Twenty-Seven
TWENTY-SEVEN
SOPHIE
J ared walks out of the office, and I follow close behind, my thoughts racing as anger, shock, and disappointment swirl inside me. How could he do that? After everything. Even though Liam saw through it, the fact that Jared even tried—after I forgave him—hurts more than I expected. But maybe the worst part is how I stood there silent, letting it happen. Why didn't I say anything? Yet, there’s still a kernel of hope inside me that he has a reason. Maybe he was stressed or nervous, accidentally saying that my idea was his. Because I don’t want to believe that there’s people that conniving.
I can’t deal with this. I’m already struggling with being in the same room as Liam. Every second I’m in his vicinity, the professional, mature thoughts I try to cling to start to dissipate, like smoke in the wind. I can’t think straight when he’s near. Not with everything that’s happened between us—our past already complicates things, but now he’s my boss. My boss. If I cave it could ruin everything, my career, my reputation.
But then he chose my idea. He believes in me .
And suddenly, all I can think about is how much I want to jump into his arms. Even after crying to my best friend all night. Am I pathetic? Probably. I feel weak, needy—and that’s the last thing I can afford right now. I can’t let myself be that girl—the one who crumbles for a man.
I take a deep breath, willing the desire to pass, but it lingers, a knot tightening in my core. I can’t have this. I can’t have him.
Liam’s voice stops me in my tracks.
“Sophie, would you mind staying for a few minutes?”
I freeze. Part of me wants to run out, but I turn back around trying to keep my emotions in check. “Sure,” I answer, my voice strained as I walk toward the chair in front of his desk. “What do you want to talk about?”
A heavy sigh escapes him, and his eyes lock with mine, searching, questioning. “Why did you do that?”
I stare at him, my mind trying to figure out where this is going.
“Do what?” A part of me knows what he’s talking about, but I don’t say anything about it.
He stands up quickly, his large chest rising and falling heavily as he paces around his desk, then sits on the edge, eyes burning darker than I’ve ever seen them. ”Why do you let Jared take advantage of you?”
“I don’t—” I try to say, but I don’t even know what to say. Before I can gather my thoughts, he cuts in again.
“Yes, you do. I know most of what you and Jared just presented were your ideas.”
“We worked together,” I reply, but my voice comes out smaller than I want it to be, barely audible. The words are partially true because we did work together. But when it comes to that concept, it was mostly me.
His eyes narrow, and I can feel the weight of his disappointment pressing down on me.
“Did you?” His gaze sharpens, his words biting. “Or did he charm his way into you doing all the work? I know you, Soph. You’re one of the most talented people I know, but you let people walk all over you.”
“Liam—”
“No, Soph, you need to hear this.” His tone softens, but the intensity of his stare doesn’t. “When you shine, you shine so bright that it blinds people. You don’t have to share that light with those who don’t deserve it, especially with people who use you.”
I blink rapidly, his words sinking in like a weight I didn’t expect to carry. Do I do that? Let people use me? I let it simmer for a few moments, the reality of it hitting me. I do dim myself for others to shine. But is that always a bad thing?
“He had ideas,” I mutter, almost defensively. Even if Jared did end up screwing me over again, I’m not like him. Something inside me shifts. My dad raised me better. I’m not that kind of girl, who throws people under buses. Maybe I should be, but right now, I’m not. I just can’t. I don’t need to tear others down to have a stepping stone, and I’m not about to start now. It’s not who I am.
I straighten up slightly, feeling a small burst of defiance creep in. If I’m going to get where I want, it’ll be on my terms, not by someone else’s downfall. Karma will get them at its own pace.
Liam crosses his arms over his broad chest, his eyes hard like stone. “What part of that concept was his idea then?”
Damn it. I didn’t expect Liam to want receipts. When I said he had some insight, I meant nodding along when I shared my ideas, maybe joining the conversation.
“Well, we were on the same page with most parts, so can we even say which ideas were his or mine?” I’m grasping at straws now, and Liam knows it.
He just stares at me incredulously, his expression hardening before a laugh bursts out of him—sharp and unkind, cutting through the space between us like a knife.
“What?” I snap, caught off guard by his sudden laughter.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard, Sophie,” he says, his laughter turning into a hard, mean edge. My jaw tightens as I watch him. What the hell is so funny?
“If you think he’s so bad, then why did you hire him, huh?” I lift my chin, not backing down from the challenge in his eyes. His laughter dies immediately, the serious facade back in place, and its weight crashes down on me.
“If I’m so talented, why didn’t you trust me to work alone?” My voice rises, and I can feel the heat of frustration burning in my chest. I worked so hard on this project. I gave it everything. But instead of letting me fly, he let me sink by pairing me with Jared. For what?
“You are talented, Sophie. I do trust you, but we needed more hands. Maybe the choice in hands was wrong. That’s on me,” he says, his voice steady but firm. “But I also need you to stand up for yourself. Don’t let him—or anyone else—take credit for what’s yours. That’s all I’m asking.”
I shake my head, exhausted. ”Fine, I’ll remember it.” I push the chair back and stand. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do if you don’t have anything else you want to talk about,” I say, my voice firm, though inside I’m reeling. I hear a sharp breath leave Liam as I walk away, but I don’t turn around. I won’t give him the satisfaction. My hand is almost at the doorknob, freedom just within reach.
“One more thing.”
I internally groan. Can’t he just let me be? It’s already humiliating enough, standing here being scolded while pretending nothing has happened between us.
But as I start to move toward the door, his voice drops. I turn around, heart stuttering in my chest. He’s right behind me—damn it. I didn’t even hear him move. His presence is suffocating, his body towering. His eyes are dark, sharp, like they’re burning into mine, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.
“Next time,” he growls, the words dripping with intent, low and deliberate, “you don’t leave my bed without saying goodbye. Do you understand?”
The air in the room thickens. My breath falters. I blink, caught completely off guard, disoriented by his proximity, his audacity and by the heat of his body close to mine. “Excuse me?” I ask defiantly, fighting to keep the edge. Next time? No way.
His masculine scent surrounds me, intoxicating, his body so close I can feel the weight of him like a threat in the air. His muscles shift as he leans just a bit closer, his gaze searing through me. All of it—his eyes, his strength, the tension that builds between us—won’t get to me. I’m stronger than that.
But the thought of next time makes my body betray me. He makes me feel so good. My pulse quickens, and heat spreads through my veins at the idea of him—of us—again. Would it be so bad?
“You. Don’t. Leave. Without. Telling. Me.” Each word is a command, heavy with warning, the kind that leaves no room for negotiation.
The weight of his stare presses against me, both pulling me in and pushing me away at the same time. Why is he doing this? Why does he have to stand there, that close, filling the space between us with a tension that’s almost unbearable?
“There won’t be a next time,” I whisper, my voice shaky, betraying me, even though my mind is screaming at me to stay strong. I can’t even convince myself. My body knows exactly what it wants, but I refuse to let it show. We can’t do this. We can't.
Liam's lips curl into a slow, knowing smile—one that tells me he knows exactly what I’m feeling. His eyes never leave mine, dark with something I can't name, but it hits me in the chest like a jolt of electricity. My heart stumbles, desire coiling deep in my belly.
I need to leave. I should leave. But my body is frozen, drawn in by him in a way that makes every instinct in me scream to get closer, to give in.
I try to pull away, but he leans in, his lips dangerously close—too close. “You can walk away, Sophie,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with longing, with promise . “But we both know you won’t be able to stop thinking about how I made you scream my name.”
It’s getting too hot in here. My skin flushes, my breath shallow as I feel the heat of him—his body, his presence—surround me. Something shifts inside me, but I fight against it. I can’t let him win. Not like this.
I need to leave. I want to leave. But my body doesn’t listen. My hand finally finds the doorknob, gripping it with white-knuckled intensity, as if that’s the only thing keeping me from falling into his arms like a pathetic slave to my own desires.
His hand shoots out, palm flat against the door, just inches from my head. His touch isn’t on me, but it feels like it is. His body is impossibly close, his warmth enveloping me as he leans forward, his breath brushing against my cheek.
I glance up at him, heart pounding, but his eyes don’t waver. They’re locked on mine.
“Don’t pretend you’re done with me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. His fingers brush the edge of my hair, so light I barely feel it, but it sends shivers down my spine. “You’re not. And we both know it. But if you really want to believe it, then say it.”
“Say you don’t want me,” he commands softly, his voice a velvet growl that wraps around me like a chain. “Make me believe you.”
I swallow hard. My throat tightens. I should say it. I should say it. But the words stick in my chest, refusing to come out.
He smiles—slowly, deliberately—like he knows exactly what I’m feeling, and it only fuels the fire between us.
His hand slides off the door, “You can run away now,” he murmurs, but there’s no challenge in it. It's almost a suggestion, a tease, as if daring me to try and escape the pull he’s created, “You will be back.”
I don’t look at him. I can’t. I force the door open, the coolness of the wood against my palm the only thing keeping me grounded. But as I walk away, I can feel him—his presence—his eyes on my back, like he’s already branded me, leaving his mark even as I try to escape.
I take a sip of my coffee—my cold, forgotten coffee. I’ve been sitting at this spot in the café down the street for about three hours now, and with each passing hour, my anger only intensifies. Two men in my life, two infuriating men, have managed to crawl under my skin. Both in different ways, but equally maddening.
The coffee didn’t help, its bitterness matching the bitterness in my chest. One sip after another, I replay the events in my head—Liam’s smug, possessive behavior and Jared’s…Well, Jared just being Jared. Both pushing buttons I didn’t even know I had.
What gives men the audacity? That’s a question I’ve asked myself for years. Honestly, it’s like they’re all born with this manual of unwarranted confidence and a sprinkle of “I know best” attitude. Why do they still think they’re God’s gift to us? Is it the hair gel? The gym routine? Maybe they get it with their first boner—suddenly, they think the world should just bow at their feet.
They use it to annoy the hell out of us, to make us question our sanity while they strut around with that smug, self-assured look, thinking they've got it all figured out. Spoiler alert: they don’t.
I take another sip of my now completely ice-cold coffee, grimacing. Fitting, really. That's exactly how I should be to succeed. Cold. Detached. Like a man. Say what I want. Take what I want. Unapologetically. Maybe that’s the way to go in life.
No more overthinking, no more considering everyone else's feelings above mine. No more tiptoeing around them, no more playing nice, no more bending over backward to make others comfortable. Maybe it’s time to flip the script and start playing to win.
My whole conversation with Liam has been echoing in my mind, looping endlessly. He’s the boss—his job is to judge the work, not make me feel small. He should’ve just chosen a damn concept, and that should’ve been that. But no, not Liam. He had to keep me in his office like a child in detention, and worse, he had to bring up what we did. What is that, some macho-alpha-man power play?
Next time, you don’t leave my bed without saying goodbye. Do you understand? His voice keeps playing on repeat, and every time it does, something inside me stirs in a way I don’t want to acknowledge.
You can run away now. You will be back. A tingle rushes through my body.
It was hot. Hot enough to make my stomach tighten with need, and I hate myself for thinking that. But maybe, maybe I should acknowledge it and take what I want and need. Once again. What if we kept it simple? Physical. Just sex. No strings. Just between us, a dirty secret. Would that really be so bad?
The thought creeps in, as much as I try to resist it. Because for some damn reason, every time I’m near him—whether it’s from anger or sexual tension—my whole body lights up like he’s wired into me. It’s like we’re magnets. I hate it, but damn if I don’t feel it too. It’s like our bodies still speak the same language, a language I’ve been trying to forget for years.
Could I handle the emotions that come with sex? Maybe I could. If I just tell myself there are no feelings involved, there won’t be feelings involved. I won’t allow myself. Considering I’m quite a determined woman. What I say, I do. It’s easy.
“Hey, Soph,” a voice breaks through my thoughts. The voice I currently want to smack.
“Don’t, Jared. Don’t you dare,” I snap, turning to face him, my anger bubbling up again before I can even hold it back. Showtime.
“What?” he says as if he has no clue what’s going on. WHAT. Is this idiot serious?
“Are you seriously asking me that? Are you that clueless?” My voice rises, causing a few heads to turn around in the café, but I don’t care.
“Wait. Are you angry with me?” Jared's expression is a mix of confusion and arrogance, which only fuels my irritation.
“Of course, I am!” The confused look on his face solidifies what I didn’t want to believe. He hasn't changed, and he does not think what he did deserves an apology. “You haven’t changed. Not in the slightest. You're still the same selfish, idea-stealing, ladder-climbing jerk you've always been.”
“Come on, Soph. You know the ideas were ours, and that specific one? That was inspired by some of my previous jobs. It was practically mine.” His dismissive tone makes me want to scream.
“Are you serious? That was all me. My idea. You could never come up with that. Yours was the damn glow-in-the-dark tables. I didn’t say it was stupid cause I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. So no, that was not your idea. God, how could I ever believe you? People don’t change. Why can’t I just learn that? Why do I have to go through this crap over and over to finally get it?” I can feel my chest tightening.
“You’re overreacting. What’s the big deal? You don’t see me being all dramatic after he said it was your concept, even though it was ours ,” Jared says like he genuinely believes the nonsense he's spewing.
“It. Was. MINE!” I bite out, my voice trembling. Everything I've been holding back—the anger, the frustration, the hurt—threatens to flood over. It’s all too much now.
“Lower your voice,” Jared hisses, looking around, trying to make it seem like I’m the one out of line. Not a good idea.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I snap, venom in my voice.
“You’re making a scene,” he warns, his voice dropping to a condescending tone.
“I don’t give a shit.” My words cut through the air like a knife. “You’re a selfish asshole. Get out of my face. Or better yet, I’ll take my face away from yours.” I grab my bag and coffee, ready to storm out, but then I realize something.
Cold coffee = Cold-hearted + Selfish man.
Without a second thought, I throw the coffee at his white Armani shirt. The brown liquid stains his chest, and his mouth opens in shock.
“Oops,” I mutter before turning on my heel and walking out of the café, heart racing and satisfaction buzzing. I head straight back to the hotel. Straight back to Liam's office. I have some words for him, too. Sadly, though, I have no coffee left.