The reminder stung, but Oliver shoved aside the faint curl of humiliation. “The plan at the time would have worked if you hadn’t brought in the MDF.”
“You know very well why I did so. It’s not my habit to leave my allies in the crosshairs without a warning” was Liam’s sharp retort.
Oliver would have agreed with that, except he was too angry to cede any ground to Liam. “Your defense of friends must be new. Funny how that doesn’t apply to co-workers. My rank isn’t the one at issue here.”
Liam tilted his head to the side before he shrugged, affecting an uncaring attitude Oliver knew was a lie. “Your job is intelligence, and that’s what the UMG is partnering with MI6 for. You’re used to digging up information, and my team is used to acting on it. There is a vast difference between standing on the sidelines and getting in the thick of things with an active duty metahuman team.”
“I was chosen for this particular mission because of my personal social rank, whatever you might think of it, and my own skill. I might not be a prince, but my presence will be overlooked, unlike yours.”
Liam blinked in a slow way Oliver was surprised to realize he recognized. It was a faint tell leftover from their teenaged years that Oliver thought Liam would’ve buried by now. It was the first sign of irritated anger that used to always precede Liam’s cutting temper.
“I see we’re going to have as exciting a partnership as we have the last few times we’ve worked together, Ollie,” Liam said after a brief, tense silence.
Oliver couldn’t quite hide his annoyance at the use of his old nickname. “I only allow my friends to call me that. We aren’t friends, Colonel Wessex.”
“We were once.”
Oliver turned on his heel, done with the conversation. “We all make mistakes.”
“Samaira will brief you on protocol in the field for human agents on secondment with any UMG team at 0800 tomorrow morning. I expect you to show up.”
Oliver pressed his hand against the control panel, palming open the door. “I know how to do my job. Just focus on yours.”
Oliver left Liam behind in the office, trying to shake free from the ghost of memories as he walked away. He didn’t know what about Liam had gotten under his skin this time, but Oliver was determined to do his job to the exacting standards MI6 required of him. If Liam wasn’t happy about it, then that was his problem, not Oliver’s.
It would be easier if he wasn’t so distracting.
Oliver wasn’t blind. Liam’s teenage good looks had morphed into an adult handsomeness he knew better than to be lured in by. Liam’s charisma was a web of regret Oliver had no desire to experience again. He’d fallen for it once before, and he refused to go down that path again.
That didn’t stop a traitorous corner of his mind from wondering if Liam kissed better now than when they’d been teenagers.
* * *
Oliver parkedhis car in front of the driveway that led to the walled-off luxury mansion overlooking Hampstead Heath that his parents lived in. He’d grown up within the walls of the three-story mansion, and while the property was worth millions of pounds, Oliver’s family was barely considered middling rich compared to the other nobility. His father was an earl in title only, and the Archer family held no land outside of London. But they had this, and Oliver was glad for it.
Hempstead was home, and Oliver always felt at ease when he returned for visits with his parents. He was their only child and heir, but his parents had kept him grounded in reality as he grew up. That sort of level-headedness they had cultivated in him was something Oliver appreciated these days.
He got out of the car, locking it behind him and tucking the code-keys into his pocket. Walking toward the front door, Oliver could see most of the lights on the ground floor and several on the first shining through the windows. Laughter from visitors to the Heath across the street reached his ears through the warm evening air. Despite the supper hour, people were still enjoying the outdoors.
Oliver let himself into the home that would one day belong to him, breathing in the smell of roast chicken permeating the ground floor.
“Mum?” he called out.
“In the kitchen, darling,” his mother answered.
Oliver followed the sound of her voice, receiving a hug from her once he made it into the kitchen. His mother wasn’t cooking, because the running joke in the family was that Sofia Archer could burn water. His parents employed a full-time chef and a full-time maid within their household; Anita was the one who did all the cooking in the home.
“You look like you’ve had a day,” Sofia said as she let him go. She picked up the bottle of wine sitting on the kitchen island and uncorked it before hunting down two wineglasses.
Oliver accepted the glass of wine she poured him with a soft sigh. “Work was…busy.”
Sofia raised an eyebrow but didn’t question his pause. She’d been a model in her younger days before transitioning to working behind the camera. These days, his mother was more well-known for the photographs she took than for the ones she’d been the subject of. While she had spent much of her life in the public eye, Sofia understood the art of discretion. It came in handy when talking around Oliver’s job.
“Your father is in his study. I’ll call him down in a bit. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you, and I want you to myself for a bit. Let’s catch up, shall we?” Sofia said.
Never one to disobey his mother, Oliver followed her into the front family room of the mansion. The plas-glass windows were shaded dark for privacy, but Oliver still took a moment to pull the curtains.
Once he was satisfied with the state of the room, Oliver took a seat on the sofa beside his mother, swirling the wine in his glass for a second before taking a sip. Alcohol was one of the few luxuries his parents indulged in. His father’s title didn’t come with a windfall of wealth, but neither were they hurting for money. Well-thought-out business deals over the years through several generations had ensured Oliver’s family wouldn’t have to worry about money, but that didn’t mean it would last forever.
