Page 38 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO
I cross my arms, leaning back slightly. “You think I don’t know you? Hazel, I knew you better than anyone.”
She scoffs, shaking her head. “Knew, Liam. Past tense. You do not know the person I have become.”
“And whose fault is that?” The words slip out sharper than I intended, but I do not regret them.
She freezes, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. When she looks at me again, her eyes are guarded. “No one’s,” she says quietly, her voice steady but cold.
I grit my teeth, the heat rising in my chest. “That is what I thought. You are still the same Hazel who runs from everything.”
Her laugh is humorless as she picks up the pot and pours some stew into a bowl. “And you’re still the same Liam who jumps to conclusions without actually talking to people. Congratulations, you win the consistency award.”
“Oh, don’t give me that,” I snap. “You don’t get to act like the victim here.”
“Victim?” she echoes, her voice rising. “I am not acting like anything, Liam! You are the one storming in here like you have some moral high ground and you know me because of a handful of peas!”
“Because it’s not about the damn peas!” I yell, throwing my hands up.
“Then what’s it about, huh?” she shouts back, stepping closer, the bowl clutched tightly in her hand. “Enlighten me, Liam. What is your real issue here?”
I stare at her, chest heaving, and for a split second, I consider saying it—the truth. The resentment, the betrayal, the years of silence. But I cannot. Not here. Not now.
“You know what?” I say, voice dropping to a cold edge. “Forget it. Enjoy your peas, Hazel.”
I turn and walk out of the kitchen, my fists clenched at my sides.
When I get back to the living room, Cara is lounging on the couch, grinning.
“We’re leaving,” I snap. “Now.”
She raises an eyebrow, her smile fading. “What? Why? What happened?”
“Don’t ask,” I mutter, grabbing my jacket.
Cara looks like she is about to argue, but I shoot her a glare that stops her in her tracks.
“Now, Cara!” My tone leaves no room for argument.
Hazel appears in the doorway, her expression unreadable. I glance at her briefly before shaking my head and stepping out the door.
I knew I should not have stayed.
Chapter eleven
Hazel
The conference room buzzes with low chatter and the soft shuffle of papers. My heart thuds in my chest as I stand by the large screen, waiting for the slideshow to begin. The team settles in; partners included with all eyes on me. It is like being on stage with no script. My fingers toy with the small remote in my hand, slick with nerves.
The soft murmur of voices fills the room as the presentation ends, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat, willing the focus away from me to the pictures on the screen. We are reviewing the first pictures we’ve taken, and I’m the last to present, so cue the nervous feeling of overconfidence.
Coach Mark leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “These are good. Really good.”
A few nods ripple through the group. “This is incredible work,” Mr. Townsend, one of the senior partners, says, holding up one of the final images from the campaign. “Exactly the kind of come-alive look we need.”
“That’s the one,” one of them, a man with slicked-back hair and a Rolex gleaming on his wrist, says, pointing at an actionshot of the team mid-game. “It’s raw, dynamic, and full of life - the kind of photo that tells a story.”
Coach nods. “You’ve got an eye for this, Hazel.”
A ripple of agreement spreads around the table. Even Liam, sitting at the head of the table, looks somewhat impressed.
