Chapter 207: The Official Launch! [FIXED!][28/10!]

Morning came bright and loud, sunlight pouring through the gap in the curtains and landing directly on Liam’s face.

He opened his eyes and, for some reason, felt incredible.

He threw the covers back and swung himself out of bed in one motion, full of energy he had no right to have after the day he’d just survived.

Then his feet hit the floor.

His legs screamed.

Every muscle from his hips to his ankles had seized overnight into one solid knot of regret. His quads burned. His hamstrings felt like overtightened guitar strings.

Liam grabbed the edge of the dresser, breathing through his teeth.

*Mike, you absolute sadist.*

But the energy didn’t go anywhere. If anything, the pain just made him laugh. His body might have been against him, but his mind was wide awake and ready to go.

He reached for his phone on the nightstand.

Eight new messages. All from Hitomi.

Liam’s eyebrows shot up. He opened the thread immediately.

[Hitomi: ok so the compendium ending. i have thoughts]

[Hitomi: [image attachment]]

[Hitomi: this panel. LOOK at it]

[Hitomi: also the cat downstairs had kittens??]

[Hitomi: [image attachment]]

[Hitomi: [image attachment]]

[Hitomi: and i found this at 5am. dont ask]

[Hitomi: [image attachment]]

Liam scrolled through them one by one. A close-up of a single comic panel, circled in red. Two blurry photos of a tabby cat curled around four tiny kittens in what looked like a cardboard box in a stairwell. And finally, a picture of a ceramic frog wearing a tiny knitted hat, sitting on a windowsill.

Liam laughed out loud, alone in his bedroom.

He’d been right. In person, she’d been all sharp looks and silent judgment. Over the phone, she rambled like someone who’d been saving up things to say and had finally found somewhere to put them.

[Liam: The kittens are cute. the frog is concerning]

The reply came instantly.

[Hitomi: the frog is perfect and u know it]

Liam smiled and set the phone down. Texting her had been the right call.

But he had a busy day ahead of him.

Today, he was meeting Priya.

He made his way into the bathroom, moving like a man twice his age, and stood under a hot shower until his legs stopped feeling quite so much like concrete. He shaved, brushed his teeth, and ran some product through his hair, pushing it back loosely instead of styling it sharp the way he used to for the firm.

Then he stood in front of his closet.

Nothing formal today. No suits, no ties. He wasn’t walking into a boardroom. He was walking into a building that was about to become his.

He pulled on a pair of dark, relaxed-fit jeans, loose enough not to strangle his aching thighs. A plain white crew-neck tee. Over it, a soft navy overshirt left unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbows. White sneakers, a simple watch on his wrist, and that was it.

He checked himself in the mirror.

Casual, but put together.

*That was good enough.*

As he grabbed his keys and wallet, his mind drifted briefly to Arthur.

Liam had no interest in that fight. Not now. Arthur was smart, ruthless, and far more dangerous than he looked. And if anyone was equipped to go toe to toe with him, it was Mrs. Harriet.

Let them handle each other.

Liam had something more important to focus on.

Today was a pivotal step. The kind of day his entire career would be built on.

He took one last look at the mirror, smiled, and headed for the door.

-

Priya had slept for exactly one hour.

One hour, face down on her couch with her laptop still open beside her, before her alarm dragged her back up at five.

By six-forty, she was standing outside the building with a fresh coffee in one hand and her clipboard in the other.

And for once, everything was on time.

The first truck rolled in at six-fifty. The second at seven sharp. A third, the one coming all the way from Chicago, had arrived early and was already idling at the curb when she got there. Half the furniture had gone into the building the day after she met Liam. These were the last pieces, the ones from out of state, and they were the ones she’d been most nervous about.

She checked every crate as it came off the trucks.

No scratches. No cracks. No water damage.

Pristine.

Priya let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding for three days. If even one of these had shown up broken, she’d have lost the money and the time, and there was no getting either of those back.

She stepped into the lobby to direct traffic and caught her reflection in the tall mirror propped against the wall, still half-wrapped in plastic.

She stopped.

Her hair was pulled into a hasty ponytail. The dark circles under her eyes had deepened into something closer to bruises. They’d shown up within days of meeting Liam, and they weren’t going anywhere.

And her face was bare.

Priya stared at herself.

She’d been *sure* she put on makeup. She remembered reaching for it. Apparently, she’d only remembered thinking about it.

She kissed her teeth.

For a second, she considered driving home to fix it. Then she pictured the traffic, the wasted gas, and the trucks sitting here unattended.

*No. Absolutely not.*

She turned away from the mirror and clapped her hands. "Okay! Let’s go."

There were six movers. Big men, the kind who could carry a desk up a staircase without breaking a sweat. As they gathered in the lobby, Priya noticed more than one of them staring at her a beat too long.

The youngest, a guy with a backwards cap, finally spoke up. "Ma’am, you good? No offense, but you look like you haven’t slept."

"I slept."

"For how long?"

"An hour."

He winced. "Respect."

The oldest of the group, grey-bearded with a clipboard of his own, eyed her coffee. "You want us to grab you another one of those?"

"I want you to grab that reception desk." Priya pointed at the crate. "And I’ll make it worth your while. Everything placed where I say, nothing scratched, and there’s an extra two hundred in it for each of you."

The men exchanged glances.

"Yes, ma’am," the older one said. "Where do you want it?"

-

They worked for four straight hours.

Priya moved through the building like a general, directing every piece into place.

Liam had given her full permission to do this however she saw fit, but a quiet worry kept nagging at her. What if he hated it? What if he’d pictured something completely different?

She pushed the thought aside and kept going.

The reception came first. A long, curved walnut desk sat facing the entrance, its front panel finished in brushed brass. Behind it, a slate-grey feature wall waited for the firm’s name, the brass lettering still wrapped in a crate in the corner. Two deep leather armchairs and a low marble coffee table made a small waiting area beside a pair of tall fiddle-leaf fig plants.

"Left a little," Priya called. "No, *your* left. Perfect."

Down the hall, the conference room took shape behind floor-to-ceiling glass. A twelve-seat solid oak table ran the length of the room, surrounded by high-backed black leather chairs. A wall-mounted screen went up at one end. A credenza with crystal water carafes sat at the other.

"This table’s heavier than my truck," one of the movers grunted.

"It came from Vermont. It’s earned the right to be heavy."

The corner office was Liam’s. Priya had saved the best pieces for it. A wide mahogany executive desk positioned to face the window. A tufted leather chair. Built-in shelving along one wall for the legal volumes she’d had shipped from a library liquidation in Portland, rows of leather-bound reporters and statute books that gave the room a weight no catalog furniture ever could. A Persian rug in deep navy and burgundy anchored the space.

The two smaller offices beside it got matching walnut desks, ergonomic chairs, and filing cabinets. A compact kitchen and break room went in at the back with a proper espresso machine, because Priya refused to work anywhere that served instant coffee.

Finally, the art. Framed black-and-white prints of the Seattle skyline along the main hallway, and one large abstract canvas in muted blues behind the reception desk.

By eleven, the last crate was empty.

The young mover wiped his forehead and looked around the lobby. "Damn. This looks like one of those big downtown firms."

"That’s the idea."

Priya walked the space one final time, clipboard against her chest, then handed each of the six men an envelope.

"Two hundred each, like I promised."

The older man tucked his into his jacket and gave her a long look. "Get some sleep, ma’am."

"After today."

"That’s what they all say."

When they were gone, Priya sank into one of the leather armchairs and pulled up her spreadsheet.

Reception furniture: $14,800. Conference room: $26,500. Liam’s office: $31,200. Two associate offices: $18,600. Legal library: $12,400. Kitchen and break room: $9,300. Art, rugs, plants, and lighting: $16,700. Shipping and movers: $8,900. Tips: $1,200.

[Total: $139,600.]

Most of it out of her own pocket.

Priya stared at the number, then looked up at the lobby, at the warm light, the walnut and brass, the quiet weight of it all.

It looked like a real law firm.

It looked like his.

She just hoped he’d think so too.