La Rocca is one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, known for its discretion and VIP clientele. You can’t even get a reservation unless you’re a CEO, royalty, or just stinking rich.
Thirty minutes later, the car pulls up outside what has to be the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Before I can step out, Liam is rounding the car in a few long strides. He opens the door for me, taking my hand to help me out, and a shiver racks my body.
The hostess greets Liam the second we cross the threshold. “Welcome back, Mr. McLaren.”
She takes our jackets with a demure smile, ushering us toward the intimate back dining room. They clearly know him as a regular here, which means either Liam spends way too much of the company’s money wining and dining clients . . . or he does this sort of thing with women a lot.
Both, I think.
As we’re guided through the restaurant, I can’t help but notice the way women’s eyes follow Liam. If he notices the attention, he doesn’t show it. But of course, he does. He’s probably so accustomed to being openly gawked at that it doesn’t even register anymore.
I do my best to focus as the sommelier pours out a healthy tasting pour of some obscenely expensive wine.
Liam doesn’t waste any time before cutting straight to the chase. “So who do you think is our mole?”
I take a sip of my drink, buying myself a moment to gather my thoughts. “I’m not sure yet. No one has presented any obvious red flags—in relation to this,” I quickly add, because the company is full of walking talking red flags. “But I’m going to get IT to pull a log of who accessed the candidates’ files and when. They’ll likely have printed the documentation because they can’t email it out without leaving a trail. If we cite the possibility of corporate espionage, then we’ll have the justification to dig into everyone’s file access history.”
Calling it espionage feels dramatic, but that’s basically what it boils down to.
Liam nods, frowning.
“If they’re bold enough to try sabotaging our recruitment efforts,” I add, “it’s really not much of a leap to think they could be targeting other sensitive information too, like pending contracts and acquisition bids.”
Liam’s jaw tightens. “A much more serious offense, certainly. But I agree. Work with IT to initiate a full audit trail. I want to know who’s been accessing what files and when. And I want a full background check on anyone on that list, and everyone involved in the deal. Debts, skeletons in the closet, the works. I need to know if anyone has a vulnerability that Alistair could exploit.”
I shift in my seat, not overly comfortable with the idea. “That’s quite intrusive. And time-consuming. We’ll have to notify them that it’s happening.”
“No, we don’t,” he cuts me off, his tone brooking no argument. “Their NDAs cover this. It’s standard practice in finance.”
“Yes, Liam,” I say, swallowing my protests. Sometimes it’s just easier to go along with his demands, even if I don’t agree with them.
He leans back in his chair, studying me. “There’s one other avenue I’d like you to explore. Alastair approached you about a job, right? I want you to take him up on it. Meet with him, get close to him.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And what makes you so sure I won’t just take the job and leave?”
A knowing smile tugs at the corner of Liam’s mouth. “Because I don’t think you really want to leave me, Gemma.”
Me.Not the company, not the job, butme.
I feel a flare of irritation at his arrogance, at the way he thinks he’s got me all figured out. “It’s not about wanting to stay with you.”
For a split second, something flickers across his face—a flash of hurt, gone so quickly I might’ve imagined it. But no, there it was. Maybe he is part human and not 100 percent sociopath. Fancy that.
“Take the meeting with Alastair,” he says, his voice oddly quiet. “Get close to him, find out who he’s been talking to inside the company. Because whoever it is, they’re going to regret crossing me.”
He’s not kidding. I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard who’s gotten on his bad side.
Our waiter chooses that moment to arrive with our main courses. I’ve gone for the priciest thing on the menu—a steak so expensive it should come with its own financial advisor. Liam didn’t even blink at the cost.
“All this animosity,” I mutter, cutting into my steak. “Because of a schoolyard argument. What, did he steal your lunch money?”
Liam’s eyes harden. “The guy used every opportunity to make my life hell. And the prick isn’t any different now. So, no, I don’t have time for him.”
“He bullied you?” I ask, surprised. I try to picture a young Liam being pushed around and fail miserably.
He stiffens. “I wouldn’t call it that.”
