Page 43 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

Shiloh

The copy machine hums,a steady drone that should soothe me, but doesn't. I'm barely glancing at the documents I feed into it, my mind tangled up in thoughts of Liam.

I don't get what I did to flip his switch—from burning looks to icy dismissals, from lingering touches to curt nods, all in the span of hours.

I press 'start' on the copier and lean back against the wall, frustration knotting in my chest. His moods swing like a pendulum, and here I am—caught right in the middle, unable to step out of its path.

Hot one minute, cold the next. One second he's the epitome of kindness; the next, he's slicing through me with words sharp as knives.

But damn it, I can't shake him. The thought of him is like a drug in my veins, and I hate myself for craving the high. I've been alone with my fantasies more times than I care to admit, replaying that wild, intense night over in my head until reality blurs with desire.

I wonder what Chris would think if he knew how many times I’ve touched myself to fantasies of his brother. Especially since that night at the motel.

That evening was reckless, a mistake—no,nota mistake, because how can something that felt so earth-shattering be wrong? But it's forbidden, off-limits... and I want it again. Every heated glance, every brush of skin ignites the memory and stokes the fire.

And I burn, silently, secretly, yearning for another taste of that chaos.

"He’s not interested, Shiloh," I mutter under my breath, pulling the freshly printed stack from the tray.

I need to focus on being professional. Yet as I try to concentrate on the task at hand, the images seep through—the way his hands gripped me, claimed me, as if he'd never let go.

The recollection sends a jolt straight to my core, and I press my thighs together, willing away the heat. The hum of the copier is a monotonous drone in the background, a stark contrast to the chaos of my thoughts.

I shuffle through the documents absently, barely registering the legal jargon and case references that bleed across the pages like a trail of breadcrumbs leading me back to him—Liam, with his infuriating ability to make me feel both cherished and discarded in the same breath.

My fingers pause on a name—a beacon of familiarity in this sea of legalese: Derek Turner. The mention of the case sends a ripple of recognition through me.

We never resolved our fight in Atlanta—how I thought Derek Turner was a monster, how Liam didn’t seem to care. And now, it looks like Derek is at it again.

"Shit," I mutter. Curiosity needles at me, pricking my conscience. I shouldn't be reading this, but the next page is already in my hand, my eyes scanning the paragraphs hungrily.

Derek is suing Nora.

My heart sinks. She broke her NDA, went public with her story of cheating and swinger clubs on the Atlanta Blaze. I remember the hushed conversation at her house, the sympathetic looks shared over coffee cups as Liam coldly told her she would suffer if she told the press.

Nora has kids; this could ruin them.

"Damn you, Derek," I say through clenched teeth, the papers crumpling slightly in my grip. My own problems with Liam fade into the background, replaced by an indignant rage on behalf of Nora.

How could anyone do this to a family? To children?

I'm not supposed to know any of this, but now that I do, I can't just stand here, idle while injustice unfolds around me. With the documents clutched tight against my chest, I turn away from the copier, propelled by a newfound resolve.

Nora needs someone in her corner, and if the billionaire boys' club won't stand up for what's right, maybe it's time for someone who isn't afraid to break a few rules to step into the ring.

A surge of determination propels me out of the copy room, my heels clicking against the marble floor like a metronome ticking down to confrontation. The office is silent, abandoned by the nine-to-fivers who've retreated to their families and evening plans. Only the echo of my footsteps keeps me company—until I reach Liam's office.

The door swings open with more force than I intend. Liam's head snaps up, his eyes locking onto mine. He has that disheveled look about him—sleeves rolled up, hair tousled as if he's been wrestling with his own thoughts just as much as I have. It's infuriating how attractive he looks, even now when my blood boils with indignation.

"Shiloh?" His voice is a mix of surprise and annoyance. His eyes are already narrowed, like he’s ready to yell at me.

I stride forward, slamming the file down on his sleek, polished desk.

"Why is Derek suing Nora?" I demand, my voice echoing off the high walls of his spacious office. My hands tremble with anger, but I plant them firmly on his desk, leaning forward into his space.

Liam looks at the file, then back at me, his expression unreadable. But I don't need him to speak; I need him to answer for this injustice, for the lives that are being tossed aside in the name of legalities and corporate pride.

"Talk, Liam," I insist, my gaze unwavering. "What does Derek think he's going to achieve by dragging Nora through the mud?"

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