Just like that, I’m reminded of why I hate this man. Because underneath the mind-blowing sex, he’s still Liam McLaren, the man who puts profits above people.
I’m mortified and furious. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before—Liam shutting me down in front of everyone—but it stings more now. I shouldn’t have expected any different just because we slept together.
“Gemma, stay behind.” Liam’s voice slices through the air as the meeting wraps up.
“Good luck, kiddo,” Ollie whispers as he passes me. Ugh. I bite back the urge to tell him exactly where he can shove his “kiddo.”
As everyone else files out, I swallow hard. Liam’s got that look in his eyes—the one that says he’s about to rip me a new one. Fantastic.
“You asked me to be honest, and that’s exactly what I was doing,” I say before he can start.
“I asked for honesty, not for you to derail the entire meeting,” Liam says, his voice tight with barely contained frustration. “I agree, the charity has done incredible things. Credit where it’s due,” he continues, and for a split second, I think he might be coming around. But then he hits me with: “But this is business, Gemma. Look at how many fundraisers TLS is hosting, tapping into Sir Whitmore’s wealthy circle. With our setup, if TLS makes money, the charity makes money. That’s the only way it survives long-term.”
I swallow the bitter pill of his logic, hating that he’s making sense. Hating that I can see the cold, hard truth in his corporate reasoning.
“What about the people who work for it?” I ask, my voice quieter now.
Liam’s eyes soften, just a fraction. “We can keep about fifty percent of them open. That’s the best we can do with the numbers. For the rest, there has to be a rampdown plan.”
Rampdown plan. What a neat, clinical way of saying “we’re going to crush people’s dreams and call it business.”
“How do you do it?” I scoff. “How do you talk about people like they’re just pawns on a chessboard? Those charities change thousands of lives. People like Jimmy, who you walk past every single day.”
Liam’s jaw clenches, his eyes hardening as he crosses his arms over his broad chest. “This might be a shock to you but we’re running a business here. This isn’t a charity. You’re working at the wrong place if you can’t understand that.”
“You call that business? I call it lazy,” I snap back, my anger flaring to match his.
“Lazy?” He looks both shocked and furious, like he can’t believe I had the nerve to call him that.
“Anyone in a position of strength can take from those who are in a position of vulnerability. It takes someone radical to come up with a strategy where everyone emerges stronger. Where everyone wins.”
“Big talk from someone cozy in a secure job. Someone who doesn’t have to take any real risks.”
I feel my cheeks flush with indignation. “Just because I’m not a CEO doesn’t mean I’m wrong. It means I have a perspective you’velost. Maybe you had it once, but now you’re too high up in your ivory tower.”
Liam’s eyes flash dangerously as he steps closer, his tall frame looming over me. “High up in my tower?” His voice is edged with warning. “Poverty isn’t some problem for me to coo over as Jimmy makes me a coffee. It’s a reality that I lived for years.”
I lift my chin. “And that’s what makes your attitude so much worse. That you’re willing to screw over the Jimmys of the world for a pound when you already have more money than you could spend in ten lifetimes.”
Liam leans in close, his face inches from mine, the heat of his anger radiating off him. My heart stutters, confused by the proximity—reminded too much of the last time he was this close, of his lips on mine. “When you hold the cards, you make the calls. Right now, there are billions on the table. You’re not a player, you’re not the dealer, you are not even the goddamn cocktail waitress serving the drinks. You’re an observer. And when I need your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”
Fury bubbles up inside me but I refuse to cower.
His eyes burn into mine. “You’re way out of line, Gemma. You’ve had your say, now drop it. I won’t tell you again.”
As much as I want to keep pushing, to make him see how wrong this is, I know it’s pointless. I’m just making him angrier, and a pissed-off Liam is not someone I want to cross right now.
“Yes. Of course. I understand,” I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. I don’t understand. I don’t agree.
I glance down at his tie, that absurdly expensive strip of silk that probably costs more than Jimmy makes in a week.
When I look up, he’s glaring at me like he’s just caught me mentally strangling him.
As if I needed the temptation, mate.
I turn and walk out, caught between white-hot rage and sickening shame. He demanded my honesty, and I’ve given it to him. And now that he’s on the verge of sealing the deal—now, when my honesty could actually make a difference—he just fucking ignores it.
I spend most of the weekend and following work week on TLS-related madness. It’s business as usual. And by usual, I mean pre-hallway-shag usual. It’s like Liam never even graced my flat with his brooding, bossy presence. In fact, he’s so firmly back in boss-hole mode that I’m half convinced I hallucinated the whole sordid affair. Maybe I should check my wall for cracks, or ask Winnie if he was actually there, if she heard the Great Hallway Humping.
