And yet here we are, at this crowning moment of my career, and I’ve finally managed to do the impossible.
He makes an awkward attempt at discretion, trying—and inevitably failing—to nudge it out of sight with repeated jabs of his muscular forearm. Good luck with that, mate.
This is just too much. I can’t stand here and watch this go down. I’m going to walk away calmly and pretend I haven’t the faintest idea about any of this. It’s just some rogue poo that magically appeared on his desk. He might even suspect Brandon—it has all the hallmarks of a petty act of revenge. Or maybe the auditors themselves planted it in a bid to unsettle him.
Either way, I have plausible deniability on my side.
As I’m making my not-so-casual retreat, a sobering realization washes over me: Brandon and the three balding auditors don’t exactly strike me as the red lipstick–wearing kind.
I hurry back to my office, offering strained smiles to my coworkers as I pass. It’s as if I’ve left my signature at the scene of the crime. A bright red calling card, right next to the damning evidence. I might as well have written “FROM GEMMA, WITH LOVE” in permanent marker on the bloody tube.
I’m sure that’ll go over well with HR. Oh wait, I am HR.
Twenty minutes later, the auditors finally pour out of McLaren’s office, with him leading the way.
I’m doing my utmost to appear nonchalant as I chat with Isabella about expediting the visa process for new Dubai recruits.
Mercifully, Liam doesn’t spare me a glance as he strides past, his auditors in tow, heading toward reception. I let out the breath I’ve been choking on. Maybe he didn’t notice the lipstick after all.
Isabella’s query cuts through my panicked haze. “So we go through this company now for their visas and give them this code?”
“That’s corr—” The words shrivel up and die on my tongue as a deafening RAP-RAP-RAP against my open office door slices through the atmosphere.
Liam appears in my doorway just long enough to growl out a curt summons: “In my office. Now.”
Before I can even blink, he storms off back to his own office.
Isabella shoots me a worried look. “Hope everything’s okay, Gem?”
“Everything’s just fine,” I lie through a plastic smile.
Steeling my nerves, I stride into McLaren’s office to find him stationed squarely in the center of the room, his arms crossed, his jaw clenched tighter than I’ve ever seen.
“Explain yourself.”
“I’m not sure what you’d like me to explain, sir?” I buy myself a minute. He could be referring to any number of issues. It’s not like he’s Mr. Congeniality. For all I know, he’s about to explode over the delay in updating the company’s employee handbook.
With one sharp movement, he snatches something up from his desk and thrusts it toward me in an accusatory gesture.
“This,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “Explain this.”
The plastic specimen tube filled with its damning evidence dangles between us.
Shit. Literally and figuratively.
I could deny everything. Feign ignorance. Pretend I’ve never seen that poo before in my life. But all roads lead to me with that red lipstick sitting there, bold as brass.
“It’s not what you think,” I blurt out on pure desperation autopilot, hands raised in a placating gesture.
“Really?” he retorts, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. “Because it looks an awful lot like shit on my desk. And I’m guessing it’s yours since this is your lipstick, correct? Unless you’re going to tell me that one of the auditors just happened to leave their makeup behind after taking a dump in my office.”
Wait . . . back up. He knows my lipstick. Like, he recognizes it. But that’s not the issue at hand here.
“Well, yes . . . technically it is a stool sample,” I admit with a grimace. “But it ending up on your desk like that was a total accident.”
“You ‘accidentally’ left shit on my desk?” Liam growls, leaning in and using his imposing height to tower over me. “Because this does not feel even remotely accidental, Gemma. In fact, the last time some entitled prick tried pulling a stunt like this in my office . . .” His eyes blaze with fury. “I made damn sure they’d never work at a decent company in London again.”
Wait, this isn’t the first time Liam has dealt with a fecal “occurrence” in his office? Bloody hell.
