Liam let loose an inaudible sigh. “I’m here, Mike. Sorry, what were you saying?”
“We were saying we’re going to need you in London next week. We’ve got suppliers coming from China.”
“China?” Liam sat up. “What are we talking to suppliers from China for? We manufacture in Sheffield.”
“And it costs us three times what it would to import from the Far East. Liam, we’ve been over this.”
They had been over it, more times than Liam cared to remember, and his answer was always the same. “We manufacture in the UK. I’m not making fifty people redundant just to save a few quid.”
“Liam—”
“I said no, Mike. Outsourcing to China goes against everything we stand for. You want to pay a slave master to produce goods in a fucking sweatshop, go do it somewhere else. Funding child labour isn’t in our ethos.”
Silence. Liam got up and rounded the desk, but his blood simmered down a touch as he realised who he sounded like. “The moment we give in to the number crunchers, we might as well open a bloody McDonald’s . . .”
Liam found himself eye to eye with the photograph he often had to turn around so he wouldn’t feel its watchful gaze as he conducted these meetings with none of the flair or passion of the man before him. “It’s not happening, Mike. I’ll come to London to finalise the distribution for the summer line, but that’s it. Don’t even try pissing me about. Are we clear?”
“Clear.”
Mike signed off with a frustrated sigh and Liam felt momentarily bad for him, but it faded fast. Mike, his best friend, brother-in-law, and second-in-command, had been with Sea Rave from the beginning and knew better than to tickle the beast with a capitalist agenda. At least, he should’ve done. Perhaps Liam hadn’t reminded him, or anyone else, enough recently that everyone involved made more than enough money.
Liam drifted back to his desk and glanced at the flashing email icon on his laptop: fifty new messages in the last hour demanding his immediate attention. Fuck that. He couldn’t put them off forever, but the conference call had done his head in and he needed some fresh air.
He closed the computer and went to the patio door, whistling for the two donkey-sized dogs destroying the garden. “Jazz! Dave! Come on.”
Two labradoodles crashed into him, all woolly coats and drool. Liam clipped their leads to their harnesses and let them pull him outside, locking the door behind him.
They made their way to the secluded beach that lay a mile from the house. Safe on the sand, he let the dogs loose and followed them down to the ocean. In the distance he saw a horse and its rider, cantering through the gentle waves of the North Sea. It was a sight that warmed his brittle heart and reminded him why he’d stayed in Holkham when some days he longed for nothing more than a bag of clothes and a plane ticket to nowhere.
Stop it. Liam tore his gaze from the regal grey horse and instead let his mind meander to something else he’d been trying not to think about—that hedonistic night in King’s Lynn ten days ago. To the utilitarian flat, the dark-haired devil, and the mind-blowing relief Liam had left with. He didn’t dwell on the wad of cash he’d handed over for the privilege. Or the fact that it flew in the face of everything he’d chewed Mike out for. True, Zac had been younger than Liam, by a good few years at least, but he was no child, and he hadn’t struck Liam as a bloke who was easily forced into anything, unless he wanted it.
Liam’s thoughts took a darker, dirtier turn. “Beat me. Bite me. I like that shit.” Zac had seemed so sure of what he liked—craved—but for Liam, the heady vortex of sex without love, of fucking for the sake of fucking, for wanton pleasure alone, had been a whole new world, a world he couldn’t stop thinking about. Didn’t want to stop thinking about, because Zac had become an obsession he couldn’t ignore.
Dirty bastard. But Liam didn’t care. He’d not thought of sex for so long, but his encounter with Zac had broken a dam, let a demon loose in his veins, and fantasising about the ecstasy money could buy was proving a welcome distraction. Haven’t called your hooker back, though, have you? But Liam pushed that detail aside too. He hadn’t called the number Zac had given him because he wasn’t sure he had the balls to make his dirty dreams a reality. That he could face the shame and disgust he couldn’t quite deny.
But that didn’t stop him dreaming.
Half an hour later, he forced himself to call the dogs to heel and headed home to face his inbox. At the house, he found a battered four-by-four parked beside his own beloved VW Camper Van. He suppressed a heavy sigh and followed the dogs inside.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Nice to see you too, Rosa.” Liam bypassed his sister’s glare and went to the kettle. “Did you want something? Or are you here to annoy me?”
“Bit of both. I want you to eat the lasagne I brought you, and pissing you off is a bonus. Now answer my question. Where have you been?”
“Walking the dogs. Like I do every day.”
“Four times a day, more like. You know they run me ragged when you’re away, don’t you? Can’t have so much as a cuppa without them chewing a hole through my back door.”
Liam grinned and placed a mug of tea on the kitchen table in front of her. “What can I say? They love their walks.”
“Arsehole.”
“Yup, but you love me anyway, and them . . . So, is there any chance you could have them next week?”
“Next week? Sure. It’s half-term, so I could do with their help entertaining the boys. Going anywhere nice?”
“As if.” Liam brought his own mug to the table and sat down, eyeing the homemade veggie lasagne Rosa had dumped by the fruit bowl. “Your husband’s summoned me to HQ to blag my way through some corporate bullshit.”
