CHAPTER 4

CHLOE POV

The address on my phone led me to an old brick warehouse on a quiet side street in TriBeCa, tucked between an artisanal coffee roasting shop and a row of art galleries. Beside the iron-framed glass door was a sleek black sign that read Harper & Vance: Architectural & Event Solutions. The minimalist lettering looked way too expensive for a building that used to store industrial piping.

I stopped on the sidewalk and straightened the front of my charcoal blazer. My palms were still a little sweaty from the anxiety I'd felt during the taxi ride. This wasn't just some drunken idea scribbled on a napkin anymore. It was real, complete with lease agreements, corporate tax IDs, and a business partner who treated everything in life like a chess game.

I pushed open the heavy glass door and stepped inside.

The place was a massive open-concept loft with the faint smell of fresh pine, wet paint, and expensive espresso. Natural light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the exposed brick walls, polished concrete floors, and a long mahogany conference table right in the middle of the room. In the far corner, a sleek espresso machine hissed softly as steam rose from it.

And standing beside it, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the veins beneath his skin and a silver watch on his wrist, was Liam Vance.

He looked up the moment my heels clicked against the concrete floor. His gray eyes moved over me, lingering for a second before he turned back to pour two shots of espresso into porcelain cups.

"You're exactly four minutes late, Chloe," Liam said, his voice carrying across the quiet loft. "Traffic on the West Side Highway?"

"Subway delay," I shot back, dropping my leather portfolio onto the edge of the conference table with a loud thud. I crossed my arms and looked around the huge, spotless space. "And honestly, considering I woke up forty minutes ago thinking I was unemployed and about to be homeless, four minutes late is practically a personal record for me."

Liam picked up one of the porcelain cups and handed it to me across the table. His fingers brushed mine for a brief moment. His skin was cool, his movements steady, and he looked completely unaffected by the chaos he'd caused in my life.

"Drink your coffee," he said, taking a sip from his own cup. "You're going to need the caffeine. Our first corporate consultation starts in forty-five minutes."

I took a sip, letting the rich, bitter espresso hit my tongue before giving him a hard look over the rim of my cup.

"About that. We need to talk, Liam. Last night was a spectacular, alcohol-fueled lapse in judgment. I came here today to tell you that, while I appreciate the dramatic flair of your press release, we're canceling this entire partnership before it even gets started."

Liam didn't even blink. He placed his espresso cup on a minimalist saucer, walked over to a sleek metal filing cabinet, and pulled out a thick document inside a black leather folder. Then he slid it across the mahogany table toward me.

"Read page four, section two," he said casually.

I raised an eyebrow, already suspicious of whatever he had planned. Opening the folder, I skimmed through the legal jargon until my eyes landed on a clause printed in bold.

Both founding partners agree to an exclusive six-month binding contract. Termination of this agreement prior to the completion of three major industry projects will result in mutual financial forfeiture and reputational liquidation.

"Have you lost your mind?!" I snapped, looking up from the document. "You drafted a legally binding contract while I was still recovering from a hangover?! When did you even have time to write this?!"

"At four in the morning, while you were asleep," Liam replied, leaning against the edge of the table with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets.

He looked far too relaxed for someone who had just informed me that I was practically trapped in a business partnership with him for the next six months. His expression was nothing but pure, infuriating confidence.

"If we're going to take down Sterling-Vanguard and build our own share of the New York market, we need stability. We can't have one of us backing out the moment things get difficult."

"I don't back out of things," I shot back, tapping my finger against the document. "I just prefer to enter a business partnership knowing exactly what I'm getting into, instead of being tricked into a six-month sentence with Manhattan's most arrogant architect!"

"Arrogant, maybe. But effective," Liam countered, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

He stepped closer, just enough to invade my personal space and make me suddenly aware of how little room there was between us.

"Here are the ground rules, Chloe. You handle the events, and I design the spaces. We keep things strictly professional. No emotional baggage, no personal drama in the office, and absolutely no bringing up ex-boyfriends who don't understand basic professional integrity."

The moment he mentioned Ethan, I felt my chest tighten. But there was something about the sharp, protective edge in Liam's voice that kept me from getting lost in the memory of what had happened the night before.

"Fine," I said, lifting my chin and holding his gaze. "Strictly business. But if you think you're going to dictate every single floral arrangement just because you have some fancy degree, you've got another thing coming."

"I wouldn't dream of touching your flowers," Liam murmured, his gray eyes suddenly fixed on mine with an intensity that made the space between us feel a little too warm. "Some things are better left to the expert."

Before I could come up with a clever response, the sound of the front doorbell echoed through the loft.

The glass double doors swung open, revealing Marcus Sterling—not the senior executive, but a flustered representative from one of the city's largest luxury hotel chains. He clutched a folder against his chest and stared at us with wide eyes.

"Mr. Vance? Ms. Harper?" he asked, looking around the impressive loft as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "We... we were told your new firm is accepting emergency consultations for the upcoming winter gala season."

Liam held my gaze for another second before turning toward the client. Just like that, his expression changed, and he slipped effortlessly into the polished, confident professional everyone knew him to be.

"Welcome to Harper & Vance," Liam said, stepping forward and extending his hand. "Have a seat. Let's discuss how we're going to redefine this city."

I grabbed my portfolio, swallowed the nervous flutter in my stomach, and walked beside him toward the conference table.