Page 38 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

Shiloh nods, her eyes dropping to the floor.

"Shit." The word escapes before I can stop it. I'm immediately appalled that she has to continue sharing a roof with her ex, myshithead brother—my stomach twists at the thought. "How long has this been going on?"

"Since the breakup," she says softly, looking like she expects me to reprimand her for her personal life choices.

"Shiloh, that's not right." The words are out before I can think them through, and I know it's too late to take them back. But I don't want to. Some primal part of me roars to life, protective, furious on her behalf.

"Look, Liam, you don't have to worry about my personal issues. I just..." She trails off, biting her lip.

But I do worry. And as much as I hate to admit it, I can't stand the thought of her in that situation. It's unacceptable. Something coils tight in my chest, an instinctive need to fix this for her.

But how?

What am I supposed to do now, knowing this?

Without another word, I yank a desk drawer open and pull out a checkbook. The sound of my heartbeat is thunderous in my ears, a relentless drumming that seems to drown out everything but the matter at hand.

Shiloh's eyes widen as she watches me scribble on the check, her face a mixture of confusion and disbelief. She's gone even paler than before, hands clasped in front of her like she's bracing for something unexpected, for some blow or harsh word. But no harsh word comes.

"Here." My voice is rougher than I want it to be as I tear the check from the booklet and pass it over to her.

Her fingers tremble as she reaches out, but then she hesitates, pulling back slightly. "What… what is this, Liam?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Ten thousand should be more than enough to rent a nice apartment," I say curtly, avoiding her gaze now because if I look at her, I might just tell her everything. "To get a place today,and to hire movers." The words are practical, but they come out strained like they're being forced through a barrier inside me.

Shiloh's eyes search mine, looking for the catch, the joke, or maybe just the cruelty she's come to expect from me. But there's none of that in my face—only the harsh lines of concern that I can't seem to smooth away no matter how hard I try.

She extends her hand again, reluctantly taking the check, and then promptly tries to give it back. "Liam, I can't—"

"Keep it." My hand moves over hers, closing her fingers around the piece of paper that could change everything. It's an impulsive act, but one that I can't take back now—and it sends my pulse skittering, my skin tingling even from the slightest touch. "I want you out from under that asshole’s roof."

There's a moment when she just stares at the check in her hand, and then up at me. Her eyes are filled with a thousand questions, but she seems to realize that now isn't the time for them.

"Thank you," she murmurs, and the depth of sincerity in her voice makes my chest tighten all over again.

"Get a nice place, Shiloh," I add gruffly. "Somewhere safe. And don't even think about paying me back."

She nods, clutching the check like it's a lifeline, and I know that I've done the right thing, even if it doesn't feel entirely right within the rigid confines of my own rules.

But then, since when have I ever been good at following rules?

She nods again, her voice barely above a whisper as she thanks me one final time before turning on her heels. The click of her shoes against the floor fades with each step until the door shuts behind her, leaving me alone in my office—a space that suddenly feels too big and too silent.

A moment later, another knock jars me from my thoughts. I don’t even have time to call out before the door opens, and Jackie is standing there, leaning against the frame with aneyebrow quirked in a way that tells me she's seen more than I wish she had.

"Jackie," I start, my attempt at a reprimand falling flat when I can't keep the annoyance from bleeding into my tone. "Can I help you?"

Her eyes flicker with something akin to mischief—or maybe it’s just the usual nosiness that she disguises as concern. "Is something going on between you and Shiloh?"

The question hits like a bucket of ice water. I straighten up, my hands pressing flat against the desk, willing myself to maintain control. My voice comes out steady, betraying none of the chaos that’s threatening to unravel inside me.

"Absolutely not; that would be entirely inappropriate," I say, each word clipped, a warning for her to drop it. But Jackie just shrugs, her casual dismissal of my tone only fueling the irritation simmering beneath my skin.

"Maybe," she muses aloud, unfazed by my glare, "but I think Shiloh might be good for you."

It's the last thing I want to hear. My jaw clenches involuntarily as I feel the precarious balance of my professional and personal life tipping over the edge. The walls I've painstakingly erected to keep my desires in check are cracking, and Jackie's words are a sledgehammer.

"Get out," I tell her, my voice low, barely controlled. Jackie holds my gaze for a moment longer as if trying to decipher the storm behind my eyes.

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