Erased vows

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LIAM’S POV

Mr. Grey, this is the file you requested.”

Her voice drifted in, soft and careful, just before a polite knock sounded on my office door.

I looked up, smirking to myself. Anita Marshals stood there, folder clutched in her hands, her posture composed as always. But I had long since stopped seeing her as just another secretary.

“Mr. Grey now, huh?” I drawled, leaning back in my chair, letting my eyes linger on her longer than necessary. “So that’s what we’re doing? Just Mr. Grey?”

Her brows pinched slightly as she stepped closer, laying the folder neatly on my desk. “You asked for the report,” she said evenly, her voice polite but restrained.

“Yes, but Liam works just fine.” I tilted my head, letting the grin sharpen just enough to make her blush. “Especially considering the night at your house.”

Her hands stilled. A faint flush crept into her cheeks before she could stop it. She quickly clasped her fingers together, trying to compose herself, but the damage was already done.

And just like that, the memory rushed back.

That night.

The look in her eyes when my engagement was mentioned hurt, sharp, yet hidden behind walls she thought I couldn’t see through. The way hesitation gave way to hunger when I kissed her. Her voice breaking into gasps as I pushed her past the line she’d promised herself she wouldn’t cross. The sound of my name falling from her lips when my hands were on her.

It had branded itself into me.

I hadn’t been able to shake it since. The memory haunted me in meetings, chased me into bed, left me restless in ways Clarisse never could. Anita Marshals was fire dangerous, consuming and every instinct in me wanted more.

And I knew one thing with startling certainty:

I wouldn’t mind losing everything else if it meant hearing her scream my name again.

“Take a seat,” I said, gesturing to the chair opposite me.

She hesitated. She always did now, as if she knew too well what sitting too close might unleash. Finally, she lowered herself onto the chair, her back straight, her hands folding neatly in her lap.

“You remember the expansion plan to Greece we’ve been working on?” I asked, flipping open the folder she’d placed on my desk. I wasn’t even reading the numbers; my eyes were on her.

“Yes,” she said, her voice calm but laced with that familiar nervous energy. Her right hand drifted to her left fingers, fiddling with them her tell, the small gesture she always made when she was unsettled.

“Well, it’s finalized.” My grin widened. The project had been my vision from the start Grey Group’s first international luxury resort. A legacy in the making. “We’re traveling to Greece to inspect the site. Our first hotel abroad.”

Her eyes widened, lighting up instantly. The careful composure slipped, replaced by raw, unfiltered excitement. “That’s incredible, Liam. Congratulations.”

The way she said my name soft, genuine struck me harder than I wanted to admit.

“Yes,” I said, locking eyes with her. “It is. Which means you’ll need to go shopping.”

Her brows drew together. “Shopping?”

“Yes.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “Use my office card. Buy whatever you need. Clothes, accessories… whatever makes you comfortable for the trip.”

Her lips parted, confusion flickering across her face. “What for, if I may ask?”

Her tone was cautious, probing. She always questioned me, never gave me blind obedience like everyone else did. That’s what set her apart. That’s what made her dangerous.

“Why not you?” I countered smoothly. “You’ve been involved with this project since the beginning. You know its details better than anyone else on my team. It only makes sense.”

That was the logical explanation. The safe one.

The other truth, the one I couldn’t speak aloud was that I wanted her there. Needed her there. Away from the city, away from distractions. Just me and her, with nothing between us but the ocean and the weight of what we hadn’t yet admitted.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, as though she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. “I… see.”

“You’ll do well to treat yourself,” I added, my voice dropping slightly. “Buy whatever you think you’ll need for the trip.”

Her lashes lowered, shielding her gaze, but the faint blush that rose again betrayed her. She knew. She felt the undertone even if she wouldn’t say it.

And she didn’t refuse.

That was what made it dangerous.

Silence stretched between us, thicker than it should have been. Outside, the hum of the city bled through the tall windows, but here, it was just her and me, and the unspoken tension that clung to the air.

She smoothed her dress over her knees, her fingers trembling slightly. My gaze slid down, lingering longer than it should have, I should have looked away. I didn’t.

Her throat moved as she swallowed, and when her eyes flicked up and caught mine, her breath hitched the slightest bit. She shifted in her seat, as though she could escape the weight of my stare, but she couldn’t.

“I’ll make the necessary arrangements,” she said finally, her voice clipped, brittle with restraint.

“Good.” I forced myself to glance at the papers in front of me, though the words blurred. I wasn’t thinking about projections or site plans. I was picturing Anita in Greece, in sunlit dresses, her hair loose in the Mediterranean breeze.

For once, I couldn’t tell which thrilled me more—the expansion, or the thought of her at my side.

She rose from her chair, smoothing her skirt again, her composure pieced back together. “If that’s all, Mr. Grey…”

There it was again Mr. Grey. Formal. Distant.

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to stop her, to remind her she hadn’t been calling me that night she was moaning my name. But instead, I let her walk to the door.

Her hand rested on the handle, and for a second, she paused, her back still to me. As though she wanted to say something. As though the same war that raged inside me was raging inside her too.

But she didn’t. She pushed the door open and stepped out, her heels clicking softly against the floor until the sound faded down the hall.

And just like that, she was gone.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the empty doorway, exhaling slowly.

Greece. A trip meant for business. A project meant for legacy.

But the only thing I could think about was Anita Marshals, and how much trouble I was walking into.

Because I wasn’t just taking her to Greece for the project.

I was taking her for me.