Liam Pov
She was late! By sixty-two seconds.
Not enough to call her out officially, but just enough to remind me she was still human. Flawed! Nervous! Breakable!
I sipped my drink…..whiskey, slowly and watched the city of Manhattan from my office and the way vehicles are moving like an elevator numbers descending like the countdown to a gamble.
I heard the elevator door ding and slid open with a soundless whisper, and then i heard the clicking of a shoe. Without looking back i know who it might be.
Alicia Blake.
The name alone scratched at something buried deep.
Seven years ago, that name meant nothing. Now? It meant trouble.
Ocean blue eyes, soft lips, trembling hands. Lavender & Vanilla scent and clean skin.
The body I'd once tasted in the dark, on a bed that didn't belong to either of us. A girl I never thought I'd see again, let alone hire.
But this wasn't personal. This was strategy.
She had no idea what she was walking into.
Her heels clicked against the black marble like nervous punctuation. Her eyes darted everywhere…..at the glass walls, the skyline, the expensive silence of the penthouse. Her fingers clutched a clipboard like it might shield her from me.
I didn't turn to greet her. Not yet.
Let her feel the weight of what she stepped into.
Let her earn my attention.
She smelled like anxiety and determination. Two traits I could exploit if necessary. I waited until she adjusted her blazer again, the fourth time before I turned to face her.
She froze!
Her banging body gave her away first. Back stiff. Eyes wide. Lips slightly parted. There was something so naïve about her, and yet the way her gaze met mine hinted at something bolder.
Craving.
"Miss Blake," I said, letting my voice curl low and polished, smooth like the whiskey coating my tongue.
Her throat moved with a swallow.
"Yes, sir."
"I don't tolerate tardiness." I stepped forward, slow, even strides. She didn't move. "I don't tolerate disloyalty. And I don't tolerate lies."
Her spine straightened like I'd struck her with the words.
"Understood, Mr. Knight."
There it was again. The polite, formal response.
But her thighs were clenched. Her pulse erratic. Her eyes flickered not with fear, but memory.
She remembered me. Good!
I stopped just in front of her, close enough that the scent of her skin filled the space between us. I dropped my gaze to her boobs, but the clipboard she clung to like a lifeline was blocking it. I lingered on it for a moment before dragging my eyes back up to hers.
Her heart was pounding so loud I could hear it in the silence.
"First rule," I said, lowering my voice so only she could hear. Though nobody was in there with us. "Never enter the penthouse uninvited."
She nodded instantly, scribbling it down on the clipboard like a dutiful little assistant that she is. God, she still had that student-like energy the kind that made men twice my age want to see her fall apart.
"Good," I said flatly, pivoting before I did something foolish. "HR will brief you. You'll shadow Ms. Delacroix for the first week. And Miss. Blake…"
I turned just enough to let my eyes dip to her lips.
She didn't flinch.
"Don't try to impress me. And don't disappoint me."
She nodded like a lizard on caffeine, three times, fast, awkward, flustered.
I didn't laugh. I didn't smile. I walked away.
Because if i don't! I was going to touch her again. And if I touched her, I wouldn't stop.
The glass doors shut behind me, and I let out a breath.
I hadn't realized I'd been holding it.
What the fuck is she doing to me?
Why now?
I sat behind my desk, opened my encrypted file logs, and pulled up her name again. Her résumé was clean. Too clean. But I'd made sure of that.
I hired her the moment I saw her name.
Why?
Because I wanted to know if she remembered.
Because I wanted to test if I could still control myself.
From the security feed, I watched the day unfold.
Alicia adjusted quickly. She moved with a quiet efficiency I hadn't expected. Took notes. Smiled politely. Nodded when she was supposed to.
She blended in. But I didn't hire her to blend.
I watched her hands hesitate over that red folder, the folder.
It wasn't labeled for a reason. It wasn't for her.
But she opened it anyway.
Curious little thief.
The camera zoomed in just enough to catch the flicker of shock on her face. She saw it, my image on glossy paper, shirtless, bruised, bloodied fists wrapped around a man's collar.
That photo was never meant to be seen by anyone outside my private circle.
And yet, I let her. I let her see it.
Because I wanted to see how she'd react.
She closed it, too late.
Ms. Delacroix arrived just in time to remind her where she stood.
Good.
Fear is a useful thing in KnightCorp. It keeps the survivors from becoming casualties.
Later, I watched her watch the redhead leave my private elevator.
Alicia's face changed.
Judgment? Jealousy? Disgust?
I couldn't tell.
But something shifted in her eyes. The moment women see me through that filter….playboy billionaire CEO, they either back away or try harder to get under my skin.
Alicia didn't flinch.
She studied the woman, then went back to work.
Interesting.
At 6:04 p.m., I sent the message.
Bring the red folder. Come alone. Use the private elevator.
I waited. No reply.
But minutes later, the elevator opened and there she was again.
Nervous, Determined and Fucking beautiful.
I poured another drink, letting her stand there, let the silence stretch between us until it became a rope around her throat.
"You read the folder," I said.
Not a question.
Her voice cracked. "Yes."
I turned. Met her gaze.
"Good. I hate liars. But I admire honesty."
I walked toward her again, slow, predatory.
She didn't step back.
"Most people break by lunchtime," I said, sipping. "But you waited until after six. That's impressive."
"I wasn't trying to impress you."
My lips curved. "Liar."
Her breath caught.
I stepped close enough to feel the heat off her skin.
She hadn't changed.
She still wore 'want' like a perfume, subtle but undeniable.
I set my glass down and reached for her.
Not to kiss her. Not yet.
Just a single finger under her chin.
Flesh to flesh.
A reminder.
A test.
She shivered.
"I'm not afraid of you," she whispered, breathless.
But her body said otherwise.
I leaned in, letting my lips graze the shell of her ear.
"No," I said, voice low. "You're afraid of what you'll become… once you stop pretending you don't want this."
She stilled. Her pulse thundered. I could feel it in her throat.
But I pulled back.
Because I had to.
Not because I wanted to.
"You resume at seven a.m. sharp," I said coldly. "You're dismissed."
She turned and walked away, her shoulders squared, her spine straight. But I saw the way her fingers trembled as she pressed the elevator button.
I watched the doors close.
I stood there long after she was gone, the air thick with the scent of her skin and my own restraint.
This wasn't just about an old fling.
This was something else.
Alicia Blake wasn't just another assistant.
She was the crack in my foundation I never planned for.
And if I wasn't careful, she would destroy everything I'd built.
Because one truth was already clear:
I didn't just want her again. I needed her.
And that made her dangerous.