Love to Loathe Him: Chapter 13

I’ve come down on her so hard, I’m about to lose her for good.

Few people manage to catch me off guard these days, but Gemma has done it multiple times in the span of a week. Surprised doesn’t begin to cover how it feels watching her quit on the spot, right to my face.

“Sit down, Gemma.”

“No. What’s the point?” She tugs on her dress strap, all wound up. It’s a good look on her. I let myself enjoy the view for a second before getting back to business.

As much as I’ve gotten a kick out of watching those cracks form in her polished armor, I’ve got to hand it to her. It takes some serious balls to stand there and try to turn the tables, to scold me about my “ethics.”

But I’m not in the business of losing.

And right now, losing Gemma is not an option I’m willing to entertain, despite her moment of temporary insanity. I didn’t mean for her to up and quit.

“The point is you’re not going anywhere.”

She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “What are you saying? You’re not going to fire me? Why? Because this whole fiasco amuses you?”

I lean back, propping an ankle on my knee as I eye her up. “Oh, it definitely amuses me. But more importantly, I’ve got zero interest in watching you walk out that door for good.”

“I can’t stay. Nothing would make it worth it after . . . this.”

“Now, we both know that’s not true, don’t we? In fact, I’ve got a little proposition for you. You stay on board, and I tack on a nice, fat . . . let’s say fifty percent bump to your current salary. On one key condition.”

Her eyes widen. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Do I look like I’m hosting a goddamn comedy special here?”

Smartly, she doesn’t answer that particular rhetorical question, just gapes at me in shock.

“What’s the catch then? This condition?”

“You’ve clearly been harboring quite a few thoughts, Gemma. You stay, and you give me that unvarnished honesty. No more filtering, no more dancing around in an effort to appease me. If you have something to say, you say it—directly and without restraint.”

She blinks rapidly. “I’m really not following here.”

I sigh, my patience wearing thin. “I told you to sit.”

In slow motion, she stiffly lowers herself onto the leather sofa across from me.

I rise and make my way to the bar. I fix her a whisky-based cocktail, something she can handle while she processes my offer in silence.

“I’m surrounded by yes-men—and women—who only tell me what they think I want to hear,” I explain as I approach her, tumblers in hand. “But buried in between those . . . colorful fantasies of yours about strangling me with my tie, you showed some astute insights. You’re good with people, and right now I need a straight-shooting people person in my corner.”

I press the glass into her hand, watching as she immediately throws back a healthy gulp, wincing at the burn.

“You’re good at these. If this finance thing doesn’t pan out, you could always fall back on bartending,” she quips, her voice rough from the whisky.

“I’m good at many things.”

Her cheeks flush. “Modesty not being one of them.”

“No.” I chuckle. “Modesty has never been my forte.”

She digs a cigarette out of her purse and lights up, taking a deep drag. “I limit myself to one a day,” she says, almost defensively. As if I’m unaware that half my staff indulge in far worse vices. “And this situation definitely calls for it.”

“Just one? I would’ve figured dealing with me daily required at least a pack or two.”

That earns me an almost-smile from her—the first since this little chat began.

Settling back into my chair, I level her with an expectant look. “Well? What’s it gonna be? Will you stay with me?”

“Let me get this straight: you’re really not going to fire me for all the terrible things I wrote about you?” She furrows her brow, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “You want me to talk to you, my boss, like that? Sarcasm, snark, and all?”

“That’s precisely what I want.”

“But I called you . . .” She trails off, looking mortified.

“A tyrannical, control-freak, big swinging dick?” I supply, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. “Among a host of other creative descriptors. I’m aware.”

She exhales a stream of smoke. “You’re never going to forget that one, are you?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s not every day I’m so eloquently insulted.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe that one was a smidge childish. But you know you can be an unreasonable man at times. Are you honestly going to sit there and tell me you disagree with my assessment of your character?”

Bold little thing, isn’t she? I like this new, unfiltered Gemma already.

“An unreasonable man? My, we’re certainly not holding back now, are we?”

She meets my gaze head-on, unflinching. “Figured there’s no point. Might as well own it.”

I smile. “Well, I do disagree. See, from where I’m sitting, I’m the height of fucking reason. I pay my people well enough to retire by thirty if they’re smart about it. And I make my expectations clear from day one. No one signs on with Ashbury Thornton blindly. They know exactly what they’re getting into, and they choose it anyway. So you’ll have to forgive me if I have little patience for whining when I push them to be the best damn versions of themselves.”

She narrows those fiery green eyes at me, a muscle ticking in her jaw. “Maybe the problem isn’t with your expectations, but with your approach. You can be . . . let’s see, how do I put this delicately? A demanding, antagonistic pain in the ass.”

I throw my head back and laugh, genuinely tickled by her brazen honesty. “Gemma Jones, unleashed and uncensored. I’m quite enjoying her so far. But I don’t have all night to sit here and verbally spar, as entertaining as it is. So, what’s it going be? You still planning on jumping ship, or are you going to stick it out with me?”

She takes a long, contemplative drag of her cigarette, exhaling slowly. “Sorry. It’s a no.”

What?

I stare at her for a long moment, sizing her up. When she doesn’t so much as move a face muscle, I let out a frustrated sigh. What employee doesn’t react to a fifty percent top up?

I find myself doing something shocking. “Fine. I’ll double your salary.”

She can’t help the blood draining from her face, her pupils dilating with shock. And damn if I’m not reacting too. I rub my palm roughly against the leather armchair. I may be a billionaire, but it’s not an offer I make lightly. I know exactly how much she’s paid and how much this stunt is going to cost me. Miss Jones will be raking in more than most of my top execs, and that’s saying something.

“Okay. I’ll consider your proposal,” she says at last. “But I have a condition of my own.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Ollie shouldn’t be managing so many juniors. They can’t go to him with problems—he has no patience for inexperience. He gives scathing critiques, which works on a certain type of person to a degree. But he hurls demeaning insults at junior employees to assert his dominance. He has no qualms about publicly berating or humiliating juniors in front of others. Other financial institutions have already woken up to the fact that staff can’t be treated this way. It’s not Mad Men.”

“Not this song and dance again,” I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Fine.” She stands abruptly, calling my bluff with a defiant tilt of her chin.

“Gemma,” I growl. “I can’t just upend someone’s entire job description on a whim because you say so.”

“It’s just a change in protocol. The juniors shouldn’t be tossed straight into the shark tank with Ollie. We have other managers better equipped to actually mentor them, nurture their potential. When they’re ready for Rottweiler Ollie, we hand them over. We can spin it to him that we’re prepping them for his elite squad,” she says with a sarcastic edge. “Put me in charge of the restructure, Liam. Let me handle it, and I promise you’ll see a marked improvement in junior retention and performance.”

She stares me down unflinchingly, tendrils of smoke curling around her like a halo. I have to admit, I’m impressed. With all the incentives she could’ve demanded, all the perks and pay bumps, she chooses to go to bat for the most vulnerable members of the company. It’s admirable, even if I’m not entirely convinced the change is necessary.

“I don’t know why but you’re desperate to beat Vertex out of the UK market,” she says. “Which means securing that massive TLS acquisition is priority number one. And you need me now more than ever.”

I’m honestly floored by the sheer audacity of her power play. And the infuriating thing is, she’s not wrong. Come hell or high water, we will win that TLS bid. There’s no way I’m letting that arrogant prick Harrington outmaneuver me on my home turf. Not in this lifetime.

“All right. You’ve made your point,” I concede, holding up a hand in surrender. “We’ll hash out the details of this restructuring tomorrow.”

She tries and fails to hide the brief flash of triumph that lights up her face before the mask of professionalism slams back into place. “Good. You’ll see the long-term benefits, trust me. I’ll need that guarantee in writing, though.”

“Not a problem. See how reasonable I can be?”

She lets out a derisive little snort. “Please. We both know you’d toss me aside in a heartbeat if it served your bottom line.”

“Fortunately for you, keeping a valuable asset like yourself aligns with my interests currently.” I regard her coolly, one eyebrow arched. “Are you satisfied now?”

She swallows hard, her bravado starting to wane. “I’d be a lot more satisfied if this whole mortifying ordeal had never happened. How am I supposed to look you in the eye after . . .”

“After I’ve had the distinct pleasure of perusing your fantasies?” I smirk, fully aware I’m being an asshole.

Her head snaps up, green eyes flashing fire. “Don’t think for a second this means I have any affection for you, Liam. I loathe you as much as ever.”

“You’ve made that quite clear. But we both know that’s not how sexual attraction works, is it? You can hate my guts with every fiber of your being and still want to fuck my brains out on a primal level you can’t control.”

She sucks in a sharp breath at my brazen words, color flooding her cheeks as the blatant truth detonates between us.

“Well, at least I know your only witness to those little fantasies was your pussy,” I add casually, taking a slow sip of my drink.

“My . . . pussy?” she croaks out, eyes wide.

I tsk, shaking my head. “I have to admit, I was starting to seriously question your living situation.”

Her eyes go even wider, realization and mortification warring on her face. “Oh, for fuck’s— I wrote about my cat, Winnie. Jesus, this literally cannot get any worse.” She seems to be muttering more to herself than to me at this point.

I hold up a hand, cutting off her spiraling panic. “All right, here’s what’s going to happen.” I pluck the cigarette from her fingers and extinguish it into an ashtray. “You’re going to march back out into that party and be at your desk bright and early tomorrow morning. You’re going to delete that diary of yours and never make such a rookie mistake again. And then you’re going to keep being the brilliant asset I know you are. And we’ll pretend this ridiculous tantrum of yours never happened. Understood?”

Her jaw clenches mutinously, but she nods. “Understood.”

“Excellent.” I wave a dismissive hand. “Now see yourself out.”

She turns on her heel, clearly battling to keep her composure until she’s out of my sight.

“Oh, and Gemma?” I call out as she reaches the door.

She stops, glancing warily over one shoulder.

“For what it’s worth, those fantasies of yours don’t even scratch the surface of reality.” I let my gaze brazenly appraise her form, my hand tightening around the chair rest. “Too bad you’ll never have the pleasure of finding out firsthand just how thoroughly I could wreck you. I don’t mix business with fucking, as a rule.”

Her face scrunches up in anger and she storms out, slamming the door.