Chapter 24

VIVIANNE

Liam isn’t home when I wake. According to the clock, it’s early evening. The penthouse is dark and quiet—too quiet.

I practically run back to the bedroom to slip out of my nightgown and into an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants, my skin buzzing with the memory of last night.

When I come back out—hair knotted on top of my head, swimming in my too-big pajamas—I grab a bowl of chocolate ice cream and pour myself a glass of Brachetto d’Acqui. Then I settle onto the couch, flipping through channels.

By the time Liam strolls in, humming as he undoes his cuff links, I’m on my second bowl of ice cream and fourth glass of wine. My head swims pleasantly, my heart doing its kind of wobble.

“Hey,” I say, trying not to overthink it.

“Hi,” he answers with an easy smile.

“Where’ve you been?” I ask, casually queuing up the guide. “Wanna watch something?”

“Sure, let me just change out of my suit,” he says, already heading toward his room.

I’m flipping through channels again when he comes back and drops onto the couch beside me. Without hesitation, he grabs the spoon from my bowl and takes a big bite.

I fake a pout and snatch it back from him, scooping up my own mouthful.

He chuckles and turns his attention to the TV.

I try to do the same, but my thoughts are a blur. His thigh brushes mine, and all I can think about is how close he is—how warm he feels—how none of this feels quite the same.

“So really,” I say, forcing a smile, “where did you disappear to?”

“You really want to know?” he asks, meeting my eyes. “I was…avoiding you.” He runs a hand through his hair. “With everything going on—and then last night—I just didn’t want you to feel pressured. I didn’t want to add to the chaos.”

He lets out a long breath, like he’s been rehearsing it all day.

“Pressure? Chaos?” I smile softly, leaning in, my gaze flicking to his lips.

“Yes. I just—” He swallows hard. “I want—”

“What do you want, Liam?” My voice is quiet, but hope stirs in my chest.

“You. Viv, I want ~you~. I want to see where this goes.” He gestures between us.

I kiss him, before I can talk myself out of it, before doubt creeps in.

Minutes pass. We finally break apart, I’m in his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around me, like he doesn’t plan to let me go.

“We’re really going to do this? Date?” I ask, my heart fluttering.

He smiles, pulling me in again. “Oh, we’re doing this.”

***

Returning to the office feels strange, now that I’m actually dating Liam—especially on a Friday. He tried to convince me to stay home longer, to wait until Monday, but I need the distraction.

We walk hand in hand to his office and settle in for the day. I sigh. It’s really nice to be back.

“I met with Mr. Kravitz while you were out,” Liam says, shifting in his seat. “I took him to one of those BookCons. He loved it and signed the contract on the spot.” He smiles.

“I thought that might help,” I say, proud. “Where was it?”

“Leiden. The Netherlands.”

I nearly choke on my coffee. “The Netherlands? How did you manage that?”

“On my jet,” he says casually.

“You have a jet?” I blink.

“You don’t?” He chuckles. “Yes, I have a jet. Maybe we could use it sometime. I’ll sweep you away for a romantic weekend. Maldives? Fiji? Paris? Italy? Anywhere you want.”

His eyes settle on mine, and something warm curls low in my belly—until the intercom buzzes.

“Mr. Stryder,” Jenna says. “Your first meeting is here.”

He presses a button. “Send them in.”

His gaze lingers—softer, lighter than before.

“I’m taking you out tonight,” he says just before the door opens.

The day crawls, tension simmering between us. By the time we get home, I’m buzzing with excitement.

“Go get ready,” Liam says, voice thick with promise.

I don’t waste a second. Only one thought runs through my mind: ~How soon can I convince him to stay in? ~

I slip off my work clothes and into something far more dangerous.

The black fabric falls halfway down my thighs, the bra a solid, silky black, the rest of it a delicate lace.

The spaghetti straps lead down into a deep V, meeting at a small metal ring in between my breasts, the fabric hanging loosely from there.

When I step into the kitchen, Liam’s leaning on the island. His eyes darken the moment they land on me.

“Think we could stay home?” I ask, grinning.

The corners of his lips turn up as his eyes roam over me.

“I would love to,” he rasps. “But I’d really like to wine and dine you first.” His eyes flick to mine, holding my gaze.

“If you insist,” I smile, turning away.

His hand slips to my waist, pulling me back.

His lips find, and the kiss is heated, a silent promise of what’s to come.

When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless.

“Now go,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “Before I change my mind.”

Grinning, I turn away.

Not long after, I’m dressed in a wine-colored halter dress, locking the door behind us.

Liam’s SUV waits at the curb. He opens the door, helping me in, and my stomach flips, nerves fluttering—our first real date.

The ride is smooth, and Liam keeps the conversation light. When we pull up, I’m stunned. It’s not a fancy restaurant or a movie theater. Instead, a red brick building blends in with the rest of the block. A large sign hangs above the door: ~River Clay~.

“What is this place?” I ask as Liam grabs a duffle from the back and comes around to me.

He smiles and takes my hand. “It’s a date.”

He leads me inside. Shelves line the walls—clay pots, mugs, vases, and little sculptures, including three frogs on a log—see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

I stare. “Seriously…what is this?”

“Come on.” He guides me past the register and into a back room, filled with tables, supplies, and pottery wheels.

I glance down at my dress. “I’m overdressed.”

“Don’t worry.” He grins, pulling sweats and a T-shirt from the bag. “Unless you just want a smock.”

I laugh, kiss his cheek, and head to the bathroom. When I return, he’s already at the wheel, hand expertly shaping a lump of clay.

“You know what you’re doing?” I ask, stepping beside him.

He nods, still focused. “I like making something beautiful out of something that doesn’t look like it could be.”

He looks calm, comfortable. Like this is exactly where he belongs.

I tie a smock around myself and take a seat at the wheel beside him.

“What about you? What do you like to do?” he asks.

I take a second to think, watching him. I’m completely enthralled by him.

~What do I like to do?~

“I read,” I say, suddenly self-conscious. “I cook sometimes.”

“Have you tried working with clay?” he asks, slicing a wire across the wheel to lift a freshly made mug. “It can be therapeutic.”

“Wow.”

He sets the mug aside, then grabs a lump of clay and walks over to me.

“I already put some tools over there for you,” he says, guiding me through how to shape a mug.

“Like this,” he murmurs, stepping in behind me.

He encases me in his arms, placing his hands over mine as we pull up the clay together. Warmth encompasses me. He smells so good. I try not to get lost in it.

When I’ve done the best I can, he helps me slide my crooked little mug off the wheel.

His is beautiful—like it belongs on a shelf. Mine looks more like a small pitcher, though I still like it.

He brings two more lumps to the table.

“Make whatever you want,” he says, already working on his own.

“How did you find this place?” I ask, toying with the cold mass.

College. Found this place when I was looking for lessons.”

I grin. “How did the artsy cool guy in college turn into Mr. Stryder, CEO?”

He laughs. “A lot has happened since college.”

A comfortable silence settles between us as we work.

“Your sister’s pretty cool,” he says after a while.

“She is.” I smile, thinking of Becca. I should check in.

“Is she moving out here this summer?”

“I don’t think so. She applied to a few colleges, but not here.”

I glance up. He’s watching me. There’s something behind his eyes—something cautious.

“Just ask, Liam.”

He hesitates, then: “Are you staying? Or…are you thinking of going back home?”

The question hangs heavy.

“I’m not sure what I want to do yet.”

His face twitches.

“What’s that look?” I ask.

“It’s nothing,” he says flatly.

“C’mon. It’s not nothing,” I push.

“We are just getting started. How could you think of leaving?” His tone is accusatory.

“That’s ~months ~away. And how could I ~not~ think about it? My baby sister’s there. Marcus is—” I shake my head. “I’d be crazy not to consider it. That doesn’t mean I ~will~, but I have to leave the option open.”

“What about us?” he demands.

I blink. “What about us? What if we don’t work out? Then what? I can’t rule it out just because we’re giving this a chance.”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares, cold and unreasonable. The moment shifts. The night, over.

“Are you finished?” he asks, nodding at the half-formed vase in front of me. His tone is clipped—back to the same guarded Liam I met on day one.

“I don’t know. Are you?” I snap.

His jaw ticks as he stands, silently gathering our things and putting them away. He doesn’t look at me as he walks to the door.

He waits there, not saying a word.

The ride home is silent. Tension and questions hang in between us.

~Maybe this was a mistake. ~

~What am I supposed to do if he wants out? Is there even any going back from here? ~

He barely says good night before disappearing into his room, the evening ending in a way I never imagined.

Maybe I was naive to think this could actually work.