Seventeen
SEVENTEEN
LIAM
I t’s been two days since I put Sophie and Jared to work, and every second has been pure torture. Watching them in the office— my office —seeing Sophie laugh so easily with him, I don’t like it. I did this to myself, and now I’m paying the price.
Sitting at my desk, trying to focus on the stack of paperwork in front of me, but my eyes keep drifting over to them. Jared is currently leaning in closer to Sophie, pointing at one of the hundreds of magazines spread out between them.
Why is he so close? And why is she eagerly nodding at him with that smile? Whatever he’s saying can’t be interesting enough for that kind of reaction. Nobody is that interesting.
I’m supposed to be working, making phone calls, reviewing contracts. Instead, I’m stuck watching them, unable to tear my eyes away. Like a damn black hole—pulling me in, no matter how hard I try to resist.
I catch snippets of their conversation and the worst part? They’re actually working. Between us three, I’m the one failing at the “work” part right now. And what’s even worse, some of Jared’s ideas are good. Which is the reason I hired him. But the way they're interacting is just too relaxed, too easy, and it grates on me like sandpaper on raw skin. Not pleasant at all. But as I’m the problem, I’ll have to learn to be comfortable in the uncomfortable. I have no choice. I need to push through, try everything, and make this hotel the next best thing in New York. I promised Lucas and my uncle that, and I always keep my promises.
She’s wearing a fitted blouse that clings to her frame just right, the soft fabric skimming over her curves before falling to meet tailored pants that hug her hips. Her thick, sunshine hair is pulled back into a ponytail that sways slightly with each nod, drawing my gaze to the graceful curve of her neck. Her makeup is subtle but intentional—her eyes darker, her lips glossier than usual, as if she’s deliberately making herself irresistible. It’s like she dressed not just to feel confident but to command the room. And fuck, it kills me.
I lean back in my chair, fingers digging into the armrests. I shouldn’t feel this—I know that much—but the sensation won’t go away. All I want to do is pull that damn ponytail, wrap it around my fist, and make her forgive me.
My computer dings with a new email, but the sound barely registers. My grip tightens as I force myself to look away, pretending to care about the glowing screen in front of me.
I’m the boss, I should be in control, but right now, I feel like anything but.
Ultimately, I can’t take it anymore they’re too comfortable and I’m not. Which isn’t equal at all. I rise from my chair, striding across the room in a mere second, making sure my presence is felt. They look up, surprised, as I stand over them, forcing myself to speak, to remind them—and myself—who’s in charge here.
What the fuck do I say now?
“Jared,” I say his name without the usual bite, which surprises me.
One point to me.
“How’s that concept for the rooftop coming along?”
Jared straightens up, nodding quickly enough that his perfect, slicked-back hair falls out of place. “Good. We’ve got a few solid ideas we’re refining.”
“What have you got so far?” I ask, but my voice feels distant, more formal than genuine interest. Sophie’s gaze is fixed on Jared as he answers my question, but I’m not listening to a single word he says. All I see is how the delicate flower tattoo behind her ear catches the light. The one she got with me. I almost feel a surge of possessiveness rising within me, wanting to release her ponytail so that her hair falls freely, hiding the tattoo from Jared’s eyes. It’s our memory together, just me and her.
My eyes move to her hand, but the matching tattoo on her finger is still gone. Why did I assume it would reappear? My thumb absently caresses the ink on my own finger, the one we once shared as a symbol of the chance encounter that brought us together. As if sensing my thoughts, her eyes drift to my hand, and she mirrors my actions, her fingers brushing the spot where her tattoo used to be. She bites her lip, her eyes dropping for just a second as if the weight of the past has brushed against her thoughts.
The knot in my chest tightens. Let this go. Leave it in the past. Don’t force it on her.
“Make sure you have ten ideas ready by Monday,” I say, “No excuses.”
I don’t know why I've suddenly become an asshole, but the words slip out of my mouth, mostly pointing at Jared, but Sophie is with him. Everything I throw at him will affect Sophie too.
She looks at me, her smile a little more subdued. “Of course.”
But then her eyes linger on my hand for a moment longer, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re both still caught in that memory, even as I turn away and head back to my desk.
Damn you, Lucas, for putting me in this situation. Damn you for making these unresolved feelings, ones I thought I’d buried deep, creep back out. And damn you, because I’m starting to feel like it will be impossible to walk away when this is all over.
After hours of paperwork and torment, Jared finally stands up, stretching in his ugly beige suit that somehow looks like it was made from old office carpeting.
He starts gathering some scattered papers, but Sophie stops him with a gentle smile.
“Don’t worry about this. I’ll fix it.” Her tone is light, offering Jared a small smile. “It’s late, go home to your cat or whatever that creature is.”
Jared chuckles, relieved. “It’s a Sphynx. Thanks, Sophie. Bye, boss,” he adds with a nod in my direction. Then he finally leaves, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving just Sophie and me in the office, surrounded by piles of papers and an uncomfortable silence.
I glance at my watch—fuck. Midnight again. Sophie’s still sitting across from me, her brows furrowed in concentration as she studies the blueprints. Her hair’s slipped loose from its tie, and she absently brushes a strand behind her ear, oblivious to the time. We’ve been at this for hours, and I know for a fact she hasn’t eaten since lunch.
I stare at the paper in front of me, pretending to review it, even though I signed it thirty minutes ago. My eyes keep drifting to her, to the way her pencil taps lightly against the table, her lips pressed into a thoughtful line. She won’t stop unless I say something.
I move to her side, silently helping her organize the mess. The silence between us is thick, and I just don’t know what to say. You could probably hear a pin drop.
Every few moments, she glances up at me, her expression unreadable. I do everything I can to avoid meeting her gaze, focusing instead on my hands, methodically stacking papers, pretending I don’t notice the goosebumps prickling along my skin.
When the last of the papers are neatly tucked into her folders, I move to what’s important. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. I know the best pizza place.”
“It’s midnight,” she says, raising an eyebrow, a hint of surprise in her voice.
“I know,” I reply, my tone softening further. “But we haven’t had dinner, and you need to eat.” I know how she gets when she’s focused. When she was studying for tests, I had to remind her to eat almost every day. In some strange way, it’s comforting—like no matter how much has changed, some things about Sophie are still the same. As if she might still need me.
She hesitates, then smiles, the tension easing just slightly. “Okay, but only because I’m starving.”
The pizza place is only a few blocks away, a little hole-in-the-wall that’s been my favorite for years. It’s the kind of place that feels like a secret, even though everyone who’s anyone in New York knows about it. Every time I’m in the city, I make it a point to come here to indulge in their Neapolitan spicy salami pizza—two big, delicious slices that taste like nostalgia and comfort. Tonight, I’m sharing it with Sophie, and that thought alone makes this place feel different, more special.
“So, what do you think?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but there’s an edge of nervousness I can’t quite hide. I shouldn’t care so much. It’s strange, but right now, I want her to love what I love. To share something that’s been mine for so long.
She pauses, the half-eaten slice hovering near her lips, and then looks at me with those bright eyes. “This is the best pizza I’ve ever had.” She takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully before adding, “And I’m not just saying that because you’re the one who brought me here.”
“How have I never known about this place?” It’s more of a statement than a question, and I can’t help but chuckle, taking a sip of my beer to hide the stupid grin spreading across my face. God, she’s adorable when she’s like this—so sincere and unguarded, as if the years between us haven’t changed a thing. It makes me feel like we’re not so different from who we used to be, even though I know things have shifted. But in this moment, with her laughing, sharing a meal like we used to, it feels like nothing’s ever been lost.
We eat in comfortable silence, the kind that just feels natural, like we’re slipping into a rhythm neither of us forgot. Now and then, our eyes meet over the table, and it feels good. It feels as though we are closing in on making amends. She smiles at me, hiding the beauty of it behind her slice, and I catch the blush that starts spreading on her cheeks. She’s so fucking cute. There’s something about the way she looks right now, all unguarded and real, that just makes me want to hold onto this moment forever.
When we finish, I pay the bill, and we step out into the cool night air. The streets are quieter now, the city settling into that late-night hush where everything feels a bit softer, a bit more intimate. “I’ll walk you home,” I offer, not really giving her a choice because the idea of parting ways right now doesn’t sit well with me. She’s not getting in a taxi or walking home alone at this time. Also, I want more time with her, even if it’s just a few extra minutes of walking side by side in the stillness of the night.
“You don’t have to,” she says, but there’s no resistance in her voice, only a quiet acceptance. She knows me well enough to understand that once I’ve made up my mind, there’s no changing it.
“I know,” I reply, smiling down at her, feeling something unfurling in my chest. “But I want to.”
I fall into step beside her, and every damn thing around me sharpens. Every sound, every movement, even the way her hand brushes mine—hell, it’s like a magnet pulling me in. My fingers twitch, itching to take her hand, to see if it still fits in mine the way it used to. But I don’t. Not anymore. Because we’re not who we used to be, and I’m not a fool to pretend otherwise.
I sound like a damn idiot.
By the time we reach her building, the night feels like it’s slipping through my fingers—too fast. It’s not enough. It never is.
I stop in front of the door, the weight of the moment settling in. I’m not ready to say goodbye—not ready to let go of this fleeting piece of something that feels too good to end. She turns toward me, the streetlight catching her face, making everything about her glow softly, almost impossibly perfect. But it’s the way her eyes shift—there’s a vulnerability there, a softness I’ve never seen from her before. It’s like the night itself has peeled away the armor she’s so damn good at wearing, leaving behind something raw, real.
Something she hides, not just from the world, but from me.
“Thanks for the pizza,” she says, her voice low, almost like she’s testing the air, hesitant, as if there’s more she wants to say but can’t find the words.
“Anytime,” I reply, and I mean it. I’d take her here every night if it meant we could keep doing this, keep pretending we’re not both aching for more.
But before she can turn away, I feel it—something pushing at my chest, the words bubbling up before I can stop them.
“So, can I ask you something?” The question hangs in the air, and I watch her expression shift, the ease slipping away as her guard goes up. Just like that, she goes from open and relaxed to something... tentative.
“Sure,” she replies, voice steady but guarded, like she already knows what’s coming. Like she’s bracing herself.
My heart pounds in my chest, the dread curling in my stomach. But I can’t stop it. The need for answers claws at me, sharp and insistent. I know it’s irrational, that it’s none of my damn business. But the thought of her walking through all of this again—of her getting hurt, and me not understanding why—hell, it eats at me.
“What happened between you and Jared?”
She stops dead in her tracks, her shoulders stiffening as she processes the question.
“Liam, I don't think that's...”
Before she can finish, I step in front of her, blocking her path, my chest tight, my voice sharper than I mean it to be.
“Just tell me.” The words tumble out before I can stop them, tinged with a desperation I don't want to acknowledge. But it’s there—raw, impossible to ignore.
I need to know. It’s killing me, this gnawing ache in my chest, this burning question. It's the way she laughs around him, like there’s nothing wrong, like there’s some kind of understanding between them that I can’t touch, can’t fathom. That ease they share... it unsettles me.
I need to know what he did. How he hurt her. How she can still be so damn friendly to him.
“Why?” Her voice is sharp.
“Because.”
She laughs without a shred of humor. “That's not a reason.”
“And also...” Her eyes narrow, her walls going up like steel bars. “It's private. It's none of your business.”
Her words slice through the air like a dismissal, like she’s putting up a new barrier, one I can’t cross. But I’m not backing down.
This isn't just about curiosity. Hell, it's not even about respect for boundaries.
It’s about protecting her. Even from herself, from her own choices. From the ghosts that refuse to stay buried in her past.
It’s about knowing every corner of her world—every dark spot, every scar—so I can stand beside her, not behind her. Fully informed. Fully aware.
It's about not being pushed aside. Not ever. Even as a friend.
“Do you still like him?” The question slips out before I can stop it, more accusatory than I intended. What the hell am I even asking? Am I twelve? This woman is driving me crazy.
Her eyes flash—anger, hurt, maybe both—but it’s enough to make the air between us feel thick. “What kind of question is that?” she snaps back.
I don’t back down, even though I know I should. “Why the hell are you giggling so much around him, then?”
She raises an eyebrow, challenging me. “Firstly, I’m not giggling much,” she retorts, “and secondly, are you listening in on our conversations?”
“One: yes, you are. Two: no, I’m not,” I answer quickly, the lie sliding off my tongue too easily, too smoothly. “But the sound of your laughter carries through the office.”
I’m full of shit, of course. Of course, I’m listening. I hear every damn word, every damn chuckle, and it’s driving me up the wall.
Her lips press into a tight line, her head shaking slowly, the frustration clear in the way her shoulders stiffen. I watch her take three deep breaths, fighting to keep it together.
I close the distance between us. My chest nearly brushes hers as I step in, invading her space just enough to make my point. “You never answered my question. Do you still like Jared?”
A muscle in her jaw twitches, a visible indicator that she’s close to bursting. Maybe that’s what I want—for her to just let go fully, for her to get every last piece of frustration out so we can start over, for real.
Her eyes darken, a storm churning behind them as she levels me with a look. Then comes the one question I’m not ready for. “Are you jealous?”
My heartbeat stutters, the words striking a nerve. Jealous? Hell yes, I’m jealous. If there’s even a chance she still feels something for him, I don’t know what I’ll do. Because he’s not right for her. Not in any universe.
“I’m not jealous of Jared,” I say, the words coming out between gritted teeth, like they’re harder to say than they should be.
“Then leave it be,” she snaps, her voice sharp, brushing past me with a dismissive wave of her hand. She heads up the stairs to the entrance of her apartment, and each step she takes feels like a widening gap between us.
Before she has time to open the door, I call out to her, “I need you to meet me at Opulent Haven tomorrow at nine a.m. We have a meeting.”
She pauses, her hand hovering over the door handle, and turns back to look at me. “I'm deep into the project you so graciously gifted Jared and me.”
“Jared’s a grown man,” I bite back, my voice sharp, the jealousy I’m trying so damn hard to bury creeping in. “He can handle himself without you for a few hours. Or are you implying he needs you to do his job?”
If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. But I don’t flinch, not even a little.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she replies, her voice steady but ice-cold, the walls back up. “I’ll meet you tomorrow. Boss .”
The way she says it, with that bite, tells me I’ve hit a nerve. But I don’t regret it. Not when it means she’ll show up and I’ll get a few more minutes alone with her.
“Don’t be late.” I start to turn away but stop myself, the words already coming. “Goodnight, Sophie.”
She sighs, a sound that’s resigned, like she’s just accepting whatever mess I’m throwing at her. “Goodnight, Liam.”
Then she’s gone, disappearing into the building, leaving me standing there, staring at the door like an idiot and strangely hollow.
I’ve got no meeting with Opulent Haven yet, but I’ll make it happen. I’ll call in whatever favors I need to get us in tomorrow. Because there’s no way I’m letting this slip through my fingers.