Page 18 of Liam (The Valeur Billionaires #4)

The smugness in his eyes is the last straw. “My productivity has never been an issue, Mr. Valeur. And if you want me to work late just to sabotage my personal plans, then maybe you’re the one who needs a little work-life balance lesson.”

He takes a step closer, his voice dropping. “If you’re as dedicated as you claim, then staying a few extra hours shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

I open my mouth to argue but close it, feeling trapped. He’s my boss and my investor. If I push back, I could risk everything. But the way he’s watching me, as though daring me to choose Jake over my research, makes me want to scream.

“Fine,” I bite out, each syllable wrapped in barely contained fury. “I’ll stay. But this—whatever this game is you’re playing—it’s petty.”

“Good,” he says, turning away. “Let’s keep it professional from now on, Dr. James.”

As he walks out, my hands are still clenched, and my stomach is a knot of anger. Whatever this game is, I’m going to make damn sure I come out the winner.

As the day progresses, Liam and I orbit each other like binary stars locked in a gravitational dance. Our interactions are a constant push and pull, each barbed comment drawing us closer, only to repel us again with equal force.

“Dr. James,” Liam calls out, his voice dripping with faux concern. “Are you planning to analyze that sample or stare it into submission? ”

I look up from my microscope, plastering on a saccharine smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Valeur. I didn’t realize you were still here. I thought I heard the sound of a massive ego deflating and assumed you’d left.”

Liam's eyes narrow, but I catch the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He nods toward the delicate spectrometer I'm adjusting. “Careful with that equipment, Dr. James.”

I don't even look up, my fingers moving with exaggerated precision over the instrument. “I know what I’m doing, Mr. Valeur. I suppose you wouldn’t, as it's hard to fit actual scientific knowledge under all that ego.”

“‘Actual scientific knowledge?’” Liam repeats, his tone mock-offended. “I seem to recall a certain someone begging for my help with Calculus III back in college. What was it you said? ‘Liam, I need you to help me pass this class.’”

The memory hits me like a splash of cold water. I glance up, catching the mischievous glint in his eye. “That's not fair. I was sleep-deprived and desperate.”

“And I was your knight in shining armor, armed with a calculator and an endless supply of terrible math puns,” Liam counters, grinning.

I snort, unable to help the smile tugging at my lips. “Please. Although, your puns were worse than mine. Remember, ‘I’m odd, you’re even, and together we’re prime?’”

Liam throws his head back and laughs, the sound rich and annoyingly appealing. “Hey, that line worked, didn’t it? We made quite the study pair.”

For a moment, I’m transported back to those late nights in the math lab, the air charged with more than just equations. I remember the warmth of Liam’s hand on my shoulder and the way my heart raced when he leaned close to check my work .

But then, I remember how it all ended, how he disappeared just when I was ready to believe we could have something more.

Clearing my throat, I reach for my clipboard, breaking the spell. “Yes, well, those days are long gone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have real science to do.”

“Of course, Dr. James.”

Numbers blur before my eyes as I crunch data for hours. It’s only when I glance at the clock that I realize how late it’s gotten, and I’m going to have to stay even later to finish everything.

As the rest of the staff filters out, Liam pauses by my desk. A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth. “Still here, Dr. James?” he asks, leaning against my desk. “I hope this won’t interfere with your social calendar.”

My fingers freeze over the keys. Heat rises in my cheeks as I meet his gaze. “You planned this.”

Liam’s eyebrow arches, his blue eyes sparkling with something that looks like triumph. “Planned what? I just assigned the work that needed to be done.” He straightens, adjusting his tailored jacket. “Goodnight, Dr. James.”

As soon as he’s gone, I slump in my chair, letting out a long breath. What is his problem? It’s like he’s punishing me for something, but what?

I pull out my phone to call Jake. He’s disappointed but understanding when I explain I have to cancel our date.

The lab hums with the low drone of equipment, a mechanical lullaby punctuated by the staccato of my typing. My eyes burn from staring at the screen, numbers and formulas dancing in my vision.

I arch my back, joints popping .

I freeze. A faint sound breaks the silence, a whisper of friction as if someone’s dragging their shoe across the polished floor. It’s coming from the darkened hallway beyond my lab’s open door.

My fingers hover over the keys. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.

“Hello?” My voice echoes in the empty lab, swallowed by the silence that follows.

There it is again. Closer. The sound of something, or someone, trying to move quietly and failing.

I push back from my desk, the chair wheels squeaking in protest. My eyes dart around the dim lab, shadows lurking in every corner. My hand finds the base of a heavy microscope, cool metal warming under my grip as I lift it.

Breath shallow, I edge toward my office door. The scraping grows louder with each step. Sweat beads on my palms, threatening my grip on the microscope.

I reach for the handle, pulse pounding in my ears. One, two, three?—

I wrench the door open, microscope raised high above my head. My muscles tense, ready to swing at whatever waits on the other side.