Page 7 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

"Actually," Jackie interjects, her voice slicing through the tension like a well-honed blade. "This is your new personal assistant." She gestures toward Shiloh with a flourish that feels too bright for this moment. "We've just wrapped up her onboarding paperwork."

Shiloh's gaze flits to Jackie, then back to me. There's a silent message in her big brown eyes, some plea for understanding—or maybe it's forgiveness. I don't know. I can't read her right now.

"Right—I just remembered she was starting today." The words taste like ash in my mouth. I trusted Jackie implicitly and left the hiring process entirely in her capable hands.

But this? This is a complication no one needs.

I should have been more careful. Should have given some input—any input—on who would be working so closely with me. Because as much as I want to deny it, the truth claws at the edges of my mind: I haven’t stopped thinking about Shiloh since that night.

Not even close.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Nolan?” Jackie asks.

"No, not at all—welcome aboard," I manage to say, though it feels like each syllable is being dragged from deep within my chest.

"Thank you, Mr. Nolan." Shiloh’s voice is soft and unsure, not the confident, teasing tone I remember all too well.

"Call me Liam," I correct her, almost against my will. The formality sounds wrong on her lips.

"Right. Liam." She nods, but the way she says my name—it's like a touch, a whisper across my skin. And damn it, the memory of her lips is suddenly there again, burning through me.

I remind myself that she’s likely still with Chris. My brother. The thought alone should be enough to douse any lingering flame of desire.

It isn’t.

"Jackie," I address my executive assistant, grasping for normalcy. "Is everything set with Ms. Sanders here?"

"Absolutely. She's all yours," Jackie replies, oblivious to how that makes me feel.

Or maybe she isn't oblivious, she's just too professional to show it.

"Good. Thank you."

As Jackie exits, leaving me alone with Shiloh, I'm acutely aware of everything—the sound of her breathing, the subtle shift of her feet on the plush carpet, the unseen weight of every reason why this is a terrible idea.

"Sit down," I say, pointing to the chair opposite my desk. “Let's talk."

And God help me because I don't know how I'll resist the pull of her gravity now that she's in my orbit again.

Shiloh stands across from me now, frozen, her slender frame rigid, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She's nervous, I can tell.

Her shoulders are pulled up ever so slightly, a defense against whatever she thinks I might say or do. It's a stark contrast to the carefree girl I remember—the one who laughed too loud and challenged me at every turn.

"Take a seat, Miss Sanders," I command, repeating myself. She flinches almost imperceptibly, and I mentally curse myself for letting my emotions slip through the cracks of my composure.

Shiloh complies without a word, lowering herself into the chair as though it might swallow her whole. The distance between us feels like miles, yet every instinct I have screams that it's not nearly far enough.

Silence stretches out, thick and tangible. My pulse hammers in my ears, loud against the stillness of the office. The air is charged with a tension that's all too familiar—a dangerous current between us that I've been trying to ignore since the moment she walked through the door.

"Liam," her voice is soft but steady, "how have you—"

"If I'd known it was you, I wouldn't have hired you."

Her mouth closes, and the vulnerability in her eyes is enough to twist something deep inside me. Mortification blooms across her face, and I can see her swallow hard, fighting back the emotion that threatens to spill over.

"Wh—why?" The question is barely above a whisper, her voice trembling with the weight of unshed tears and confusion.

"Because," I start, my tone steeling as I try to reinforce the walls between us, "I'm not in the habit of doing favors for my self-righteous brother."

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