Love to Loathe Him: A Billionaire Office Romance
Love to Loathe Him: Chapter 22

I yank irritably at the starched collar of my tuxedo shirt as I step into the hotel ballroom. The thing feels like a noose around my neck, choking me after a day of freedom on the open water. I’d much rather be in my sailing gear, now filthy and reeking of sweat and sea salt, and back on the boat by myself.

The room is crawling with drunken imbeciles who think they’re hot shit just because they managed to stay upright on a boat for a few hours. It’s a predictable pattern—once the sailing’s done, those who couldn’t navigate their way out of a bathtub get completely shitfaced, celebrating their pointless participation.

As I push through the crowd of shouting people and spilled booze, my gaze lands on a sight that makes my jaw tighten.

Alastair fucking Harrington leaning against the bar, a drink in his hand, looking like he owns the place. And next to him, perched on a bar stool with her legs crossed, is none other than Gemma. She’s saying something to him, her head tilted up to him.

Like he has any right to breathe the same air as her. To touch her arm like he is right now, his fingers lingering on her skin in a way that makes me want to break every bone in his hand.

My HR manager, which means she’s off-limits to other opportunistic bastards.

My HR manager who looks entirely too fuckable in that tight red dress, the hem riding up her thighs as she crosses and uncrosses her legs.

Seeing Harrington blatantly infringing on my territory launches me forward with an aggravated stride.

I don’t know what Gemma’s playing at, but my control is wearing thin, and now it’s worse seeing her with him.

The way she looks tonight . . . it’s enough to make me want to drag her back to the boat and fuck her out of my system. Out of hers too so she can go back to looking at me like she hates me.

I took an ice-cold shower on the boat, trying to quell the raging hard-on she gave me earlier. Didn’t work. My mind’s still full of her, wondering what she tastes like, how she’d—

“Where are you going with a face like an angry bull?” Edward steps in front of me, his smirk a familiar sight that usually calms me. Not tonight. He’s decked out to the nines, looking every inch the distinguished surgeon.

I pat him on the shoulder. “Good to see you. Didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Looks like I found you just in time to stop another fight breaking out.”

“I wasn’t going to fight.” My eyes dart back to Gemma. “I’m just going to rescue my HR manager from that insufferable prick.”

Edward’s gaze follows mine, taking in the scene with a contemplative hum. “She doesn’t look like she needs rescuing,” he observes. His eyes widen in realization. “This must be the lovely Gemma. Quite a stunner, isn’t she? Reminds me of the mermaid on your chest, come to think of it.”

He chuckles, and I instinctively rub at the inked design beneath my shirt, as if to ensure it’s still there.

“Alastair’s just flirting with her to get to me,” I mutter, unable to tear my eyes away from the pair.

“It would appear he’s succeeding. When on earth are you two going to set aside this feud?” Edward’s voice carries a note of exasperation.

“Never. He’s tried to fuck me over too many times.”

“Yes, well, you also fucked with the most important thing in his life. Can you blame the man?”

I roll my eyes.

“Liam, cool it.” He frowns. “This is a charity event.”

My eyes are on Gemma as she laughs again, the sound carrying over the low hum of conversation.

He lets out a sigh. “Go on then. Go rescue the poor girl from Alastair’s clutches. I’ll be around if you need me after the ceremony.”

“I will.”

Edward nods and slaps me on the back as I make my way across the room. With each step, I feel my blood pressure rise. The sight of Alastair leaning into Gemma, his hand casually resting on the bar behind her, has my vision clouding.

I know I shouldn’t care. I know this is exactly what Alastair wants. But right now, all I can think about is getting Gemma away from him.

“Alastair,” I bite out as I reach them, my voice cutting through their laughter. “Becoming a habit of yours, sniffing around members of my staff, isn’t it?”

Gemma’s eyes go wide, her mouth falling open at my bluntness. “Liam!”

But I ignore her, my gaze locked on Harrington. He chuckles, unfazed as always by my open aggression, and straightens to his full height. “Don’t worry, Gemma, I’m used to Liam’s charming disposition by now.”

Prick even has the balls to clap me on the shoulder with that fake jovial familiarity. “Nonetheless, it’s wonderful to see you, Liam. I was beginning to wonder if you were still out nursing your wounded pride from that regatta upset,” he continues, that velvet undercurrent of mockery less veiled now. “But no hard feelings. It’s high time someone else provided some genuine competition, wouldn’t you agree?”

He says it with a smile, like it’s just friendly banter between old chums. But I know what he’s really saying. He’s not fucking talking about the regatta.

I bare my teeth in a taut smile. “Don’t delude yourself, Harrington. If I wanted to hand you your ass, I’d have done so.”

The bell chimes, indicating it’s time to take our seats for dinner.

“Gemma, it’s been a pleasure,” Alastair says, then gives me a wink. “Liam.” He strolls off.

I move to stand beside Gemma at the bar.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, she rounds on me. “That was aggressive, even for you,” she hisses. “What’s gotten into you?”

I grind my teeth, feeling the tension ripple through my jaw. “I don’t want that guy poaching my staff.”

Gemma scoffs, rolling her eyes. “This again? What, I can’t even talk to him? That’s just ridiculous.”

“We’ll fucking see,” I snap, leaning forward. My thigh slips between her legs, the heat of her core searing me even through the layers of fabric separating us. My hand replaces her hip, feeling the silky material of her dress against my palm. It’s an instinctual move, not a conscious one.

She blushes, the pretty pink hue creeping across her cheeks. “Are you staying in our hotel?” she asks quietly.

She shifts slightly on the barstool, and the movement causes her dress to ride up another inch. Her breath hitches as her bare inner thigh brushes against the rough fabric of my trousers.

“No. The boat,” I reply curtly, rolling my jaw in a futile attempt to temper the arousal surging through me. No lines will be crossed tonight.

Her eyes sweep over me, assessing. “The boat? You managed to look like that getting ready on a boat?”

A smirk tugs at my lips. “Was that a compliment I detected in there? Are you saying I clean up well, or were you just insulting my boat?”

“You look far too smart for getting ready on that boat.”

“All I’ve done is shower and put on a suit. What, did you expect me to have a private tailor on standby?”

“No need for the snark, Liam. Why are you staying on the boat anyway? It’s not like you’re strapped for cash.”

I shrug, taking a sip of my drink. “I prefer it to staying in a hotel.”

Her eyes narrow. “You mean you don’t want to stay with the team.”

“I like to maintain a healthy separation. Boundaries are important.”

She glances down pointedly at my thigh, which is still pressed intimately between her legs. When her eyes meet mine again, there’s a distinct challenge there. “You’re not very separate right now, are you?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is there a point to all these questions, or are you just generally interested in my sleeping arrangements?”

She purses those full lips, and an image flashes of them wrapped around my cock, taking me deep. I blink hard, forcing it away.

“I see brooding billionaire banker Liam is back in full force,” she says. “I have to say, I miss fisherman Liam.”

I lean in just a fraction, my voice dropping to a low rumble. “He misses you too, Gemma. Probably more than he fucking should.”

What the hell am I doing? Flirting with Gemma, of all people? I must be losing my goddamn mind. I need to regain control of the situation.

Gemma seems equally caught off guard by my brazen words, her eyes widening and her breath hitching in a way that has me fighting to remember my rule.

Clearing my throat, I take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between us. “We should head to the table. Dinner will be starting soon, and I don’t want to be responsible for the HR manager going hungry.”

Maybe if I keep reminding myself of her position, I’ll be able to keep my dick in check. Understand that this is more effort than it’s worth.

She blinks, coming back to herself. “Right. We should go.”

Gemma and I are the last ones to reach our table, and it’s clear the team has left the two seats right in the middle open for us. Twenty of them are there—from finance to IT, and of course, my two top sailors who were delegated to the other boat. The boat that actually had a chance in the race, that is. They pulled up within a hair’s breadth of us.

I drag out Gemma’s chair for her, and from the look of shock on her face, you’d think I just saved a litter of kittens from a burning building.

“Don’t look so surprised. I am a gentleman, believe it or not.”

She quirks an eyebrow at me, smirking. “I’ll have to double-check the dictionary definition of ‘gentleman,’ then.”

“Just because I demand excellence from my team and I’m not afraid to give orders, doesn’t mean I can’t be one when the situation calls for it. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

We settle into our seats, and I raise my glass, offering a toast to the team.

“Tough break about the loss, Liam,” Robbie says cautiously, cutting into his steak. “Especially against Vertex.”

I smile, but it’s all teeth and no warmth. “I’ll get over it.”

The truth is, losing fucking stings. Especially to Alastair. I hate the thought of that smug prick lording this over me.

Even if Gemma was right and it bought me brownie points with Sir Whitmore.

“So, you’re quite the sailor, huh?” Robbie asks between bites. “You come down here often?”

I cut into my own steak, starving after a day of trying to single-handedly win a sailing race. “I spend a fair amount of time down here, yeah. At least once a month.”

“What is it that you love about sailing?” Gemma asks, those big green eyes of hers fixed on me, like she gives a damn about my answer.

“If you have to ask, Gemma, after the day we just had, then I guess it didn’t make much of an impression on you.”

“No, I enjoyed it! It was just more intense than I expected. Physically demanding. I thought I’d be lounging on deck, soaking up the sun, like Robbie assumed.” She laughs and takes a sip of wine.

“Like Robbie did, more like,” Andy mutters, giving Robbie a pointed look.

Robbie just grins and knocks his glass against Andy’s with an exaggerated wink, clearly enjoying needling his teammate.

“What do I love about sailing?” I say, locking eyes with Gemma to answer her question. “It’s the thrill of someone more powerful than me being in control. It’s a challenge.”

She tries to hide a smirk behind her glass. “Skipper Magee?”

“No, Gemma,” I chuckle, leaning back in my chair. “Not the skipper. The sea.”

As Alastair takes the stage to accept his award, his voice dripping with false modesty, I’m not thinking about how I lost the race to that smug bastard. I’m not seething with the desire to wipe away his self-satisfied grin with my fist.

No, my mind is elsewhere, fixated on the way Gemma’s red dress clings to her curves, the way her eyes sparkle when she laughs at something Robbie says. I replace myself wanting to be the one responsible for that radiant sparkle in her gaze.

And as Sir Whitmore approaches our table, thanking us for taking care of his grandson, and Gemma somehow manages to convince him to come to our office to properly address their concerns about the acquisition, I’m not even thinking about how this play benefits me. Or how it puts us in a stronger position.

I’m distracted, drawn to the way her fiery red hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders, begging to be fisted in my hands.

Through it all, I can’t take my fucking eyes off her.

Sharing drinks with Edward after dinner, I keep one eye on Gemma’s social butterfly act. Edward notices, of course. Nothing gets past that bastard.

And now, lying in bed on the boat, the gentle rocking of the waves doing nothing to calm the heat running through my veins, I’m still thinking about her. Imagining her out there, drinking with the team, laughing and smiling, her cheeks flushed with alcohol and excitement, her inhibitions lowered.

And so, I do something completely out of character.

Something reckless.