Chapter 3: Forced Proximity

Two weeks later

The takeout containers had become a permanent fixture on the small table between their desks. Thai food on Monday, Italian on Wednesday, Chinese on Friday—a routine that had developed organically as their late nights stretched longer and the Henderson deadline loomed closer.

Chloe pushed a piece of pad thai around her plate, acutely aware of Liam's presence just three feet away. They'd commandeered a corner of the forty-fourth floor, their temporary workspace cluttered with financial reports, market analyses, and empty coffee cups that marked the passage of countless overtime hours.

"The supply chain restructuring is more complex than we initially projected," she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. Two weeks of forced proximity had taught her to navigate the dangerous undercurrents of their collaboration, though the effort left her exhausted.

"Agreed." Liam didn't look up from his laptop, but she felt his attention like a physical weight. "We'll need to present multiple scenarios to Henderson. Conservative, moderate, and aggressive approaches."

The word 'aggressive' sent an unwanted shiver down her spine. Everything about Liam was aggressive—his negotiation tactics, his analytical approach, the way he consumed space in a room. The way he'd almost consumed her that night three weeks ago.

She'd managed to avoid being alone with him since the conference room confrontation, timing her arrivals and departures carefully, always ensuring other colleagues were present during their meetings. But as the deadline approached and their work intensified, those careful boundaries had begun to crumble.

"Hand me the logistics breakdown," he said, extending his arm without looking away from his screen.

Chloe reached for the file folder, their fingers brushing as she passed it to him. The contact lasted barely a second—an accident, nothing more—but electricity shot up her arm like she'd been struck by lightning.

Liam's fingers stilled against hers. His dark eyes lifted to meet her gaze, and she saw her own hunger reflected there, carefully banked but undeniably present.

"Sorry," she whispered, pulling her hand back.

"Are you?" His voice was barely audible, meant for her ears alone.

Before she could respond, her phone rang, shattering the moment. Mark's name flashed on the screen, and guilt crashed over her like a cold wave.

"Hey, babe," she answered, turning slightly away from Liam.

"Just checking in," Mark's warm voice filled the space between them. "Another late night?"

"Yeah, this Henderson project is consuming my life." She glanced at Liam, who had returned his attention to his laptop with studied concentration. "Should be wrapping up soon though."

"Good. I miss having my girlfriend back." Mark's laugh was easy, uncomplicated. "I made reservations at Chez Laurent for Saturday night. That little place you love?"

"That sounds perfect." The words felt hollow in her mouth. Everything with Mark was perfect—perfectly safe, perfectly predictable, perfectly suffocating.

After she hung up, silence settled over their workspace like a blanket. Liam continued typing, but she could sense the tension radiating from his carefully controlled posture.

"Chez Laurent," he said finally, not looking up. "Fancy."

"It's just dinner."

"With your perfectly adequate boyfriend."

The dismissive tone made her bristle. "Mark is more than adequate. He's—"

"Safe." Liam saved his document and closed the laptop with deliberate precision. "Comfortable. The kind of man who remembers anniversaries and never challenges you to be more than you already are."

"What's wrong with that?"

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and she felt stripped bare under his scrutiny. "Nothing, if that's what you want. A life of pleasant mediocrity with a man who sees you as a prize to be won rather than a force to be reckoned with."

"You don't know anything about my relationship."

"Don't I?" He stood and moved to the window, his reflection ghostlike against the dark glass. "Tell me, Chloe—when was the last time Mark looked at one of your analyses and found something you missed? When did he last push you to exceed your own expectations?"

The questions hit uncomfortably close to home. Mark admired her success, celebrated her victories, but he'd never truly understood the intricacies of her work. He loved the idea of her ambition without grasping the reality of it.

"Not everyone needs to be challenged constantly," she said weakly.

"You do." He turned back to face her, his expression intense. "You thrive on it. It's what makes you brilliant."

The compliment caught her off guard, coming from a man who'd spent months being her professional adversary. "Liam—"

"You've been avoiding me," he continued, moving closer. "Timing your schedule to minimize contact, keeping other people around as buffers. Why?"

Because being alone with you makes me forget who I'm supposed to be. Because every time you look at me, I remember how it felt to have your hands on my skin. Because I'm terrified of what I might do if given the chance.

"Professional boundaries," she said instead.

"Bullshit." The crude word sounded elegant in his cultured voice. "You're scared."

"I'm being responsible."

"You're being a coward."

The accusation stung because it held more than a grain of truth. Chloe Vance, who had fought her way up the corporate ladder through sheer determination, who had never backed down from a challenge—she was running scared from her own desires.

"Maybe I am," she admitted quietly. "Maybe I like my life the way it is."

"Maybe you're lying to yourself."

He was standing close now, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, close enough to smell the subtle scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering aroma of their forgotten dinner.

"The way you responded to me that night," he said softly, "that wasn't the response of a woman satisfied with her life."

Heat flooded her cheeks at the memory. "That was a moment of weakness."

"That was you being honest for the first time in months."

She should step back. Should create distance. Should remind him that they were colleagues with a job to finish and nothing more.

Instead, she found herself cataloging the details of his face in the dim light—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his dark hair had fallen slightly across his forehead, the almost vulnerable expression that flickered beneath his usual confidence.

"You're beautiful when you're conflicted," he murmured, echoing his words from that night three weeks ago.

"Don't." But even as she said it, she made no move to retreat.

"Don't what? Don't notice that you've been wearing that perfume I complimented? Don't see the way you unconsciously lean closer when I'm explaining a concept? Don't acknowledge that there's something between us that has nothing to do with corporate restructuring?"

Each observation was a small revelation, proof that he'd been watching her as closely as she'd been watching him. The thought should have alarmed her. Instead, it sent warmth spiraling through her chest.

"This is complicated," she whispered.

"The best things usually are."

He reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she didn't, his fingers traced along her jawline with the same gentle precision she remembered. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Tell me to stop," he said, just as he had that night.

But the words wouldn't come. Couldn't come. Because despite all her protestations about boundaries and responsibilities, despite her guilt over Mark and her fear of the consequences, she didn't want him to stop.

"Chloe." Her name was a question and a plea.

She closed her eyes, drowning in the sensation of his touch, in the scent of him, in the magnetic pull that had been building between them for weeks. This was madness. This was professional suicide. This was everything she'd sworn she wouldn't let happen again.

"The Henderson reports," she said desperately, grasping for any anchor to reality.

"Can wait." His thumb brushed across her lower lip, and she felt herself trembling. "We have all night."

All night. The words conjured images that made her pulse race—hours alone with him in this private bubble they'd created, no interruptions, no witnesses, no escape from the hunger that had been consuming her from the inside out.

"I should go," she managed.

"Should." He smiled, but there was no mockery in it. "Such a loaded word. You should be faithful to your adequate boyfriend. You should maintain professional boundaries. You should ignore what your body is telling you right now."

His fingers were still on her face, still making it impossible to think clearly. "What am I supposed to do, Liam? Throw away everything I've built for—"

"For what? For passion? For the chance to feel truly alive?"

"For an affair that will destroy my reputation and end my career."

Something shifted in his expression, a hardness replacing the earlier vulnerability. "Is that what you think I'm offering? A quick fuck to add to my collection?"

The crude words made her wince, but they also cleared her head like a splash of cold water. She stepped back, breaking the spell of his touch.

"Isn't it?"

For a long moment, he studied her face. Then he moved away, putting distance between them that felt both relieving and devastating.

"If that's what you think of me," he said quietly, "then maybe you don't know me as well as I thought."

He began packing up his laptop and papers with efficient movements. "I think we've done enough for tonight. We can finish the presentation tomorrow."

"Liam, wait—"

But he was already moving toward the elevator, leaving her alone with the remnants of their dinner and the echo of his cologne in the air. She pressed her fingers to her lips, still feeling the phantom sensation of his touch, still drowning in the confusion of wanting something she couldn't have.

As the elevator doors closed behind him, Chloe sank into her chair and buried her face in her hands. Tomorrow they would finish their presentation. Tomorrow they would stand before Richard Sterling and the senior partners and deliver their unified analysis.

And tomorrow, she would have to pretend that her world hadn't shifted completely off its axis, one accidental touch at a time.