FORBIDDEN BLUEPRINT

A BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE NOVELLA

S. E. RILEY

Copyright © 2025 S.E. Riley

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the writer and the publisher.

{1

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

{b

In his eyes, she finds the forbidden blueprint she’s never meant to follow.{/b}

{1

Prologue

Lillian steps into the Poet’s Brew coffeehouse and inhales the heady aroma of freshly ground espresso and caramelized sugar. The familiar cedar-toned walls and worn leather armchairs welcome her like an old friend, while the whir of the espresso machine and the hiss of steamed milk create a symphony she’s missed.

It has been too long since she’s come in here. When was the last time she visited? Probably a year ago, when she was with her older brother Tyler for the Christmas holidays. The memory of that visit flickers through her mind-Tyler ruffling her hair as he’s done since she was small, his teasing laugh when she ordered her usual complicated drink with extra whipped cream. He made her feel like his kid sister all over again despite all the growing up she’s done, and while she loves him dearly, she’s glad he isn’t here to make her feel that way today. He’s only seven years older, but he makes a big deal about it, and she wants time to celebrate this milestone as an adult.

The line shuffles forward, shoes squeaking against the polished concrete floors. She steps up to the counter and places her order, heading over to the pickup counter with her gaze fixed on her phone. Her thumb scrolls mechanically through endless job listings while her stomach churns with a mix of hope and anxiety. A sugar packet under her thumb bursts, scattering crystals across the screen like misplaced hope.

Then she runs into a solid, warm shape.

Gasping, she looks up to see who she’s run into, an apology on her lips. The apology dies when she sees familiar gray eyes and dark, neatly combed hair that always seems to curl at the ends. A subtle hint of sandalwood and bergamot-his cologne, the same he’s worn since college-teases her senses, bringing back a flood of memories she’s tried to suppress.

She shivers, remembering how those gray eyes fixed on her the summer she had a gap year to save for college. He couldn’t stop looking at her when they went to the pool or took runs together. Tyler griped about it teasingly, and she daydreamed that those looks meant more than they probably did. She doubted that the man who was like a second older brother when she was a kid had ever developed a similar crush on her. Still does, if her inability to think of something to say is anything to go by.

She finally manages to stop gaping like an idiot and squeaks, “Atticus?”

He frowns down at her. For a heartbeat, his expression wavers-something like guilt flickering behind his gaze-but it’s gone before she can decipher it. “Lillian? When did you get home?”

The sunlight streaming through the cafe’s front windows catches the silver threads in his expensive suit, a stark reminder of the successful man he’s become. “Two days ago. I’ve been busy job hunting,” she admits, clearing her throat. Her cheeks warm under his intense gaze, and she resists the urge to smooth her hair or adjust her dress-a nervous habit she’s developed whenever he’s around.

“I should’ve thought to call and let you know I’d come back.”

“That would’ve been nice.” His gaze rakes over her. “But it’s not as if you’re still a little kid texting your brother or your brother’s best friend to tell them you made it to the theater safely when you were a senior.”

She flushes and stares down at the ground. The intricate pattern of the coffee shop’s floor tiles suddenly becomes fascinating as she tries to steady her racing pulse. “I hated it when you two made me do that.”

He laughs. “I know, but we wanted to know you were safe.”

True, she understands why he and Tyler were overly protective of her, but she hadn’t wanted Atticus to see her as a little kid he needed to watch out for. She still doesn’t, but running into him probably doesn’t help solidify her image as an independent woman he no longer needs to baby.

The coffee shop bustles around them, the morning rush creating a bubble of chaos that somehow makes this moment feel more intimate rather than less. A barista calls out drink orders, the hiss of steam punctuating the awkward silence between them.

“Do you have a minute?” Atticus’s low voice snaps her out of her thoughts.

She looks up at him with a smile and tucks an unruly auburn curl out of her face. The strand refuses to cooperate, springing back almost defiantly-just like her heart refusing to calm its erratic rhythm whenever he’s near.

“Yeah. Do you?”

“I can make one. Perks of being the CEO of a successful company.”

“And yet you’re still in here getting your usual.” She eyes his cup. The familiar aroma of his preferred dark roast with a hint of caramel wafts between them-some things never change, even if everything else has. “Hold on. I need to get my order.”

He walks her to the counter. “It really is good to see you, Lil. I see you haven’t changed your habits one bit. Still glued to walking while staring at a screen or a book.”

The tips of her ears heat. The flush creeps down her neck as his presence seems to fill the small space between her and the pickup counter, making her acutely aware of every inch between them.

She looks away and goes to collect her order when they call her name. Behind her, she thinks she hears Atticus mutter something about making a rule against walking and reading at the same time if she were his, but she shakes off the idea. He wouldn’t say something like that.

After all, this is Atticus-successful, powerful, completely out of reach Atticus. He sees her as the little sister he’s never had. Being ten years older, he probably doesn’t see her as a twenty-three-year-old woman with an interest in finding the right man to settle down with. He could have anyone, anyway. He wouldn’t want the girl he grew up with and saw as his best friend’s kid sister.

The steam from her latte fogs up the pickup counter’s glass partition. “So, what are you doing these days? You mentioned job hunting. Didn’t you finish your degree in interior design?” Atticus takes her elbow and steers her toward a table.

The gentle but firm pressure of his hand sends tingles up her arm as he guides her through the maze of tables and morning commuters. She lets him pull her chair out and push her in once she’s seated. “I did, but I’m not having any luck with jobs.”

“Any examples you can show me?”

“Promise not to laugh.” She sets her phone on the table.

He eyes her. Something in his gray gaze softens, like storm clouds parting to reveal hints of sunlight. “Why would I laugh, Lillian? I’m sure you’ve worked hard on your work, just as you always have. Let me see.”

She opens the folder with photos from some of the redecorating and design work she’s done in school and hands him the phone. Her fingers tremble slightly as they brush his, and she quickly wraps them around her coffee cup to hide their shaking.

Sipping at her coffee while he looks, she tries not to squirm in the seat. The leather chair creaks beneath her as she shifts, the sound seeming impossibly loud in the weighted silence. A flush warms her ears and then her cheeks as he looks through everything in silence. Each swipe of his finger across her screen feels like an eternity, his expression remaining frustratingly unreadable. Finally, he pushes the phone back across the table and takes a sip of his own coffee, his gaze fixed on her.

Her fingers tighten around her cup.

“They’re very good, Lil. Top-notch work, actually. Your inability to find a job has nothing to do with your talent.” He continues to watch her for a moment, those gray eyes searching. Lillian squirms some more in her seat. Then he pulls a business card from his pocket and hands it to her. The thick cream cardstock feels expensive between her fingers, his name and title embossed in elegant silver lettering. “Use the email on the card. Send me your resume and portfolio.”

She frowns. “Why?”

“Because my head of design needs an assistant, and I think you’d be perfect.”

Lillian steels herself for a moment. Her fingers tighten around the business card, its crisp edges pressing into her skin. “This seems like a huge coincidence... I don’t know.”

“Sometimes coincidences happen. Life has a way of bringing the right opportunities at the right time.” His voice carries that quiet confidence she remembers. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you or hear that you’re still looking for work, but this right here...” he taps on his business card that’s in front of her, “...seems like a good solution to both of our problems.”

Lillian hesitates. She doesn’t want handouts. Besides, a position as assistant to a director? She’s fresh out of school and can’t possibly be qualified. More than that, there’s the little problem of a clash between her career and the desire for him that obviously hasn’t faded. This would be a disaster.

“Atticus, come on... I-”

He raises a brow; that familiar challenging expression that’s always made her feel like he can see right through her defenses.

“I wasn’t asking, Lillian. You need a job. My design director needs an assistant. She’ll like you. Apply. I’m not handing you anything. You’ll have to interview with her and impress her yourself. I don’t make a habit of handing things out to anyone, especially not without proof it’s merited.”

That much is true. Atticus never hands anything to anyone, just as no one’s ever handed anything to him. It’s what he’s always liked about her brother-the two of them know what it is to claw their way to the top and to fight tooth and nail to survive. She remembers the nights Tyler came home exhausted from working two jobs while in law school, and how Atticus helped him study despite running his own fledgling company. Atticus was better at it, but the two held their own together through the years. If he’s telling her to apply, not just politely suggesting it, then he wants her there because he thinks she can do the job.

The heat in her cheeks travels down her neck. She can feel the flush spreading across her collarbone, thankful her blouse covers most of it. She must look like a cherry tomato by now. That only worsens the situation. He thinks too highly of her. She isn’t the right one for this.

“Is there a reason you don’t think you’d be a good fit for the job?” he murmurs. His voice has dropped lower, taking on that gentle tone he always used when she was upset as a teenager.

Why does he always have to be so perceptive? “Well...”

“Besides an abominable lack of self-confidence, Lillian.”

She can’t tell him she’s worried she’ll never be able to focus if she has to work with him, and she desperately needs the job. Bills are piling up on her kitchen counter at home, and her student loan payments loom menacingly on the horizon. If he won’t hand her anything and she’ll either stand or fall on her own merit, she can be professional for the sake of her career and mounting bills and debt.

“No,” she admits quietly. “I guess there’s not.”

He stands with a broad smile. The movement is graceful despite his tall frame, reminding her of a jungle cat-powerful and precisely controlled.

“Good. I can’t guarantee you the job. That’s not how my company runs. If you’re the best candidate, though, I can promise you’ll get it. I expect the resume and digital copies of your portfolio in my inbox by the end of the evening, little miss. Got it?”

She ducks her head, hating the sound of that childhood nickname on his lips: little miss. The words seem to echo in her mind, a bittersweet reminder of all the years he’s seen her as nothing more than Tyler’s kid sister.

That confirms it. He still thinks of her like this, not as a woman he might see himself dating. She needs to get over this silly infatuation with him.

He’ll never see her the way she wants him to, and she’s setting herself up for heartbreak if she doesn’t stop hoping for it.

“Got it.”

“Good.” He walks away. His cologne lingers in the air, a final reminder of his presence even as his footsteps fade among the cafe’s morning bustle.

She sits there a moment longer, wishing she could get Atticus off her mind and out of her imagination. The coffee in her cup has grown cold, much like the reality settling in her chest. He isn’t meant for her.

Tyler would have a fit if anything ever happened, and Atticus would never risk Tyler’s wrath. Any chance with him is doomed already. The business card seems to mock her from the table, promising both opportunity and heartache in equal measure.

Sighing, she finishes her coffee and leaves the shop. She’ll turn in her resume tonight. Even if she can never have him, she can still have the job he’s offered if she tries.

{1

Chapter 1

Two years later

Lillian commands the design team’s attention with a sharp rap of her knuckles on the conference table. Morning light spills through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting gold rectangles across her schematics.

Gone is the nervous intern who once dropped her portfolio during her first presentation. In her place stands a woman who has earned every bit of respect in this room. Even if she sometimes still has to remind herself of that fact.

“As you see from the projected timelines…” She gestures to the screen, her voice carrying over the hum of the AC and the distant roar of ocean waves, “…we’re on track for the grand opening. Jenny, your work on the presidential suite’s color palette exceeds expectations.”

Fresh out of design school, Jenny reminds Lillian of herself two years ago; eager but uncertain. The difference is, Lillian now knows how to nurture that potential. She leans down, her jasmine perfume cutting through the scent of fresh paint.

“Don’t be afraid to speak up in tomorrow’s contractor meeting. That eye for detail you showed with the suite? We need that perspective.”

“Thompson…” she continues, addressing the silver-haired veteran, “…your suggestion about the lobby lighting is brilliant. The custom pieces arrive next week. Marie will be pleased when she visits next month to check our progress.”

“Speaking of Marie...” Thompson’s deep voice carries a hint of challenge, his fingers tapping the spreadsheet he’d brought-the same one Lillian had corrected last quarter. “...word is she’s retiring next year. Any thoughts on who might step into those shoes? Though I suppose inexperience hasn’t stopped anyone before.”

Lillian’s pen stills. A year ago, that barb would’ve sent her scrambling for proof of her worth. Now, she meets his gaze evenly.

“That’s not something we need to focus on right now,” she replies, a slight smile playing on her lips. “Our priority is ensuring this opening sets new standards for the industry. However, I will say, Thompson, your experience would be invaluable in training whoever takes that position. Now, about the restaurant’s acoustic treatments...”

***

Twenty minutes later, Lillian walks outside of the building into the parking lot, heels clicking against the gravel. The confidence that carried her through the meeting still hums through her veins-a far cry from the girl who once hid in bathroom stalls after presentations. Her phone buzzes again. Tyler’s third attempt today. She tucks her hair while rummaging in her purse for her car keys.

“Hey, big brother, what’s the verdict on that corporate case?”

“Settled this morning.” Tyler’s voice crackles with satisfaction. “Made the senior partners happy enough that they’re talking partnership.”

“Tyler, that’s fantastic!” She slides into her car, the leather seats still warm from the island sun. Genuine excitement momentarily overshadows her nerves about meeting Atticus. “We should celebrate when I’m back in the city.”

“Yeah, well...” His tone shifts. The pause stretches just a beat too long. “About Atticus… I hear you’ve been working late with him on this project.”

She freezes. The rental car key bites into her palm. “How did you-”

“Penelope from HR is dating one of my paralegals. Small world.” He sighs, that familiar big-brother concern wrapping around her like a straitjacket. “Lil, are you sure it’s smart to get so involved in this project? Working directly with Atticus...”

“It’s my job, Tyler.” A seagull screeches overhead through her open window as she drives onto the one major road connecting their main temporary HQ and the yacht dock. “I earned this position. You, of all people, should understand working hard to prove yourself.”

“Hey… low blow. I’m not questioning your abilities. You know I’m your biggest fan-”

“Then trust my judgment.”

“I do. But he’s been watching you differently lately. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how he looks at you when you two come for dinner. The way he hovers near you at every event we are invited to, how his eyes follow you across rooms-”

Her heart skips, even as guilt creeps in. So others have noticed too. “You’re imagining things. Besides, I’m a professional. I’ve worked too hard to let anything compromise that.”

“You’re also my baby sister who used to doodle his name in notebooks. The same sister who cried for a week when he dated that model during your senior year.”

“I was sixteen!” The steering wheel is cool under her suddenly warm palms when she turns into the yacht dock. “That was years ago. I’m not that lovesick teenager anymore.”

“No, you’re just the woman who still gets that look in her eyes whenever someone mentions his name. Lil, honey, I know you. And I know him-”

“Tyler-”

“Just... remember he’s your boss. And my best friend. If something went wrong...”

The words hit too close to her own fears. “I have to go. The boat’s coming in.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful? Not just with your heart, but with your career? You’ve built something real here, Lil.”

“Always am. I’ve got to go. Bye.” She ends the call, gets out, and walks towards the pier where the yacht is currently docking. Her brother’s concerns mix with her own carefully suppressed feelings. Tyler’s right-she’s built something real, something solid. She can’t risk it all for feelings she’s tried to bury since she was sixteen. No matter how much those feelings refuse to stay buried.

Lillian stands on the pier, waiting for Atticus to disembark. He descends the gangplank, watching as she stares at him for a long moment before shaking her head and stepping forward with a smile to greet him.

He speaks first, beating her to a greeting. “Lil. How do you like my island?” The late morning sun catches the polished brass railings of his yacht, creating a golden halo behind his tall frame.

“It’s...” She laughs. The sound carries across the water, genuine and unguarded in a way she rarely allows herself to be around him these days. “I guess I should’ve known it would be spectacular. Every other location you’ve built has been, and you did build a private getaway on the other side of the island. But I have to admit I was a bit shocked when I saw it.”

“Wait until you see the main island. The horizon stretches for miles there, nothing but crystalline water meeting azure sky. Those resorts and hotels were built before you started with us, and they won’t be as modern as this one, but I think you’ll like them.”

“I didn’t realize we were planning a trip over there.” She shifts her weight, the wooden planks creaking softly beneath her feet.

“I was.” He smiles down at her. “I thought it would be nice to go together, just us.” His voice carries that subtle tone of authority that always makes her pulse quicken.

She looks away, flushing. The sea breeze cools her heated cheeks, carrying the mingled scents of salt water and his familiar cologne.

“Oh... I... is there time?”

“We’ll make time. I want to show them off a bit.” The pride in his voice is unmistakable, making her earlier conversation with Tyler echo in her mind.

Her shoulders relax. “Oh, I see.” Lillian looks around before changing the subject, her professional mask sliding back into place like a shield. “Was it a good trip, boss?”

“Atticus,” he corrects mildly. “This counts as off work, Lillian.” The gentle rebuke in his tone makes her stomach flutter.

She lifts one shoulder in a half shrug, the fabric of her silk blouse whispering against her skin as seabirds wheel overhead. The setting sun glints off her red-gold hair as she returns to her earlier discomfort.

He frowns at her dismissal. After two years of working together, she still seems uneasy with him outside of the formalities of the office. They work together wonderfully, and though he hasn’t revealed this to her yet, when his head designer retires, she will take over that role. Her talent is undeniable-he’s watched her transform from a promising hire to an irreplaceable asset. He loves how easy it is to work with her, but he hates how tense she becomes when he tries to make things more personal.

“A verbal response, not a shrug, Lil.”

She chews on the inside of her cheek and then sighs, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Let’s just focus on work,” she finally mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

He laughs, the rich sound filling the open space between them. “I think you’re just afraid of the answer and what that answer might mean.”

The air between them crackles with unspoken tension as he doesn’t say anything more, just grins. The ocean breeze carries the scent of plumeria and salt, mingling with the faintest trace of his cologne. It’s a heady combination, one that makes her pulse stutter-just like it always does.

Two years. Two years of biting her tongue, of forcing professionalism over the way her breath catches when he leans too close, of pretending she doesn’t notice the way his gaze lingers. And now, standing here, the truth claws at her throat, raw and relentless.

She’s losing.

{1

Chapter 2

A week after their arrival on the island, Atticus heads toward Lillian’s office. He’s halfway there when Thompson steps into his path, a spreadsheet clutched in one hand. The man’s smile is all teeth-too eager, too practiced.

“Sir, a quick word about Marie’s role in the Barcelona project?” Thompson’s voice is smooth, but his fingers tap the papers like a restless metronome. “She’s insisting on veto power over vendor contracts.”

Atticus doesn’t break stride. “Marie’s earned that discretion.” He sidesteps him, but not before catching the way Thompson’s jaw tightens-a flash before the mask resets. Note to self: Ask Marie why Thompson’s fixated on her authority, he thinks. The thought sticks like a burr as he reaches Lillian’s doorway.

He pauses at the open door, watching her unobserved for a moment. Her brow is furrowed, her fingers drumming a staccato rhythm on the desk. She’s wound tighter than he’s ever seen her, and the sight sends an unexpected pang through his ribs. This is the first project for one of his chains of resorts and hotels that she’s taken the lead, and he’s never seen her like this. Her shoulders hunch, and she’s shuffling through swatches of paint colors and carpeting options, fingers tracing the edges like a nervous habit. The lamplight catches the gold flecks in her green eyes as she scowls at a taupe sample, her teeth worrying her lower lip.

At his knock, she jumps, her gaze flying to his. “Boss!” She presses a hand to her heart. Her pulse thrums against her fingertips, a betraying rhythm. “I hadn’t seen you there.” Tyler’s warning about how Atticus watches her flickers through her mind, sharp as a splinter.

He steps inside and closes the door. The whispers outside fade, but the weight of unspoken observations lingers. The click of the latch feels louder than it should. “You went over those same swatches last night. Is something wrong?”

“No, no. Just making certain these are our best options before I present them to you. We need to send them off to the team for final purchases. The paint crew’s coming in three days, and they need to mix the batches before they arrive.”

“I approved the colors last week and sent them to the team already.” He strides over to the desk and bends down, his forearm brushing hers-warm, deliberate. “You’re worrying too much.”

She twists to stare up at him. His cologne wraps around her, and she forgets to breathe for a heartbeat. Even as professional concern wins out, her voice wavers. “You did what? But sir, those were preliminary options. I just wanted you to let me know what you thought. I hadn’t decided for certain that they were our best-”

He lays a finger on her lips, the calloused pad rough against her skin. “Shhh. First of all, we’re in private, Lillian. We don’t need titles. Second, they were the best. This isn’t the first chain hotel or resort I’ve opened. I know what I’m doing.” His thumb lingers, tracing the curve of her lower lip before he pulls away. “Besides, you showed me all the options months ago and sent me the one you thought might be the best choice. I agreed. Then I told you I thought it was solid.”

“But solid doesn’t mean the best,” she whispers against his finger. Tyler’s voice echoes in her mind: Remember he’s your boss.

“It does when I say it.” He picks up the swatches and turns to the garbage can beside the desk. His hand hovers for a split second-years of mentoring warring with the need to push her forward-before he lets go. “I’ve already decided, little miss. Stop worrying. The crews will be here with supplies soon. Let’s focus on the grand opening.”

She stares at the garbage can, her professional pride a live wire under her skin. A protest dies on her lips, her fingers curling into her palms.

He takes her chin, turning her face back to his. The murmurs outside fade to silence, but the heat of his grip becomes the focus. “Eyes on me, not the trash can. Everything in there is handled. Now, what do you have for the grand opening?”

Atticus notices that her stare is unfocused, her pupils dilated. She’s shocked by his boldness-but not, he notes, displeased.

“Lillian,” he presses.

“What?”

“The grand opening.”

She flushes and tries to pull away. The mounting pressure of workplace gossip and Tyler’s warnings coils in her stomach. “Atticus, what are you doing?”

He grins. “Asking you to share your thoughts on arranging the grand opening. We only have two months.”

Her blush deepens, the freckles on her cheeks vanishing under the rush of color. She drops her gaze to his Rolex. “That doesn’t… you don’t need to… I mean, this isn’t very professional.”

He releases her, watching her shoulders slump in relief. But he doesn’t let her retreat entirely. He pulls his chair around the desk, sitting closer than necessary. Just last week, she’d scolded him for sitting this close during a meeting, her cheeks flaming as she hissed,

“People will talk.” Now her own words hung between them, as palpable as the citrus-and-sandalwood scent of his cologne. The office had already begun speculating but he’s done pretending.

Let them watch. Let them whisper.

“Show me what you’ve worked out.”

She fiddles with the portfolio’s pages, her auburn hair-a riot of unruly curls-tumbling forward to shield her face. He reaches out to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the shell of her ear. The gesture feels different now-not the casual affection he’d given ex-lovers, but something deliberate. Lillian had seen enough of his failed relationships over the years to call him out on his patterns. ”You always lose interest when they stop challenging you,” she’d once said after his breakup with Sofia. This time, he wants to get it right.

“Plans?”

She slides the portfolio over, her hands trembling. “I thought we could open the casino first. Serve champagne and hors d’oeuvres before dinner.”

“Good. What else?” He leans closer until her rose perfume and the faintest hint of nervous sweat fill his senses. The combination is intoxicating, but it’s the way her breath hitches when he invades her space that truly undoes him. Other women had been conquests; Lillian feels like a revelation.

She settles slightly, though her glances at him remain uneasy. “Armand de Brignac for the champagne. Caviar tartlets and figs with bacon for appetizers. Two options, in case anyone hates caviar.”

“Excellent choices.” He fights the urge to trace the line of her throat with his fingers. Not here. Not like this. The memory of Clara’s accusation, his most recent ex, coils like smoke in his chest: “You only know how to take, never to cherish”.

Lillian bites her lower lip. The pressure of future expectations-his faith in her, the unspoken more between them-tightens her throat. “May I ask why I’m planning this? I’m not Marie.”

“You’ve watched Marie do it. And since you’ll take her position in a year, you should learn.” His gaze drops to her mouth, to the indent of her teeth on her lip. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

She exhales. “I don’t know if I can-”

“You don’t have to. I’m confident for both of us.” He leans closer, his knee brushing hers under the desk. The contact sends a jolt through him. This is why he’d kept his distance for years-because one touch from her unravels his careful self-control. “You’re good at this, Lil.”

Her gaze drops. “Really?”

He brushes her hair back again. This woman-her humility, her doubt-frustrates and fascinates him in equal measure. She has no idea how she eclipses every woman who came before her. The others had wanted his money, his power. Lillian had once thrown his favorite cufflinks in the pool for canceling Tyler’s birthday dinner. “Really. Do you think I’d lie to you?”

She lifts a shoulder. “As my boss or as my...”

He raises a brow.

The flush returns. “N-no.”

“Good. Then accept the compliment.”

“Yes, sir.” Lillian shuffles papers. The formality is a shield-one he’s determined to dismantle. He’d spent two years watching her with other men, pretending indifference while silently cataloging every way they fell short. None of them deserved to breathe the same air as her.

Atticus pulls her lip free from her teeth with his thumb, the pad rough against her softness. A shiver races down her spine. “Don’t you know?”

She shakes her head, her skin warming beneath his touch.

“I see.” He leans back, the leather of his chair creaking. The words taste foreign but right: ”I want you. Not for a night. Not until something shinier comes along.” But he swallows them. She deserves more than a confession in a fishbowl office with others leering through the glass. “You know. You just want to hear me say it.”

She ducks her head. “Never mind. It was silly.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He tips her chin up, his grip firm-a man used to obedience, but his thumb strokes her jaw like a contradiction. He could list every reason this is a mistake: Tyler, her career, his own track record of emotional negligence. But when her lashes flutter at his touch, the only thing that matters is the way his pulse roars mine. “Why won’t you say what’s changed, Lillian?”

She swallows. “We’re at work, Atticus.”

“So if we were in my apartment, you’d ask?” His gray eyes darken, and storm clouds promise lightning. He imagines her in his penthouse, curled in his lap, as he finally tells her how long he’s waited-how he’ll keep waiting until she’s ready. The fantasy is so vivid that he almost misses her reply.

She chews her cheek, then sighs. “I don’t need to know.”

He laughs, the sound rich, intimate. “I think you’re afraid of the answer.”

The truth hangs between them: This isn’t just attraction. This is the reckoning.

The air crackles. He lets it simmer, turning back to the plans. There’s time. But not too much-he’s waited long enough.

Through the glass walls, Thompson watches them, his gaze sharp with something unreadable. Atticus makes a mental note to really speak to Marie about Thompson. Lillian’s wary glances at the window remind him-she has more to lose than he does. For once in his life, he’ll prove he can be careful with someone’s heart.

{1

Chapter 3

Lillian sits at her desk in the manager’s office, laptop open, but she isn’t thinking about anything on the screen. Through the glass walls, she watches her team working-Thompson deep in discussion with the contractors, Jenny presenting color schemes to the painting crew. They’ve grown into a cohesive unit under her leadership, making her upcoming promotion feel earned rather than gifted.

Yet whispers still follow her success.

Instead of focusing on work, she contemplates Atticus’s behavior in the last week. She can’t lie to herself or Atticus, even if she refuses to give Atticus answers to his probing questions of late. She can’t avoid the answers in her own mind, though. His behavior has been decidedly aimed at getting her attention.

A memory surfaces-Tyler working double shifts at the law firm while studying for the bar, still finding time to help her with college applications. “Whatever you do, Lil,” he’d said, “make sure you earn it. People will always try to diminish your success.”