His jaw clenches, his grip on his fork tightening. “On me? That wasn’t the brief I gave.”
“I know. I’m sorry. You can rake me over the coals on Monday, but please, not here.”
He looks like he’s about two seconds away from reprimanding me, but he takes a breath, reins it in. “Fine.”
“Technically, they did what they were supposed to. You have access to those files too. Anyway . . . I read a bit about your background.”
His brow lifts just an inch. “Find anything interesting?”
“Why didn’t you tell me your mom worked for TLS for ten years?”
Something flashes in his eyes—anger, hurt, resentment. It’s hard to tell with Liam.
“It’s not exactly relevant,” he says, his tone clipped.
“Isn’t it, though?” I press gently. “She got laid off from the very company you’re hell-bent on acquiring. That seems pretty relevant to me.”
He sets down his fork. “You want to know what it means? It means I know exactly what Whitmore and his cronies are really like. He can talk a big game about corporate responsibility and employee welfare, but when push comes to shove? His company isn’t nearly as generous as it pretends to be. The severance they gave my mom was a fucking joke. And when she went there begging and crying for her job, saying she couldn’t afford to feed her family, they called security. Had her escorted out like some kind of criminal.”
Holy shit.
“Liam, I’m so sorry.” I pause, a thought occurring to me. “Does Sir Whitmore know about this?”
“Of course he doesn’t. And he’s not going to. It’s ancient history. Water under the bridge. I’m not exactly hurting for cash these days, so don’t waste your pity on me. But do me a favor and delete that file,okay? ASAP.”
I nod, treading carefully. “Did things get better when your mum married your stepdad? I mean, he was wealthy, right? And you went to that fancy boarding school.”
Liam’s laugh is humorless. “In a way. At first, it was great. He’d show up at our shitty little council flat in his flashy Porsche, acting like Father fucking Christmas with all the gifts he’d bring. Took us to the footy to pretend we were men. But then they got married, and he changed. Turned into a right bastard.” Liam shakes his head, a bitter twist to his mouth. “Shipped me and Patrick off to boarding school first chance he got.”
It’s ironic hearing Liam call someone a bastard when that’s exactly what he’s called at work. Often by me. Usually under my breath, but still. I keep that thought to myself, though.
“I’m so sorry,” I say softly. “That must have been really hard, being sent away. Did your mum . . . not try to stop it?”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “She was too scared to rock the boat. Can’t blame her. He gave her stability, at least financially. Anyway, it wasn’t all bad. I had Patrick.”
“Are you two close now?” I ask. I picture mini Liam and his brother plotting world domination from their dorms.
“Yeah.” Another shrug. His default response to emotions, I think. “We don’t get to see each other much now he’s focusing on his hotel in the Scottish Outer Hebrides. But we make sure we do Christmas together.”
“Two business big shots in the family. Your mum must be bursting with pride,” I say, trying to find a silver lining.
“You’d have to ask her.”
I lean over to put my hand over his arm. He stiffens slightly.
I bite my lip, fighting the urge to climb into his lap and hug him until all that hurt melts away. But something tells me Liam wouldn’t appreciate that, at least not here, not now. So instead,I attempt to lighten the mood. “Well, I guess that explains why you’re such a git sometimes. Childhood trauma will do that to a person.”
Liam freezes, fork hovering in midair. For a heart-stopping second, I think I’ve royally screwed up. But then . . . he laughs. A genuine laugh that seems to come from deep in his chest.
“A git, huh?” His eyes sparkle with amusement. Actually sparkle. I didn’t think Liam’s eyes could do anything but smolder or glare. “That’s a new one for you. Less verbose than your usual insults. But I appreciate the efficiency.”
I giggle, the wine making me feel warm and loose. “Gotta keep you on your toes. Keep things fresh,” I tease, taking another sip. A thought bubbles up, and my wine-loosened tongue lets it fly. “You know, I think I get why you respect Skipper Magee so much now.”
Liam quirks an eyebrow, silently urging me to continue.
“He’s like . . . the anti-stepfather, isn’t he? A salt of the earth older guy who isn’t throwing around hundred-thousand-pound Rolex watches. A real father figure.”
He chuckles but there’s an edge to it. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”
