Page 29 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

Ignoring me, she joins my side, her arms crossed against the chill. "Like hell, I'm sitting in there while you play hero, Liam."

"Stubborn," I mutter under my breath but don't argue further. Together we survey the damage: the rear tire is completely shredded, its tough rubber torn to ribbons.

"Great," I say, the word dripping with sarcasm. "A blowout."

"Can we fix it?" Shiloh asks, peering over my shoulder with a frown.

“There should be a spare in the trunk,” I mutter—but it isn’t like we can drive another seven hours on a spare, especially not as the sun is setting.

This is bad enough, but being out on a strange highway in the middle of the night if the spare gives out…?

That wouldn’t be ideal. Still, I hold on to hope, rounding the back of the car to look in the trunk.

Only to find there’s not even a spare.

I curse, and Shiloh raises her eyebrows. “All good?” she asks.

“No,” I snap. “We’re fucking stranded… again.”

Chapter twelve

Shiloh

We were lucky enoughto find a mechanic who could fix the car tonight, Liam presumably offering an insane amount of money to do the job. But there are still hours until then… which means we’re still stranded. For now.

Ugh.

The motel's neon sign flickers as if it's on its last breath, and I can't help but think it's an omen of our current predicament. We trudge up to the worn-out building, my feet dragging from exhaustion—and maybe a bit of dread. Liam strides ahead, his suit still crisp despite the day's chaos, though his face is anything but composed.

I'm in these ridiculous lounge pants that shout 'tourist', and the scent of gas station nacho cheese clings to me like a bad decision. I caught a glimpse of myself in the side mirror of the tow truck that gave us a lift; with my hair a mess and wearing clothes fit for a sleepover, I look nothing like the capable assistant I'm supposed to be.

And Liam—well, he looks like a king knocked off his throne, irritation etched into every line of his usually impassive face.

The lobby of the motel is empty except for the clerk, who looks more interested in the dog-eared magazine in front of him than in us. We approach the desk, and I can already see the tension in Liam's shoulders hike up another notch.

“We need two rooms,” Liam snarls, not bothering with pleasantries.

"Sorry, folks," the clerk drawls without looking up, "only got one room left. Everything else is booked solid."

Liam's jaw tightens, the muscles there ticking like a warning sign. He leans in, close enough for me to see the clerk finally raise his eyes, a flicker of recognition—and maybe apprehension—crossing his face.

"Are you quite sure about that?" Liam's voice is low, a controlled rumble of thunder on a clear day. "Perhaps this can persuade you to double-check?"

He pulls out his wallet, and I watch as a crisp bill flutters onto the counter, its value no doubt more than the room’s cost for an entire week. I press my lips together to keep from sighing aloud. Money may be the key that turns most locks, but tonight it seems we've stumbled upon a stubborn bolt.

The clerk barely spares the bill a glance before shaking his head and placing a single key on the counter. "One room, that's the honest truth. Take it or leave it."

For a moment, Liam doesn't move, and I'm holding my breath, waiting for him to unleash a storm. Instead, he snatches the key off the counter with a snarl, the sharp movement betraying his frustration.

"Come on," he mutters under his breath, and I fall into step behind him, trying to match his pace as he stalks down the dimly lit hallway.

My heart thumps erratically against my ribs, each beat echoing the steps we take. The carpet is patterned with anchors and ropes, a kitschy nod to the coastal setting just beyond these walls. But right now, the charm of the place is lost on us, swallowed by the tension that hangs heavy in the air like a storm cloud.

I can feel the weight of his anger, thick and suffocating, filling up the space between us. And as much as I want to bridge that gap, to offer some kind of comfort or solution, I know better than to reach out.

Liam Nolan isn't just my boss—he's a force of nature, unpredictable and often unforgiving. Crossing the line with him, especially now, would be like tempting lightning to strike.

But oh, how I wish I could be the thunder answering back.

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