Ava’s POV:
I was still buzzing.
Which was ridiculous. Objectively. Because nothing actually happened—there had been no kissing, no touching beyond the usual paper-exchange-brush-of-fingers nonsense, no declarations, no promises.
But oh God. We were close. So close. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath and the heat of his gaze and the pull—the pull, like gravity itself had chosen that exact moment to mess with me.
And he’d looked at me like— No. I wasn’t going to think about that.
Because thinking about it made it feel real, and real made it dangerous.
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It was proximity. Adrenaline. That was all.
Even if I still felt dizzy.
Even if my heart had been acting like it ran on jet fuel since I walked out of his office.
Even if I kept replaying his words on loop in my head—adorable—like they weren’t currently short-circuiting my higher brain functions.
So, yes. I was having a moment. I was in full-blown, post-almost-kiss emotional freefall. But I was handling it. I was fine. Because I was a professional. A grown woman. A fraud, sure—but a fraud with boundaries.
I was trying to stay calm.
Which was difficult, considering Jamie had just casually informed me that the final candidate for the tech lead position—a role that was critical for my team and, more importantly, something I actually had authority over—was already a done deal.
Apparently, “his parents pulled a favor with Liam’s dad,” which was tech-world code for this man could be an actual potato, but nepotism is alive and well, so just smile and nod.
It wasn’t uncommon. I wasn’t even surprised. I just... hadn’t expected it to land in my department. Or to be my interview.
But fine. Whatever. I could pretend for fifteen minutes. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to sit through a conversation with someone whose résumé looked like it had been written by ChatGPT and a bag of Cheetos.
Jamie gave me a sympathetic wince and handed me the file. “It’s just a formality. Don’t stress. Smile, ask the basics, check the HR box. Liam won’t say anything.”
I took the file, plastered on my Best Corporate Smile™, and walked into the small interview room. I’d barely crossed the threshold before my entire stomach dropped through the floor.
“Oh no,” I breathed before I could stop myself.
Because there he was.
Jeremy. Freaking. Callahan.
Sitting in the chair like he owned the place, like his smile hadn’t once made me physically recoil. Same perfectly tousled hair, same smug tilt to his mouth, same expensive, unearned entitlement radiating off him in waves.
He looked up and froze.
For one beautiful, suspended second, we both just stared at each other—frozen, eyes wide, brains clearly scrambling for context.
“Avel—” he started.
I stepped forward too quickly. “Hi. You must be... Jeremy.”
My voice was sweet. Too sweet. I could hear it. Like frosting over poison.
He blinked slowly. “...Ava,” he said finally. “Right. Ava Green.”
He sounded amused. Confused. And just the tiniest bit predatory.
And I wanted to die.
Because here I was, in my carefully curated fake life, sitting across from the man who knew me back when I was still Avelina Sinclaire. The same man I’d escaped. The same man I swore I’d never see again.
And now he was here. Looking around the office like he was ready to spread his bacteria across every surface.
“This is... wow,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “Never thought I’d be interviewed by you.”
I gave him a tight smile. “Life’s full of surprises.”
He leaned forward, dropping his voice to something conspiratorial. “How’d you land this gig, anyway? You and I both know this job’s a little out of your league. You pull some strings?”
Before I could respond—or scream, or laugh, or shove his overpriced watch down his throat—the door swung open.
Hard.
And Liam Duarte walked in.
His expression was unreadable but visibly sour, like he’d bitten into something expensive and rotten. His jaw was tense, his eyes sharp, and he looked at me like I’d personally betrayed him by continuing to breathe oxygen in his building.
“I’ll be joining this interview,” he said, voice clipped.
I blinked. “You... what?”
“I have time,” he said. “This position impacts strategic rollout. I want to hear the candidate’s thoughts myself.”
Jeremy visibly straightened in his seat like he was finally taking this seriously, though he did glance at Liam with something between smugness and mild confusion.
I adjusted my blazer. My palms were sweating. I couldn’t look at either of them for too long without risking a facial spasm.
“Okay then,” I said brightly, because what was professionalism if not a carefully controlled nervous breakdown in a pencil skirt? “Let’s begin.”
I launched into the opening questions. Standard stuff. I’d done this a dozen times. But now, every word felt heavy and foreign. Like it might reveal something I was desperately trying to keep buried. Like Jeremy might say something—a nickname, a city, a single syllable—that would blow the whole charade to pieces.
And then there was Liam.
Watching me.
His eyes didn’t leave my face. Not once.
I could feel them, feel him, like a heat pressed into the side of my neck. Like he was waiting. Measuring. Trying to catch me slipping.
And I didn’t know if it was because of Jeremy. Or if it was about me.
Or—terrifyingly—both.