it mirrored in the faces of every spouse we 'assist' through these corporate breakups.

But this is what pays the bills—what maintains the lifestyle I've grown accustomed to, even if it sometimes feels like I'm peddling pieces of my soul for each paycheck.

I reach into my briefcase, pulling out the reason we're here—the nondisclosure agreement, a piece of paper as cold and binding as the handcuffs it metaphorically is. My fingers brush against the crisp document as I slide it across the worn surface of the kitchen table toward her.

"Have a look at this," I say, keeping my tone neutral and professional. The NDA lands with a soft thud, its presence heavy between us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Shiloh's hands on the tabletop, her knuckles white from how tightly she's balled her fists. The sight pinches at something inside me—guilt, maybe, or regret. I can't tell anymore.

"Take your time," I tell Nora, but my words feel hollow even to me. There isn't much choice in the matter, and we all know it. This is just part of the dance, the pretense that there's some semblance of fairness in all of this.

Shiloh shifts beside me, and I can practically hear her holding back whatever storm's brewing inside her. She's about to learn the hard way that around here, your heart takes a backseat to the almighty dollar.

And if she's not careful, she'll end up just as jaded and numb as the rest of us.

Nora's tired eyes skim the document, a visible weight settling on her slumped shoulders. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table's edge.

"Derek is willing to offer a generous settlement out of court," I begin, watching Nora's reaction closely. "He'll continue to cover the expenses for you and the children to live in this house."

I pause, ensuring I have her full attention.

"In return, he asks that you tell the press the divorce was mutually decided upon and that there was no infidelity." The words taste like ash in my mouth, but they're part of the job—a job I can't afford to screw up. Not for myself, not for Shiloh.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Shiloh's sharp intake of breath, a sound barely louder than a whisper, yet it cuts through the tense silence like a knife. Her shock resonates in the small kitchen, and without thinking, my hand slips under the table, finding her knee in a silent bid for... what?

Reassurance? Control? I'm not even sure anymore.

Her muscles tense beneath my touch, and I realize the gravity of my impulse. This isn't just about calming her down; it's a silent plea for her to understand, to see that sometimes the lines between right and wrong blur when you're sitting where we are. But even as my grip tightens, I can't help but question if I'm trying to convince her or myself.

Her face pales, and I know she's struggling with the scene unfolding before us. Nora's head shakes faintly as tears brim her eyes, a silent battle raging within her. Shiloh's eyes flick to mine, wide and fraught with a turmoil that mirrors my own. We're in too deep, and there's no simple way out.

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