Chapter 28

VIVIANNE

We made it all the way until Wednesday without a fight. The last day of the month, and everything between us feels tight—stretched thin and fraying at the edges.

We’ve been swamped at work, buried under deadlines and paperwork. I haven’t had a second to pull Liam aside, not even for the conversation I know we need to have. And now, he’s picking at everything.

The papers don’t go that way—they go this way. I like my pencil here. I don’t want pizza for dinner—I want Thai. Why is the stapler on this side of the desk?

The final straw is when he looks at me and says, “How long have you been working with me? I could’ve sworn it was long enough to know how I like these things.”

“I’m going to grab some coffee. I’ll be back in fifteen,” I say, my jaw tight.

He barely nods, his eyes glued to the mountain of reports we still have to finish.

As I walk through the office, Jenna gives me a sympathetic look. I don’t need to say anything—she already knows. Things aren’t right.

When I reach the bottom floor, the elevator dings open. Mr. Stryder stands waiting, a slick smile stretched across his face.

“Well, well. Hello there, Vivianne,” he says, stepping forward and blocking my exit.

“Mr. Stryder.” I nod curtly and try to move around him again.

He shifts again, cutting me off. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s sharp. Unsettling.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry, dear?” he asks, breath reeking of plaque and liquor.

The scent hits me all at once, making me cringe.

“C-c-coffee,” I stammer, then clear my throat and try to steady myself. “What can I get you, sir?”

He chuckles low in his throat, then leans in, smelling my hair. The sound that escapes him makes my skin crawl.

“Tall. Black,” he says, finally stepping halfway aside.

I squeeze past him, careful not to make contact. The elevator doors close behind me, and I fumble for my phone, heart racing.

I start to dial Jenna, but stop. No—this is something Liam needs to know.

If I know him—and I think I do, at least enough—he’s still irritated and on edge. But he needs to be warned that his father is on his way up.

The phone rings twice before Liam answers, his voice gruff and tired—almost defeated.

I mean to sound strong, composed. But all I manage is a small, shaky, “Liam.”

I hear the shift immediately. He is no longer the frustrated version I left in the office—this Liam is softer.

“Vivianne, what’s wrong?”

“You’re f-father’s on his way up.” My voice cracks.

That man scares me in a way no one else ever has. Not even my own father.

I hang up and head to Daily Grind.

It’s always the same order for Jenna and Liam—predictable, dependable. But me? I want to try everything on the menu. Some things twice, if they’re good.

I order my pure-sugar, then Liam’s, Jenna’s, and—unfortunately—Mr. Stryder’s.

As I wait, I hope he’ll be gone by the time I get back. I don’t want to deal with him again today.

When I return, Jenna is at her desk, looking tense, and I can hear Liam yelling.

“How long?” I ask.

“Since he went in,” she says, nodding toward the door. “You okay? He came up right after you left—” She shrugs and takes a long sip of her coffee.

“Okay,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “I’m going in.”

I swallow my nerves and step into Liam’s office. The second I walk in, he goes quiet, a fire in his eyes like I’ve never seen.

His eyes lock on mine, sharp and burning.

I cross the room and hand him his coffee, pressing a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek.

It isn’t good enough, though. I lean in again, letting my lips linger against his skin.

Then, I gently take his chin and tilt his face to mine, kissing him full on the mouth.

For a moment, everything else disappears. He kisses me back, and the fire between us roars to life.

When I pull away, he looks at me with something I can’t quite place.

“Here’s your coffee, babe,” I say, handing him the cup.

Mr. Stryder stands nearby, watching.

I don’t meet his eyes or hand him his cup.

Instead, I scoot the drink carrier across the desk toward him with a small, polite smile, then glue myself to Liam.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” I add, keeping my voice light. “I got us a reservation for that new restaurant downtown.”

I flash a sweet smile and wait.

For a moment, it’s just us.

When we’re like this, the world fades—his father, the office, our messy history.

None of it matters.

There’s only this quiet, easy closeness that feels almost real.

Liam nods, takes my hand, and brings it to his lips.

He speaks softly against my skin. “Where were we?”

Across the room, Mr. Stryder looks genuinely offended.

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face as I meet his glare.

“Fine. Fine. I was just leaving,” he mutters, grabbing his coffee and walking out.

As the door clicks shut behind him, I can’t help but chuckle.

“Tantrum much?” I say, glancing at Liam, who’s trying to hide his own smile.

“A reservation, huh? he asks. “When?”

“The weekend,” I reply simply. Vague, safe—easier that way.

The mood shifts. It’s lighter now. No more fighting, no more nitpicking. We make it through the rest of the day without another argument.

And just like that, the week carries on.

***

I’m excited to eat at ~Crave~ again—the restaurant Liam and I took his mom to.

I didn’t tell him the name when I made the reservations. I wanted it to be a surprise. One last night that feels good.

I slip into my little black dress. It clings in all the right places, off-the-shoulder, ending just above my thigh.

I look hot—not too dressed up, but not too casual either.

When he steps out in slacks and a button-down, his jacket tailored just right, my breath catches.

He always looks amazing. This man is like a supermodel—he could rock a parka if he wanted to.

Liam seems at ease tonight, just easier to talk to and laugh with.

And that makes what I have to do even harder.

He orders appetizers before ordering his pasta, paired with a glass of ~Nebbiolo~.

When it’s my turn to order, I hesitate, eyeing two dishes.

“I can’t decide between the filet mignon or the blackened bass.”

“That sounds good, actually. Can we get both of those dishes?” he asks the waiter without missing a beat.

I glance at him, my voice low. “What are you doing?”

“Ordering dinner,” he whispers back with a soft grin.

My stomach flips at the look he gives me—familiar, warm.

The waiter nods, says something I don’t quite catch, and walks away.

And for a second, I wish this night didn’t have to end with the truth.

Dinner is amazing.

It tastes so great, I never want it to end.

I wish it would last forever.

“I’m really glad you made this reservation, Viv.”

“Me too,” I smile, meaning it.

What comes next is going to suck, but at least we have this moment.

After the week we’ve had, it feels like we deserve this.

“Are you ready for Thanksgiving?” he asks, looking at me with a steady expression.

“Turkey, stuffing, and gravy? I’m ready.” We both laugh. “But isn’t your birthday first?” I ask, eyeing him.

“It is,” he says, his eyes glimmering.

The rest of dinner drifts by easily. We chat about the gala in December and everything we still need to do.

The ride home is filled with small talk and comfortable silence. Like before.

When we arrive at the penthouse, I open a bottle of Chardonnay and pour us each a glass. I hand one to Liam, and he gives me a smile as he takes a sip and sets it down, loosening his tie.

“Liam.” My stomach tightens. The nerves hit all at once, twisting the words in my throat.

“Viv,” he says my name softly, almost like a question.

“We should talk.”

This gets his attention. His body stiffens as he turns to me, the relaxed ease from earlier draining away.

“That doesn’t sound good,” he says with a nervous laugh.

“I think…” I swallow. “I think we should end this.”

The words taste wrong. Heavy. I watch him take them in, something flickering in his eyes.

“What?” He shakes his head. “No. No—we’re not done.”

His voice is firm. Certain.

“Liam…” His name sounds strange on my tongue. “It’s just not the right time.”

The words hang between us, suspended and fragile. He starts to speak, then stops, his eyes scanning my face like he’s trying to find something he can hold onto.

“But—” He stops, sad understanding blooming on his face. He just nods, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Tears prick my eyes.

“I know,” I whisper, leaning into him. “I know.”

He rests his chin on my head. I can hear his heart hammering in his chest.

“But this is what I think is best right now.”

Even as I say it, doubt creeps in around the edges. But I don’t take it back.

He nods, but he looks numb.

I kiss his cheek, then stand. I take my glass with me but leave the bottle behind.

Once I’m in my room, I lock myself inside.

He needs time to sort out his feelings.

I just hope this doesn’t destroy our friendship too.