Liam stepped aside and held the door open.

Vanessa Cole walked into his apartment like she owned the place. Not rudely—just confidently. The kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly what she looked like and exactly what men thought when they saw her.

But Liam didn’t react the way she expected.

He didn’t let his eyes linger on her chest nor did he scan her body like a menu. He didn’t stumble over his words either or suddenly forget how doors worked.

Liam was very composed if anything but this showed he was a true professional.

He just closed the door behind her and walked past.

Vanessa’s smile flickered for half a second.

"Strange", she thought. "They always look."

"Say, Mrs. Harriet sent you?" Liam asked, not bothering with small talk.

Vanessa nodded, recovering her composure. "She thought it might be better to send someone you could... relate to. Someone closer to your age."

Liam gestured toward the couch. "Have a seat."

She sat before crossing one leg over the other. The movement was casual, practiced—the kind of motion that drew attention without seeming to try.

Liam didn’t notice.

He was already walking toward the kitchen, his back to her. "It’s hot outside today. You want some water?"

"Water would be great," Vanessa said, her eyes tracking him.

She had expected a mess. Crumpled clothes, takeout containers, the sad remnants of a man who had lost everything. But the apartment was clean, not immaculate, but lived-in. A blanket draped over the arm of the couch. A book on the coffee table and dishes in the drying rack by the sink.

He wasn’t falling apart, that made him dangerous.

Liam returned with two glasses of water, ice clinking against the sides. He handed her one, their fingers brushing for a moment. Vanessa made sure the contact lingered.

Liam pulled the armchair across from her and sat down. Put his glass on the side table. Leaned back.

"So," he said. "What do you want?"

Vanessa held his gaze. Her green eyes were warm, almost disarming. She smiled—genuine, or at least it looked genuine. "We’re interested in retaining you. I work at the branch in New York, and we’re looking for a competent person to take over a position that just opened up."

Liam studied her face.

She was beautiful. He could see that objectively. Blonde hair that caught the afternoon light filtering through the blinds. High cheekbones with lips that curved just right when she spoke. But his mind was already working, already dissecting her words.

"She was sent to bargain with me."

Mrs. Harriet wouldn’t send just anyone. This woman had something—leverage, charm, or maybe just a pretty face and a flexible schedule.

Liam didn’t tell Harriet he wasn’t interested so it wasn’t a surprise that she sent a representative to get his answers. But sending someone this attractive? That was a choice.

"New York," Liam repeated, tasting the words.

"Mmhmm." Vanessa took a sip of water, her eyes never leaving his. "It’s a smaller branch, a lot simpler. You’d have room to breathe, room to rebuild. And it keeps you in the family."

"The family," Liam said dryly. "That’s what we’re calling it?"

Vanessa laughed. It was a nice laugh—low, genuine, like she actually found him funny. "What would you call it?"

"A sinking ship with good branding."

She laughed again. Louder this time. Her body leaned forward slightly, and the neck of her sweater gaped just enough to show a hint of collarbone.

Liam’s eyes stayed on her face.

"Something is wrong", Vanessa thought. "He hasn’t looked at me once."

Not that she was vain but she knew her effect on men and knew how to use it. She had closed deals, secured clients, and convinced reluctant partners to sign on the dotted line—all by being exactly what they wanted to look at.

But Liam looked at her like she was a witness on the stand.

It was unsettling.

"The pay won’t be what you’re used to," Vanessa continued, settling back into the couch. "But the cost of living in New York... well, you know how that goes. There’s room to negotiate."

"I’m sure there is."

"And the housing situation—" Vanessa crossed her legs.

The other leg this time.

And that was when it happened.

Liam’s eyes finally deviated from her face.

Not to her chest, not to her lips but to her thighs.

Because when Vanessa crossed her legs, the movement was deliberate—smooth, slow, the kind of motion that made fabric stretch and cling. And her thighs... God, her thighs.

They were massive. Not fat. It was thick, dense, and muscular that suggested she worked for them. And when she sat, when she crossed them just so, they seemed to double in size. The denim of her jeans strained at the seam, hugging every curve like it was fighting for its life.

Liam blinked.

He hadn’t even looked at her that way. With everything happening—Darren, the system, Mrs. Harriet’s constant calls—he hadn’t registered Vanessa as anything other than a messenger.

Why? She wasn’t a potential rebate, the system hadn’t recognized her as one.

But now he saw her, really saw her.

The bust that hung heavy beneath her sweater. The way her hips flared against the couch cushions. The thickness of her arms, her shoulders, her everything. She wasn’t built like Rachel—soft, nurturing, pillowy. Vanessa was built like a woman who could pin you to a wall and make you thank her for it.

"Where is the system?" Liam wondered. "Why didn’t it ping her?"

"I’m sorry," Vanessa said, interrupting his thoughts. "Did I lose you?"

Liam snapped his eyes back to her face. "No, I’m sorry. I just had a long day."

Vanessa’s smile returned, but something shifted behind her eyes because he had finally looked at her. And the way he looked—not like a hungry dog, but like a man who had just noticed something worth noticing—was different.

She liked different.

"The housing," she repeated, crossing her legs again. The other way. "You’d have to relocate on your own dime. But we could discuss a signing bonus if that’s a dealbreaker."

"I’ll think about it," Liam said.

"That’s all Mrs. Harriet asks."

They sat in silence for a moment. The afternoon light slanted through the blinds, casting stripes across Vanessa’s face. She didn’t look away. neither did Liam. Then she stood.

"I should go," she said, smoothing her sweater over her hips. "But my card has my number. Call me when you’ve decided. Or if you just want to talk."

Liam stood too, walking her to the door.

"Vanessa," he said as she stepped into the hallway.

She turned, one eyebrow raised.

"Why you?" Liam asked. "Why did she send you?"

Vanessa’s smile was bright. "Maybe she thought we’d get along."

"... And she wasn’t wrong," Vanessa added with a wink.

She walked away, her hips swaying in a rhythm that seemed natural but probably wasn’t. Liam watched her go—just for a second—then closed the door.

He leaned against it and exhaled.

"What the hell was that?"

He didn’t have an answer.

But for the first time since Sara, Liam found himself thinking about a woman who wasn’t Rachel. And someone who was also within his age group but he had already learned his lesson dealing with younger women.