Edward leans back, his posture relaxed. “So, is the poor girl fired yet?”
I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the short strands in frustration. “No,” I admit grudgingly. “Not yet, anyway. I haven’t confronted her about it.”
Edward’s brows shoot up. “Why on earth not?”
“I haven’t decided how to handle it yet.”
A knowing smirk plays on his lips. “Do you have a soft spot for this one?”
“Of course not,” I snap, perhaps too quickly. “It’s not that simple. She’s my HR manager. The one who usually handles all thedirty work of firing and discipliningforme. This is . . . complicated.” I pause, my scowl deepening. “It’s like asking the executioner to behead himself.”
“Makes me glad I don’t work in finance. I’m glad to say I’ve never found poo on my desk before.”
“Come off it, mate. You see far worse than a bit of cat shit in your line of work,” I say, eyeing Edward. He’s a top surgeon at one of central London’s NHS hospitals. A workaholic like me, but for a far nobler cause. “How’s it going anyway? Surprised you could carve out time to meet me for a drink.”
Edward’s face turns serious, the lines around his eyes deepening. I’ve known the bloke long enough to recognize that look, the one that says he’s carrying the world on his back.
“It’s been rough,” he admits, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “We’ve had staff out sick left and right, and the ones who are still standing are stretched thin as it is.”
I feel a twinge of frustration, of helpless anger on his behalf. In my world, I can throw money at problems until they disappear. But that’s not how the National Health Service works. Edward’s hands are tied in ways mine never are.
“Shit, mate. I’m sorry,” I say, the words feeling hollow. But I mean them, with every fiber of my being. “If there’s anything I can do to help, anything at all . . . you tell me.”
He chuckles, his usual humor returning. “Appreciated, but unless you’ve got a secret stash of nurses hidden away somewhere, there’s not much even you can do.” His eyes meet mine, knowing. “The only nurses you know are those who dress up in that club of yours. Don’t think I don’t know why you wanted to meet here, Liam.”
I smirk, caught out but not bothered. “I can’t get anything past you, can I?”
It’s true, I sometimes ask Edward to meet here if I’m planning a trip to the Athenæum later. But it’s not just about that. This place is a sanctuary of sorts—private, quiet, refined.
“Isn’t it time you tried to have a real relationship rather than mysterious hookups in your sexy club?”
“Mate, I could say the same about you.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, and I immediately regret it as I see the pain flash across Edward’s face, the way his hand goes instinctively to rub the back of his neck.
“Shit. Edward, I’m sorry,” I say quickly, wincing at my own insensitivity.
“No, you’re right. I suppose it is time,” he says softly.
The weight of those words hangs heavy between us. Edward’s beautiful wife died two years ago, and watching him fall apart in the aftermath was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to witness. I tried to be there for him, tried to offer whatever comfort I could, but how do you even begin to console someone who’s had their partner ripped away?
And despite what Gemma might think of me, I take care of my own. My inner circle—their well-being matters to me more than any business deal. Supporting Edward through his suffering nearly wrecked me.
“Sounds like we both need a break, mate,” I say, shifting the conversation. “We need to get down to the coast. It’s been too long now.”
“Yes, I badly need that.” He sighs.
Edward and I share a love for sailing. There’s nothing better than getting out of the city, shedding the suit, and getting onto that open water. Doing physical labor to the point where you’re so tired, your brain finally shuts off. I sleep like the deadon my boat.
I’ve always appreciated how the sailing community doesn’t give a shit about your background or what you do for a living. It’s something that’s good for both of us. People stiffen when they hear I’m the CEO of Ashbury Thornton Equity and melt when they hear Edward is a top surgeon. Out there, we’re just two blokes who know how to handle a boat.
An hour later, we settle our tab and say our goodbyes, and I’m headed to the Athenæum. I need to find a redhead to play out this angry secretary fantasy.
Maybe even put in a request to get her to wear a dress like Gemma’s. I wonder if I could find out where it’s from without sounding like a creepy stalker with a fetish.
But there’s a nagging suspicion in the back of my mind that no one is going to live up to the real thing. And that is an alarming thought considering I cannot and will not go there.
CHAPTER 11
Gemma
