Chapter 2: Rules of Engagement

The hot water cascaded over Chloe's shoulders as she stood in her shower the next morning, scrubbing her skin raw in a futile attempt to wash away the memory of Liam's touch. But no amount of soap could cleanse the phantom sensation of his hands on her waist, his breath against her throat, the way he'd whispered her name like a prayer and a curse combined.

"Chloe? You okay in there?" Mark's voice drifted through the bathroom door, concerned and caring. "You've been in there for twenty minutes."

She startled, nearly dropping her loofah. "I'm fine! Just... needed a good scrub after that long night at the office."

Liar. The word echoed in her mind as she finally turned off the water. She was many things—ambitious, driven, occasionally ruthless in her professional dealings—but she'd never been a liar. Not to Mark. Not to the man who'd held her hair back when she had food poisoning, who remembered her coffee order without being asked, who'd spent three weekends helping her assemble IKEA furniture when she'd moved into her apartment.

She wrapped herself in a towel and opened the door to find Mark standing there with a steaming mug of coffee prepared exactly how she liked it—two sugars, splash of cream.

"Rough night?" he asked, his green eyes soft with sympathy. He was handsome in that comfortable, approachable way that had first attracted her—clean-shaven, with sandy hair that was perpetually tousled from running his fingers through it while he worked on his designs.

"The Henderson project is... demanding." She accepted the coffee gratefully, using it as a shield between them. "Blackwood and I are having some creative differences about the strategic approach."

Mark's expression darkened slightly at the mention of Liam's name. "That's the guy who's always giving you trouble, right? The one who undermined your presentation last month?"

"He didn't undermine me," Chloe said quickly, then caught herself. Why was she defending Liam? "I mean, he pointed out some flaws that needed addressing. It's... complicated."

"Sounds like he's an ass." Mark moved closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "You're brilliant, Chloe. Don't let some corporate shark make you doubt yourself."

The tenderness in his voice made guilt twist in her stomach like a knife. This was Mark—steady, supportive Mark who believed in her unconditionally. Who had never looked at her with anything but love and admiration. Who had never made her feel like she was drowning in her own desire.

"I love you," she whispered against his shoulder, the words both true and desperately inadequate.

"Love you too, babe." He pulled back to study her face. "Maybe you should ask for a different partner on this project. Someone who doesn't stress you out so much."

Someone who doesn't make me forget my own name when he looks at me.

"I can handle Liam Blackwood," she said, injecting steel into her voice. "I've worked too hard to let anyone derail my career now."

---

Two hours later, Chloe sat in Conference Room B, her armor firmly in place. She'd chosen her most conservative navy suit, pulled her hair back in a severe bun, and applied her makeup with military precision. Every inch the consummate professional.

Liam arrived exactly three minutes late—not enough to be truly unprofessional, but just enough to make a statement. His charcoal gray suit was impeccably tailored, his dark hair styled to perfection, and when his eyes met hers across the glass table, she saw no trace of the man who had pressed her against her desk twelve hours earlier.

"Ms. Vance." His voice was crisp, formal. "I trust you've had time to review the Henderson financials."

"Thoroughly." She opened her portfolio with steady hands. "I've identified several key areas where restructuring could yield immediate cost savings."

"How fascinating." He settled into the chair across from her, close enough that she could smell his cologne—the same scent that had surrounded her in the darkness of her office. "I've prepared a comprehensive analysis of their market position. Perhaps we could start there."

For the next hour, they dissected Henderson Industries with surgical precision. Every suggestion Chloe made, Liam countered with a more aggressive alternative. Every point he raised, she challenged with data-driven counterarguments. To any observer, it would have looked like a typical corporate strategy session.

But Chloe felt the undercurrent thrumming beneath their professional discourse. The way his gaze lingered a fraction too long when she reached for her water. The subtle emphasis he placed on certain words—penetration strategy, deep dive analysis, full exposure—that made heat bloom in her cheeks. The way he leaned back in his chair when she spoke, studying her with the focused intensity of a predator.

"The logistics division is hemorrhaging money," she said, pointing to a line item on her spreadsheet. "We need to cut the dead weight."

"Agreed." His pen tapped against the table in a steady rhythm. "Though I'd argue for a more... thorough approach. Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty to achieve the desired outcome."

Their eyes met across the table, and for a moment, the conference room faded away. She was back in her office, his hands on her skin, his voice rough with want as he whispered against her throat.

"I—" She blinked hard, forcing herself back to the present. "I think we should maintain a conservative approach. Minimize risk."

"How very like you." His smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Always playing it safe. Always choosing the path of least resistance."

The comment hit its mark, and she felt her composure crack. "Some of us prefer stability to chaos, Mr. Blackwood."

"Do you?" He leaned forward, his voice dropping to that dangerous whisper she remembered too well. "Because last night, you seemed to respond quite favorably to a little... chaos."

Heat flooded her face. "Last night was—"

"A mistake?" He tilted his head, studying her reaction. "You keep saying that. I'm beginning to think you don't believe it yourself."

The conference room door suddenly swung open, and Richard Sterling stepped inside, followed by two other senior partners. Chloe jerked back in her chair, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"How's the Henderson analysis coming along?" Richard asked, settling into the chair at the head of the table.

"Very well," Liam answered smoothly, his professional mask sliding back into place without missing a beat. "Ms. Vance and I have identified several key opportunities for optimization."

"Excellent." Richard smiled between them. "I knew pairing my two sharpest analysts would yield results. The client is expecting our preliminary recommendations by Friday."

As the partners discussed timeline and deliverables, Chloe tried to focus on the conversation. But her attention kept drifting to Liam's hands as he took notes, remembering how those same fingers had traced patterns on her skin. When he spoke, defending one of her earlier suggestions with surprising vehemence, she felt a traitorous flutter of warmth in her chest.

"I think we can conclude this for today," Richard finally announced. "Excellent work, both of you. I'll expect a unified presentation from you both on Friday."

Unified. The word felt loaded with meaning as the partners filed out, leaving Chloe alone with Liam once again.

"Well," he said, gathering his papers with deliberate slowness. "That went better than expected."

"This has to stop." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "What happened last night—it can't happen again."

He paused, his dark eyes finding hers. "And why is that, exactly?"

"You know why." She stood abruptly, needing distance. "I'm with Mark. I love him. We have a life together, a future—"

"Do you?" Liam rose as well, moving around the table with predatory grace. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're settling for a life that's slowly suffocating you."

"That's not—"

"Tell me something, Chloe." He was close now, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. "When was the last time Mark looked at you the way I did last night? When was the last time he made you feel like you were burning alive just from his touch?"

She couldn't answer, because they both knew the truth. Mark was kind, stable, safe. He loved her the way she loved her morning coffee—warm, comfortable, expected. What she felt with Liam was something else entirely. Something dangerous and consuming and utterly destructive.

"I won't be your conquest," she whispered.

His expression softened, and for a moment, she glimpsed something vulnerable beneath his polished exterior. "Is that what you think this is? A game?"

"Isn't it?" She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. "The great Liam Blackwood, going after the one woman who won't fall at his feet?"

"You're not just any woman." His voice was quiet, almost gentle. "You're the only person in this entire firm who challenges me. Who matches me. Who makes me feel like I'm actually alive instead of just going through the motions."

The honesty in his words hit her like a physical blow. This wasn't the smooth-talking charmer she'd expected. This was something rawer, more real, and infinitely more dangerous.

"I have to go," she managed, grabbing her portfolio.

"Running away again?" There was no mockery in his tone, just quiet observation.

She paused at the door, not turning around. "Some battles aren't worth fighting, Liam."

"And some are worth losing everything for."

The words followed her out of the conference room and down the hallway, echoing in her mind as she tried to rebuild the walls he'd so effortlessly demolished. But deep down, she knew the truth he'd spoken.

Some battles were worth losing everything for.

The question was: which side was she really fighting for?