Love to Loathe Him: Chapter 41

I stare at the email from Sir Whitmore’s admin guy, my heart sinking as I read the confirmation: the carts aren’t getting any fancy “uplifts.” He has no clue what I’m talking about. I had slipped the question into a separate work email, casually mentioning that I just happened to notice Jimmy’s cart was closed down.

That’s all the proof I need of Liam’s lies, right there in black and white.

So for the first time in . . . I can’t even remember how long, I find myself wandering over to St James’s Park for lunch. It’s like my body’s on autopilot, steering me away from the office and away from Liam.

I plop down on the grass, not giving a toss if I stain my work skirt. I kick off my pumps and let my toes wiggle in the grass. Some people come here every day for a one-hour lunch break. I bet they don’t even check their emails while they chew.

I love this park. The ducks and royal swans are just living their best lives, gliding around that cute lake, surrounded by greenery and wildlife. It’s like someone took a chunk of countryside and plopped it in the middle of London.

Sandwich in hand, I just . . . observe. When was the last time I looked at the world around me instead of my bloody inbox?

The park’s buzzing with life and disgustingly happy people. There’s a group of office workers nearby, shoes off, lounging in circles. They look like they enjoy each other’s company, like they’re not constantly trying to one-up each other for a bigger bonus. Imagine that.

Families are spread out on picnic blankets. A wedding party’s doing a photoshoot by the flowerbeds. Dogs are everywhere, chasing balls, sniffing bums and doing general dog stuff.

People are trying to coax squirrels over, which isn’t exactly a difficult task. The squirrels in London aren’t shy. They’ll eat right out of your hand, or rather, mug you for your sandwich faster than you can say “oh, how cute!” Just like the brazen city pigeons and foxes. Everyone’s hustling in this city, even the wildlife.

Across the way, in a spot in the shade, there’s a yoga class. Imagine doing yoga at lunchtime.

They’re all getting up from their mats now, bowing and doing that namaste stuff to the teacher—some tanned bloke with hair like a Pantene advert. This is the sort of thing I should be doing.

I came here to clear my head, to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do next. Do I confront Liam in a blaze of righteous fury?

God knows I want to. I want to storm into his office and tell him exactly where he can shove his compartmentalization.

He led me on, told me he didn’t share. What a joke.

I feel the tears welling up again, hot and angry, burning behind my eyes. I’m furious with him, sure, but I’m even more furious with myself. How could I have been so bloody stupid? I’ve known what he’s like for years. And yet, I still slept with him in a whirlwind and let myself believe he had feelings for me.

My chest feels tight.

I want to go back in time and shake some sense into past Gemma. Grab her by the shoulders before she sat down in the Executive Lounge that night. Before she kicked off this chain of events that’s led me here, to this park, crying into my sandwich.

Men are always different when you’re sleeping with them, aren’t they? More charming, less . . . well, less like themselves. Liam’s not stupid—it makes his life easier to be Prince Charming when he’s in your knickers.

And deep down, I think fisherman Liam exists, but as he says, he can compartmentalize. On top of expertly keeping his work separate from his personal life, he can do the same with women. Of course it makes sense. The red flags were all there, waving in my face, and I ignored them. Stupid, stupid Gemma.

I flop down flat on the grass, the blades tickling my bare arms, and look up at the sky. So blue. So peaceful. So unlike what’s going on inside me. I just feel . . . fucking sad.

“Gemma?” a voice asks from the clouds.

I sit up too quickly, feeling lightheaded.

The yoga instructor is smiling down at me. I look at him in confusion. I know him, I just don’t know why. Shit.

“Michael?” I gasp when it finally dawns on me.

He chuckles, lending me a hand to get to my feet.

Michael, our old marketing manager who ran away to the Himalayas to get away from Liam. The one who used to have a panic attack every time Liam so much as looked in his general direction.

“I . . . How are you?” I say, stunned. He looks so different. Muscular. Tanned. Long hair. Kind of like a sexy Jason Momoa. He looks hot. What the hell happened to the pasty, stressed-out bloke I used to know?

“I’m great.” He grins. “I’m just finishing teaching a yoga class here.” I see the mat rolled under his arm. “Bit of a change, huh?”

“Wow.” I’m speechless. “So you’re okay now?”

“Couldn’t be better. Liam firing me was like . . . the universe’s way of giving me a cosmic kick up the ass. At the time it felt like my world was ending, but now? It’s great, the best thing to ever happen me.”

“We heard you went to the Himalayas.”

“I spent a few months in that area. You should go sometime. Got my yoga certification and life’s been pretty good.” His grin widens. “Hey, it’s not all downward dogs and sunshine. I get paid pretty shit now, but it’s all good, you know? I need to start somewhere, and I have some savings from Ashbury Thornton.”

I nod. I can’t believe how good he looks. “You look so . . . healthy.”

He laughs, a sound of pure joy. “Yeah, I look back at photos at Ashbury Thornton and I look bloody sick, like I’m dying.” I can’t argue with that. “How’s things with you, Gemma? You still at Ashbury Thornton?”

“Yes. I’m . . .” I was going to lie, but what’s the point? “I think I need to go to the Himalayas.”

Or maybe just throw myself off them. That’s probably frowned upon in yoga circles, though.

“That bad?”

I nod, not able to talk because I’m scared I’ll cry.

He takes both my shoulders in his hands, like he’s about to perform an exorcism on my corporate-possessed soul.

“I can feel how stressed you are from how you hold yourself,” he coos, rubbing my shoulders in a way that feels nice. I resist the urge to close my eyes and moan. Or burst into tears.

He’s right, my asshole is permanently puckered from work stress. I’m basically a walking, talking stress ball.

“Just do it. Do what you have to do. It’s a big, beautiful world out there. Live your life in a way that’ll make your spirit sing, you know?” He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deep through his nostrils, as if channeling some higher being. “Hey, I gotta bounce, but come to one of my classes next week, okay? Free of charge. We’ll get those negative ions out of your system, Gem.”

I smile and wave him off.

Liam lured me into a false sense of happiness. Now I feel like I’ll never be happy again.

But I have no right, I tell myself, to feel this upset. This is actually a gift. A gift wrapped in barbed wire, but still a gift. I’m seeing this as devastating, but the reality is I was falling hard and fast for someone who could never be mine. That was the agreement from the beginning. Imagine if I had my heart broken in six months or in a year. Better that it happened now.

I just have to keep my head together until I never have to see him again.

Liam raps his knuckles against my office door that afternoon, his presence commanding attention as always.

His brown eyes are glowing as he strides in, a rare, genuine smile lighting up his face. “It’s done,” he announces, his deep voice thrumming with excitement. “Sir Whitmore is on his way with his lawyers to sign the final papers. We won.”

It’s the most positive emotion I’ve ever seen from him in the workplace.

Cue the Academy Award–winning performance. I plaster on a smile convincing enough to hide the festering wounds beneath. “That’s great!”

He grins at me, oozing with charm. His hand twitches at his side, like he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out and pulling me into his arms. “I wish I could kiss you here. I couldn’t have done it without you, Gemma. You were brilliant.”

“Yep,” I reply, finding it increasingly difficult to maintain this charade. I just want him to leave. Preferably via the window.

One eyebrow arches as he appraises me. “I expected a little more enthusiasm from you, darling.”

I wince, hating the way that endearment falls from his lips. It hurts.

It’s the first time he’s used a pet name for me in the office. He must have forgotten his gift for compartmentalization for a hot minute. Or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit anymore.

“I’m sorry, I’m just really tired.” It’s not a complete lie. I’m exhausted. Crying yourself to sleep tends to be quite draining.

“We’re going to have some drinks tonight for the teams up on the roof. We’ll celebrate this evening. I gotta go sort some last-minute stuff with our lawyers. But I can’t wait to spoil you for all your hard work on this. Having you by my side through it all . . . it’s meant a lot to me.”

My phone rings, a blessed interruption from this hellish conversation. Saved by the bell.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Liam says, heading for the door. He pauses, turning back with that rare, genuine smile. “This is big, Gemma. Really big. Thank you.”

Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, asshole.

I don’t even bother answering my phone, letting it ring out as I watch him leave. Everyone needs to fuck off today, and that includes you, Caller ID Unknown. The world can burn for all I care. I’m done playing nice.

Looks like I wasn’t the only one played for a fool by Liam McLaren. Sir Whitmore finally caved. Poor bastard. Welcome to the club.

I remember telling him that Liam was a straight shooter. That you might not like him, but he was a man of his word. What a joke. The only thing straight about Liam is his cock when he’s buried inside his latest conquest. I hope his next conquest has vagina teeth like in that movie, and it falls off.

I stab at my keyboard with unnecessary force, channeling all my anger and betrayal into the mundane task of pulling up the details for our new recruit. If only human resources came with a manual on how to handle a lying, cheating, boss-turned-lover. Chapter One: How to Resist the Urge to Castrate the Bastard. Chapter Two: How to Move on When You’re Dead Inside.

As I seethe at my desk, I notice some of the admin staff carrying bottles of champagne and wine, headed straight for the company kitchen. Liam is there, chatting with the teams, looking as relaxed as a fucking cat that got the cream. And why wouldn’t he be? He just landed the deal of a lifetime and got to fuck over his mistress in the process. It’s a win-win for him. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here with a broken heart and a burning desire to set his designer suits on fire. Soon I’ll just be the silly HR girl he used to get his rocks off.

“Of course he won the bid,” I mutter bitterly under my breath. “Men like him always get what they want.”

I must be losing my mind.

An hour later, I’m on the trading floor discussing the new pension plan with some traders when a commotion erupts at reception. A group of about ten men stroll in, flanked by the admin team, and they’re headed straight for Liam’s office. And right there in the middle of the pack is Sir Whitmore himself.

“Gemma,” he greets me kindly as he passes by on his way to Liam’s office.

“Hi, Sir.” I smile, masking my inner turmoil. “I heard the news.”

He returns my smile with a sad one of his own. “Let us hope it works out for the best, my dear.”

My eyes lock with Liam’s through the glass walls of his office. For a fleeting moment, I see past my heartbreak and see the cold, calculating businessman he truly is.

He watches me intently as I stand with Sir Whitmore, and in that instant, I know exactly what I need to do. It’s like a switch flips in my brain. The “fuck this shit” switch. The one that’s been gathering dust for far too long.

“It won’t work out,” I blurt out before Sir Whitmore can turn to head into Liam’s office.

He pauses, and one of his lawyers sighs impatiently. “Sir, we really need to be—”

But Sir Whitmore’s attention is fixed on me. “What’s wrong, Gemma?”

My heart starts to race, pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. “Can I talk to you for a second? In my office?”

He nods to his entourage. “Gentlemen, give me a moment.”

To my shock he follows me. I don’t need to look to know Liam has emerged from his office, no doubt wondering why Sir Whitmore isn’t already in the boardroom, with him, not me. I can feel the heat of his stare scorching me from across the room.

I swallow hard, struggling to find the words. What the hell am I doing?

“Do go on,” Sir Whitmore gently encourages, his posh accent making this whole situation feel even more surreal.

“Do you want to take a seat, sir?” I ask, pulling out the guest chair, my hands visibly shaking. I’m pretty sure I’m about to pass out from sheer nerves.

“No, no, it’s quite all right. I shall be sitting down soon enough. I do prefer to stay on my feet when I can.”

“Okay.” I clear my throat awkwardly as I see Ollie and one of the other execs heading toward my office like a pair of sharks who’ve smelled blood in the water.

Shit shit shit.

But it’s too late. The words are bubbling up inside me, clawing their way out of my throat. “Sir, you said let’s hope it works out for the best. Well, I don’t believe it will.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. Come on. You’ve already lit the match. Might as well burn the whole fucking house down.

“Liam asked me to present the company and him in a good light. To tell you that we care about people and that we’ll do anything to maintain our integrity. When I said those things to you, I meant them, but I’ve since learned that’s not the case.”

I look Sir Whitmore straight in the eye. “You can’t trust your company with Liam or Alastair. They’re both unscrupulous, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get what they want. Believe me, I’ve seen it firsthand.”

My words are coming faster now, unstoppable. “Alastair bribes people in our company to feed him information, which I’m pretty sure counts as corporate espionage, but I guess you can do that when your dad is a Lord. And Liam? Liam fucks his business rival’s wife because he will use any means necessary to get what he wants.”

My voice rises with emotion. “I hate the scandals that get covered up. I hate the incredible work pressures we put on our people, and I hate the obsession that we have with money and winning at all costs. I tried to tell them to maintain the charities and the legacy, but it’s become clear to me that’s not going to happen. And as a result, I’m handing in my resignation and I’ll no longer be working at this company. But whatever choice you make with Liam or Alistair, or hopefully neither of them, it’s yours to make.”

I take a breath, my heart hammering so much I feel light-headed.

“Hmmm.” Sir Whitmore clears his throat, looking gobsmacked. He blinks a few times, trying to wrap his head around the bombshell I just dropped.

“Sorry for the language, sir,” I whisper, the absurdity of apologizing for swearing when I’ve just accused two powerful men of corruption not lost on me.

Ollie is right outside the door, glaring at me with murder in his eyes. He raps sharply on the glass.

Sir Whitmore glances at him, then back to me. “Thank you for your honesty, Gemma. Although I fear it may be a tad late.” He takes a breath, his eyes softening. “Do take care of yourself, my dear.”

He says it like he knows this is it for me. Like I’ve just signed my own pink slip.

Ollie opens the door, his voice dripping with barely concealed fury. “Sir, if you could come this way.”

I raise my hand in a pathetic little wave goodbye to Sir Whitmore and turn back around to gather my things from my desk, my heart racing as the reality of what I’ve done sinks in.