Love to Loathe Him: A Billionaire Office Romance
Love to Loathe Him: Chapter 39

I spend two glorious weeks living a double life, playing the part of fisherman Liam’s carefree companion on the weekends and then transforming into the dutiful employee of banker Liam during the week.

I’m living in two worlds, each one tucked away in its own little box. Just like he wants me to.

We don’t talk about what we are. We’re keeping things casual, still pretending that our private moments together are separate from our professional lives. But the more time I spend with him, the more I feel myself slipping, tumbling headfirst into a sea of dangerous, delicious hope.

When I’m with him at the coast, he’s . . . different. Calmer. Softer. And now, there’s this shift in me too. It took me a while to pinpoint it, but I’m finally starting to understand—I feel safe with him. Like he’s got my back, and for once, I can let my guard down and just relax.

I know it’s risky. Lizzie shoots me pointed looks every time I come home with a dreamy expression on my face. But I can’t help it. I’m trying so hard not to let myself get carried away, but it’s like trying to stop the tide from coming in. I’m even starting to think like a fisherman’s wife, with all my cheesy sea puns and nautical metaphors.

Now I’m in business mode meeting Alastair, like I agreed to, to discuss the “potential job role” he has.

Alastair is already at the Silk Table—the same place Liam and I came to not so long ago—when I arrive, but the booths are so secluded I can’t see him. These CEO types and their love for exclusivity and privacy. Not like fisherman Liam. He’s more of a prawn taco from a beachside cart kind of guy.

The hostess guides me to Alastair’s booth, and he rises to greet me.

I plaster on my most dazzling smile. I’m here for one reason only, and it’s not the fancy food or the expensive wine or the company.

No, I’m here as an information leech, ready to extract as much intel from this slick-talker as I can. Ideally try to figure out who the mole is, since our IT department is taking their sweet time.

“Gemma, you look radiant,” Alastair says, his eyes raking over me as he takes my hand in his. His smile is warm but there’s a calculating glint in his eye that has my Spidey senses tingling.

“Alastair, it’s so wonderful to see you again,” I gush.

We take our seats as two waiters fuss around us, pouring water and offering menus.

“Have you been here before?” he asks.

“I have, actually,” I say, before realizing my mistake. Shit. I can’t exactly tell him that Liam brought me here on a date. “With Liam and some of the team,” I babble, trying to cover my tracks. “For a work dinner.”

Alastair gives a small smirk, like he sees right through my bullshit. “Ah, yes. This restaurant would be very convenient for Liam.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about. Liam doesn’t live that near here. The office isn’t nearby either. But I don’t want to ask too many questions given Liam took me here on a date.

So I leave it with a polite “Hmm.”

Alastair kicks things off with mundane chit-chat—asking about my day, where I live, rambling on about his posh sailing club in Putney near my flat. He goes on and on about his stunning wife, Vicky, and all the picture-perfect holidays they take together, complete with horses and yachts and everything else that screams “we have it all.”

Blah, blah, blah. I nod and smile at the right moments, making the appropriate sounds of admiration whenever he drops a name or brags about yet another luxury holiday surprise for Vicky.

This goes on through all of dinner. I choose chicken because I’m a little sick of fish after all my coastal trips.

I’m momentarily distracted when a man—who must be at least 100 and looks like Skipper Magee’s rich, slightly creepy cousin—walks past with his hand on a twenty-year-old’s ass. Wow. I guess money really can buy anything.

When Alastair brings up that job opportunity he mentioned before, I get the distinct feeling it’s not actually the main item on his agenda tonight. It’s like he’s just going through the motions, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

He seems politely interested when I ask questions about Vertex, but there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. Our conversation is just so polite and mundane, skirting around anything of real substance.

I’m starting to wonder why he invited me out to dinner in the first place. Maybe he is sincere about the job offer? Or was this an elaborate ruse, plying me with booze until I spill Ashbury Thornton’s deepest, darkest secrets?

Whatever it is, he’s taking his sweet time, waiting until we are a bottle of wine down.

As the waiters clear away our dinner plates, I decide it’s time to test the waters, to see if I can get Alastair to show his hand. I’ve had just about enough of this polite song and dance routine.

“You certainly put together a tempting package at Vertex,” I say casually, swirling my wine in my glass. “In fact we lost a candidate to you recently.”

Alastair’s lips curve into a knowing smile, and I can tell from the gleam in his eye that he knows exactly who I’m talking about—my South Korean superstar, the one I worked my ass off to woo to Ashbury Thornton.

Poaching son of a bitch.

“I suppose great minds think alike when it comes to recognizing talent,” he says smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “We’re simply doing what we can to attract the best and the brightest. No hard feelings, I hope.”

“Of course not,” I reply, my tone just as even and measured as his. “As you say, great minds think alike. Your recruitment team must have also been watching her.”

Poaching lying son of a bitch.

“Indeed.” Alastair takes a refined sip of his wine, his pinky finger slightly extended. “We have a particularly generous maternity package and working mother’s program. It tends to help us attract the crème de la crème of talent. Life isn’t all about work, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“Absolutely. Which is why I made sure our maternity package at Ashbury Thornton is perfect.”

He fiddles with his wedding ring, the diamond catching the light ostentatiously. “My dear Vicky laments that she scarcely sees enough of me. Hence, I’m rather passionate about ensuring our employees enjoy a proper work-life balance.”

“Hmm.” I nod politely, bored with this game.

“Have you given any thought to settling down, Gemma?” he asks.

I hate this question. It’s so stupid. If I did want to settle down, it must be obvious why I haven’t. “I’m focused on my career right now.”

“That’s smart. You’re certainly going places. In the prime of your life, with a sterling reputation to boot.”

“Yeah, I’ve worked hard.”

“I hope you don’t mind me saying this, and I know it might sound a bit antiquated, but I think you’d agree that in our industry, it can be difficult for young, attractive women to be taken seriously in finance. People do tend to make the most dreadful assumptions.”

The shift in tone is immediate. It’s clear Alastair is getting down to what he really wants to talk about.

“What assumptions would someone make about me?” I ask, my voice carefully neutral.

“There’s nothing wrong with a workplace affair between two consenting adults. I would simply hate to see you risk your reputation on a fantasy. You wouldn’t be the first and no doubt you won’t be the last.”

I’m confused for a long, hot second. And the way Alastair looks at me, with that smug, knowing glint in his eye, tells me this is the effect he was hoping to achieve.

A tendril of dread starts to creep in, coiling in the pit of my stomach. I take a large, steadying gulp of my water. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”

“You see, you have this spotless reputation, but your . . . boss, shall we say, does not. It’s terribly unfortunate how one can be tarred with the same brush, as it were,” he says, all wide-eyed innocence, before proceeding to order us another bottle of ridiculously expensive wine.

My stomach drops. What the hell does he know about me and Liam? And how does he know it? My mind races, trying to piece together what he’s playing at here.

Does the man have people trailing us or something? Knowing my luck, Alastair was probably on that damn birdwatching boat.

“What are you referring to?” I ask, struggling to keep my tone casual.

I smooth out the serviette on my lap, buying myself some time to figure out how I want to play this. I guess it’s not the end of the world that Alastair knows about me and Liam, but I sure as hell don’t want him using it as ammunition.

Alastair leans forward, not shying away from the conversation at all. “I hope you don’t think I’m overstepping, but I feel the need to look out for you. Regarding your . . . friendship with Liam.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” I say, hoping that’ll shut him up. Fat chance.

“But I would worry about a lovely, genuine person like yourself. You see, I’ve known Liam for a very long time. I know how he operates. I’d urge you to be cautious. You aren’t the first lady to get caught up in his games. I should hate to see you get hurt.”

I tense up, gripping my wineglass tighter. “I’m aware of what Liam is like,” I say coolly.

“Hmm.” Alastair’s gaze bores into me, that single syllable heavy with unspoken meaning. It’s the most infuriating thing ever.

I take a sip of my wine to avoid telling Alastair to mind his own bloody business. It’s not like I trust what he says.

“So long as you both understand the nature of your . . . arrangement.” His tone is placating, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. Something that puts me on edge.

I narrow my eyes. “I’m aware you and Liam don’t exactly see eye to eye in business matters, but this seems a little uncouth, Alastair.”

He holds up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, but the glint in his eyes tells me he’s not backing down, not by a long shot. “I do apologize if I’ve overstepped. I merely wish to ensure a lovely young woman such as yourself is fully informed.”

I shift in my seat, the plush leather feeling stifling. I know he’s trying to rile me up, to bait me into begging for sordid details about Liam’s supposed misdeeds.

Shit-stirrer, that’s what he is. These guys play everyone like chess pieces.

“So what is it exactly you think I should be informed about?” I ask, keeping my tone breezy. Mostly I’m just curious what angle he’s working.

“I’m assuming, or rather I do hope, that even in your casual arrangement, you’re cognizant of his recurring soirée.” His lips curl around the word soirée, making it sound sleazy as hell.

“Soirée,” I repeat flatly.

His brow shoots up. “Oh dear. You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

Suddenly my heart’s racing. He’s doing this on purpose, the prick. Whatever bomb he’s about to drop, he’s milking the suspense for all it’s worth.

“Care to elaborate?”

“The charming members club across the street. The Berkeley Athenæum.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. “What is it? A gentleman’s club?” I ask, hating that I’m asking. A sinking feeling builds in the pit of my gut. Is that rich-people code for “orgy”? What the actual hell is he talking about?

Alastair chuckles, the sound dripping with condescension. “Gentlemen do not go there, I’m afraid. It’s more about certain high-society members indulging in their more . . . shall we say, discreet desires.”

He watches me, his expression a nauseating mix of pity and satisfaction. Like he’s just delivered a fatal blow and he’s waiting for me to start crying.

Nice try, buddy.

I know what Liam is like. Him being part of some fancy sex club or whatever? Not exactly shocking. But he’s always been straight with me, has never given me a reason to doubt him.

I won’t and don’t believe the worst in Liam.

I swirl my wine, aiming to look bored rather than ready to throw it in his face. “Sounds like you know an awful lot about this special club.”

“I don’t partake myself,” he says smoothly. “But in our circles, even the most discreet details tend to surface.”

“Okay, well, thanks for looking out for me.”

“Of course. I was concerned when you said Liam had brought you here. It’s awfully convenient.”

I blink at him, my brain struggling to process his words. Liam has brought me here twice. He said he loves this restaurant. The first night, we went back to his place. And it was hot and heavy and amazing.

The second night . . . My stomach dips. He got me a separate car home because he had “work” to finish.

Which he did. I know he did.

Another couple walks past us to the next booth. The man looks old enough to be Skipper Magee’s father, this time with a woman that can’t be older than twenty-five. He’s staring at her tits like they’ve got the answers to life’s big questions.

“It’s owned by the same company as the Athenæum,” Alastair explains, following my gaze. “Hence the need for privacy.”

It’s where the men take the women before they screw them, is what his gaze says. In a posher way, of course.

Which obviously annoys me that Liam would take me here, but I’ll be damned if I let Alastair see that.

“This wine is just delicious, isn’t it?” I say, injecting my voice with false cheer.

Alastair cocks an eyebrow, seeing right through my act. But then he just nods, proceeding to spout some pretentious crap about the fruity notes and the terroir, like we’re at a wine tasting and not in the middle of a conversation where he’s trying to rip out my heart.

I smile and nod mechanically, my mind a million miles away.

The waiter comes to ask about dessert. Hell no. I’d rather eat Winnie’s special treats.

“What would you like for pudding,” Alastair asks, his posh accent making even the word pudding sound like something out of the Regency era. “The spotted dick here is absolutely divine.”

I stare at the way his lips twitch, my eyes narrowing. Spotted dick, really? “I’m okay,” I say through gritted teeth. “I think I’ll pass on the spotted dick, thanks.” And any other dick-related items, for that matter.

I just want to get out of here.

My prayers are answered because Alastair’s phone buzzes, a smile creeping across his face as he reads the message. “I do apologize, but I must dash. Let’s skip the dessert course, shall we?”

He snaps his fingers at the waiter, suddenly in a great hurry. The poor sod nearly trips over himself bringing the bill.

I can’t deny I’m relieved. I’ve hated every moment of this farce.

Alastair practically leaps out of his chair, tossing a wad of cash on the table like it’s Monopoly money. He doesn’t even wait for the change, just strides toward the exit, expecting me to race after him.

He hurries the coat check guy as well, his true colors shining through the cracks of his charming facade. He really is a piece of work.

As we step out into the street, I turn to say goodbye, ready to make my escape.

“Well, it’s been an absolute pleasure.” Alastair gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Pop over to the office next week.”

I grunt because it’s all I’m capable of.

He glances across the street, his eyes widening with theatrical surprise. “Oh dear.” He says it innocently, but slow dread creeps into my stomach.

“Gemma, I’m so terribly sorry, perhaps you oughtn’t look . . .”

No. He’s lying.

He has to be fucking lying.

I turn slowly, my heart pounding.

And there, walking into the unmarked, posh-looking townhouse, is none other than Liam.

“That’s the Athenæum,” Alastair murmurs in my ear, his voice soft.

My breath catches in my throat. This can’t be happening. It can’t be real. This Liam must be an apparition.

But the proof is right there in front of me, shattering every ounce of trust I had in him.

I whirl on Alastair, my eyes blazing, but I’m not really seeing him. I’m still seeing Liam, walking into that building, destroying everything I thought we had.

I don’t know who I despise more in this moment—Liam or Alastair for his scheming.

“I’m impressed,” I hear myself say. “This was quite the elaborate setup. Did you have someone waiting across the street? Keeping watch, just so you could orchestrate this revelation?”

Alastair has the decency to look mildly chagrined. “My intention was never to cause you pain, Gemma. Truly.”

I barely hear him. I can barely get through this. I’m going to cry.

“No, of course not,” I say, my voice shaking with the effort of holding myself together. “I’m just a pawn in your ridiculous pissing contest with Liam. You two could do so much good, could make such a difference in the world, and instead you waste your time and resources trying to one-up each other like a pair of overgrown schoolboys.”

Alastair’s jaw clenches. “You’ll have to forgive me for not being the man’s biggest fan.”

My eyes narrow. “That’s what he says about you, and you are just as bad as him.”

“Bullshit!” he roars. “He’s been meeting my fucking wife in that club. My wife. And I’m not going to let him have his cake and eat it.”

It seems to explode out of him like a volcano of pain and rage, words he can no longer contain.

I stare at him, horrified, the breath stolen from my lungs.

For the first time tonight, I know Alastair is telling the truth. The look on his face, the raw pain in his eyes . . . It’s too real to be faked.

Alastair straightens his tie with shaking hands, visibly struggling to regain his composure. “The difference with these lovely young ladies,” he says, his voice cold and cutting, “is that they know the transaction they’re making. I wonder if you can say the same.”