“I’m not entirely sure,” I admit. The regatta is the annual sailing event TLS hosts to raise money for their homeless initiatives. Lately, they’ve been fundraising like mad—almost like a desperate cry for help, showing just how deep their financial troubles really are.
Ashbury Thornton always enters boats to race from Portsmouth to the Isle of Wight. It’s become a corporate pissing contest for London’s business elite—a chance to move their antics from the boardroom out onto the open seas.
“I believe Ashbury Thornton took home the grand prize last year,” I continue. “So yes, I’d expect we’ll have boats entered again this time.”
“Ah yes, mustn’t let Liam’s stranglehold on that particular honor slip. He always does seem to treat these sailing jaunts like athletic competitions to be won at all costs, rather than teambuilding exercises.” Alastair tsks lightly, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “Liam brings his world-class professional sailor chums to stack his crew. Hardly in keeping with the supposed spirit of corporate bonding and charitable giving. But I suppose that’s McLaren’s trademark modus operandi.”
Sounds like Liam, all right. I bet everyone loathes him for it at that event.
I’m about to respond, but the words die on my tongue as Alastair’s attention is abruptly diverted over my shoulder.
“Thanks for keeping my HR manager company, Harrington.”
The rough growl, laced with undisguised sarcasm, makes me flinch. I spin around to find myself pinned by Liam’s intense glare. The set of that chiseled jaw and the simmering disdain in those brown eyes leave no doubt about his mood.
“I’ll take it from here,” he bites out.
I raise my chin, meeting his glare head-on.
Oh, he’s pissed all right. Well, too fucking bad.
CHAPTER 17
Liam
“Of course, Liam.” Alastair’sinsincere drawl grates on my last nerve. “She’s all yours.”
He raises Gemma’s hand to his lips in mock chivalry, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Gemma, it’s been an absolute pleasure.”
I refrain from wiping that smug look off his face right here on the dance floor for touching what’s mine. Even if Gemma is just an employee.
Gemma flushes as Alastair saunters off, likely in search of Victoria. Good riddance.
I’ll admit, the green dress is exquisite on her. She looks like a sexy mermaid, ready to lure men to their death. And I’ll be damned if I let Harrington get his hands on her.
“Are you trying to piss me off?” I ask in a low voice, staring down into her guarded green eyes.
“He asked me for a dance. It would have been rude to turn him down. Besides, isn’t there a saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?”
“Is that what you were doing?” I ask. “Getting nice and close to the enemy?”
“I was just dancing with the guy, Liam. That’s all.”
She moves to exit the dance floor, but I catch her hand, stopping her in her tracks. Her breath hitches. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to dance with you. Thought that was pretty obvious.”
“Oh,” she mutters, clearly thrilled by the prospect, but she lets me put my hands on her hips and tug her close. “Fine.”
She stiffly loops her arms around my neck. We lapse into a charged silence as we move. I’ve never had a woman act so awkward when I try to dance with her.
“Any offers Harrington made were bullshit,” I finally say. “Just a pathetic power play to get under my skin.”
Her eyes widen, telling me I’ve hit the mark. I know Alastair’s games inside and out.
Then her eyes flash. “I’m not naive, Liam,” she snaps, her voice laced with indignation. “But you don’t think I’m good enough for Vertex to want to poach me? Is that it?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. They’d be lucky to have you. Any firm would kill to have you. But Alastair plays a nasty game I don’t want you getting mixed up in.”
