Page 24 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

"Tell Derek he can go fuck himself," Nora spits out, the venom in her voice laced with despair.

The air thickens with tension, and my fingers involuntarily clench tighter around Shiloh's knee, a reflexive act of solidarity against the vitriol. My fingertips graze the soft skin of her inner thigh, a move that's more intimate than intended. She sucks in a harsh breath, and I know we're both acutely aware of the contact, an electric current in the charged atmosphere.

But I need her to fucking stay quiet.

Nora will cave. They always do when that much money is on the table.

We watch, a pair of silent spectators, as Nora's resolve crumbles under the weight of reality. Her hand trembles as she reaches for the pen, the sound of it scratching against the paper echoing like a death knell in the quiet kitchen. The line on the NDA where her signature now lies feels like a chasm between what is and what should be.

I release my hold on Shiloh, withdrawing my hand from beneath the table as if burned by the heat of our connection. There's a part of me—a big part—that hates this game, but it'sthe world I navigate, the rules of which I'm bound to follow. And Shiloh, she’s caught in its snare just as much as I am.

Minutes later, we step out into the night, NDA signed and secure. The chill of the autumn air bites at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the coldness settling in my chest. The day's events weigh on my conscience, heavier than any business deal I've ever brokered.

I’ve done worse, but with Shiloh as my witness, it feels like my greatest sin.

When I exit Nora's house, Shiloh is already at the curb, her silhouette illuminated by the sparse streetlights. She stands rigid, her posture screaming defiance and disgust, no doubt for what we've just done—for what I've just done.

"Dammit," I mutter under my breath. She's upset, and rightly so. This job isn't for the faint of heart. It's dirty, it gets under your skin, and sometimes you have to watch people sign away their right to fight back.

"Shiloh!" My voice slices through the silence, but she doesn’t turn around.

The cab isn’t here yet. We're stranded on this quiet suburban street with only our thoughts and the echo of Nora's resigned sobs for company. I make my way over to Shiloh, feeling the weight of each step.

"Shiloh," I say again, softer this time, and reach out to catch her by the elbow. She spins around, her face a mixture of anger and something else I can't quite place—shock, maybe? Or disappointment?

"Look at me," I urge, my grip firmer than intended. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I'm lost in them—like she could swallow me whole with the weight of her gaze.

"Let go," she hisses, and I can feel the tremor in her voice.

I release her elbow but hold her stare. "This is how the job works," I say, my voice steady despite the storm brewing insideme. "You need to get used to it. Keeping your composure is part of the game if you want to stay."

"Is that right?" She steps closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off her despite the cool night air. "And what about you, Liam? Are you going to punish me for losing it back there?"

Her challenge hangs between us, a gauntlet thrown. My heart hammers in my chest.

And without thinking, the words spill out. "Do you want me to?"

There's a fire in her eyes now, a dangerous dance of light that seems to dare me, tempt me. We're caught in this moment, a taut line stretched to the point of snapping.

A car pulls up to the curb, the sound of the engine cutting through our standoff. It's the cab. We break eye contact reluctantly, both of us stepping back as if the proximity is too much to bear.

We slide into the back seat, the silence thick and unwieldy. Neither of us speaks, not a word about the tension that just hung in the air nor the questions we've left dangling like threads pulled too tightly.

The city lights blur past, casting shadows that flicker over Shiloh's face. She stares out the window, her profile stoic, giving nothing away.

And I'm left wondering if I've just crossed a line that can't be uncrossed… or if I even want to.

Chapter ten

Shiloh

The next morning islike waking up in a hurricane.

Rain slams against the cab window, a relentless torrent that blurs the Atlanta skyline into a wash of grey. I lean my forehead against the cool glass, watching droplets race each other down. My stomach churns—not just from the anger stewing inside me because of Liam but also from the thought of the plane jostling through this storm.

"Airport's busy today," the cabbie remarks, pulling up to the departure curb. I barely nod, too caught up in my own headspace to engage.

"Thanks," I mutter, handing him the fare and stepping out into the deluge.

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