Love to Loathe Him: Chapter 16

I exit the bathroom and do a sweep of the crowded ballroom, trying to spot Liam’s broad shoulders in the sea of penguin suits. I finally spot him in a secluded corner and stop dead.

Because he’s leaned up against the wall, giving this stunning blond woman the most unbelievably sexy smile. And whatever he just said to her makes her throw her head back with a laugh.

I sidestep back out of view, not wanting him to catch me watching this little performance.

He doesn’t smile like that in the office. Funny I’ve never seen him charm a woman and now I feel like I’m seeing it in full force.

A very surprising pang of . . . something . . . stabs my chest. It’s not jealousy. It’s just professional indignation. Yeah, that’s it. We might be boss and employee but I’m technically his date here tonight, even if no one knows that. Surely he can respect me enough not to come on to someone else while I’m here?

The woman laughs again, and I can’t help wondering what the hell Liam could have possibly said to get that kind of reaction. Or whether aliens took over his body and turned him into this charming guy I’ve never seen before.

Hang on . . . isn’t that the woman who was seated beside Alastair Harrington earlier? Is that what this is all about? Liam flirting with her to antagonize Alastair?

From where I’m standing, he seems invested. More than just putting on a show.

And I can’t blame him. The woman is gorgeous with a Scandinavian air: tall, lean but with curves, and a beautiful face. She puts her hand softly on his arm and smiles at him, and something in my chest twists. Not jealousy.

I tear my eyes away. Liam doesn’t need me cramping his style anymore, not after we’ve already talked to Sir Whitmore.

I stride away, wishing this night was already over. Couples are swaying to the band’s slow jazz, and part of me considers firing off a text to Liam asking if he wants me to leave.

Or do I try to charm the Whitmores by myself? I don’t know what Liam expects of me now. Probably to disappear into thin air so he can continue his flirtation uninterrupted.

“Allow me the honor of this dance?” A smooth voice sounds from behind me.

I turn to find Alastair Harrington giving me an easy, dimpled smile. “Since your boss seems to have forgotten his manners and abandoned you,” he adds with just a hint of reproach.

“Your date won’t mind?” I ask.

“My wife, Victoria?” he drawls, oozing that gentrified, Oxbridge sophistication. “Not at all. She’s occupied chatting with her girlfriend.”

No she’s not, buddy. Unless by “girlfriend” you mean “my handsome boss who looks like he wants to fuck your wife.”

He takes a step closer, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his perfectly tailored tuxedo trousers. “Besides, after fifteen years married, she trusts me implicitly. And has every reason to.” He chuckles, as if him cheating is an impossibility so far-fetched it’s funny. “It’s Gemma, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I reply, surprised he remembers. “We’ve met a few times before at conferences.”

“Of course. I don’t forget a face.” He holds out his hand expectantly. “Shall we?”

I shift uncertainly, aware that dancing with Liam’s chief rival in no way fits into tonight’s agenda of corporate schmoozing and deal-making. But a petty part of me thinks, if Liam can flirt with Alastair’s wife, why can’t I dance with Alastair? Liam hasn’t even bothered to go looking for me.

My gaze darts involuntarily toward the corner where I’d last spotted Liam, but he seems to have vanished from view. Probably off to some even darker corner with Ms. Swedish Supermodel. I place my hand in Alastair’s, letting him lead me out onto the dance floor.

Alastair’s arm slides around my waist with a confident but respectful possession, the other capturing my hand and pulling me closer as we begin swaying in measured time to the music.

“Don’t worry, I won’t put you in an awkward position,” he murmurs. “No harsh commentary on your boss, I promise.”

“Thank you.” I exhale, relieved.

“First time attending one of these shindigs, I take it?”

“Is it that obvious?” I laugh it off.

“Not at all.” But the gleam in his eyes says otherwise.

Alastair’s an attractive guy, I’ll give him that. A Mr. Darcy type. I don’t really know much about him, or the story behind his and Liam’s epic rivalry. Maybe it’s just a male ego thing—both wanting to be top dog. Surely this city is massive enough for both their substantial egos. But it feels like more than that.

“So, what made you decide to move back to the UK from the States?” I ask as Alastair steers me expertly around the dance floor.

“I missed home, I suppose. Victoria was especially keen to call time and repatriate back across the pond.”

“I hope you’re both settling in okay so far.”

“Quite well, thanks.” That dimpled smile flashes briefly, but it’s forced. “Vertex have just moved into Tower 79 in the city, opposite your Ashbury Thornton offices. You’ll have to pop over for drinks on our rooftop terrace sometime. We’ve got the top two floors.”

My brain does some quick calculations. Their office has a view down onto the Ashbury Thornton floors. Liam must be furious. Alastair has him outmatched when it comes to real estate supremacy.

I can’t resist digging. “So does your invitation to drinks extend to Liam as well? You two have known each other for a long time, right?”

Something inscrutable flashes across Alastair’s chiseled features before being efficiently smothered. “We attended the same boarding school, yes.”

“You were friends?”

“We’ve had our differences. But I’d like to think we’ve matured enough to put any lingering animosities aside. I don’t subscribe to the notion that one simply cannot maintain personal friendships between professional rivals.”

I squirm inwardly, remembering Liam’s pep talk about ruthlessly crushing Alastair’s firm.

“Of course,” I reply. “That’s the only way you should do business.”

“And I pride myself on conducting business in a manner befitting a gentleman, Gemma.” Alastair’s dimpled smile doesn’t quite reach his pale eyes. “Not everyone can say the same.”

The veiled barb aimed at Liam hangs unspoken between us.

I decide to move the subject to safer topics. “How long have you and Victoria been together?”

Alastair’s features instantly soften into a fond expression. “I’ve known Victoria since we were at school together. It was a case of first love that blossomed into something lasting.”

“That’s lovely,” I reply. An image of Liam flirting with Victoria flashes through my head.

“What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?” Alastair asks smoothly as he executes a gentle twirl, pulling me back into his arms.

I shake my head. “Not at the moment.”

“Hmm.” His eyes sparkle with amusement. “I’m sure any chap wouldn’t be too chuffed about you attending events with McLaren.”

I instantly stiffen at the implication in his mild tone. “Liam is very professional.”

Even as I say the words, my gaze drifts back to the corner where he’s probably still shamelessly flirting with Victoria . . . the picture of professionalism.

“You know, we’ve been looking to bring someone on to head up our HR and Workforce Planning teams. You should come in and interview.”

My heart skips a beat at the casual job offer. “But you already have an HR lead.” I even know the guy, Colin.

“We do.” He nods. “And he’ll be remaining in his role. I’m creating an entirely new senior position overseeing multiple departments—human resources, workforce planning, training. And you would be perfect.”

The gleam in his eye reveals the truth.

As much as I’d love to believe I’m just that damn good, I know there’s more to this poaching attempt than meets the eye. Alastair’s trying to get under Liam’s skin. He doesn’t know nearly enough about my capabilities for this offer to be genuine.

There’s something deeper going on here, beyond CEOs going up against each other. Liam went out of his way to outbid Alastair on that boat, and now Alastair’s retaliating by trying to steal me away. And it’s making me more and more curious.

“Gemma.” His voice dips into a warm, seductive timbre. “Anyone who can survive working under McLaren for as long as you have, without resigning or getting themselves fired, is a rare talent. Arrange a meeting with my PA. I’d like you to interview directly with me for this opportunity.”

“I will,” I say smoothly. I’m not naive enough to think this offer is legit, or that Alastair’s company is some magical wonderland where everyone sings “Kumbaya.” Beneath that charming exterior, Alastair is likely just as cut-throat as Liam.

Alastair’s lips curve into a satisfied smile. “I take it Liam splashed out and bought himself a fancy new yacht for the upcoming regatta?”

“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.