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"So why don't you acknowledge something that's hurt you, then, Liam? I mean, we're constantly talking about me, and I feel like I don't really know that much about you."

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"Why do you never wanna get married? Why do you care so much about business? Why are you here with me right now, going on a work trip?"

"Because I'm trying to figure out if this is a good deal," he says, grinning.

"Okay. And the other questions?"

"I don't know what to say. I'm not that deep of a thinker. I just like business, and I like making money."

"And while your heart's never been broken, you've never been upset or hurt?"

He stares at me for a couple of seconds. "When I was younger, I had a group of friends," he says, "and we all went to a very fancy, very rich school. My friends were from families that had long, hyphenated names and manors in the countryside, and they were distant relatives of the royals.

"And I remember I met this one girl, and she was really cute. She seemed to like me, and I liked her. One night, we went to the pub to get some beers, and we snuck a kiss, and I thought to myself, 'Wow, how did I get so lucky that this beautiful girl, who was funny and smart and really well respected, liked me? Me,Liam Gallagher. I wasn't really anyone, you know? And then I found out that she didn't."

I look at him for a few seconds, and I frown. "What do you mean, you found out that she didn't? She didn't what?"

"She didn't like me like that. She found out that even though I went to this rich, fancy school, I was there on scholarship and didn't have a pot to piss in. And she wasn't going to become the third cousin of Prince William or a distant relative of the Duke of Marlborough. She wasn't going to have an estate in the country if she married me."

"Married you? You were that serious?"

He laughs. "No, but when certain people date, there's always an end goal in mind. I mean, haven’t you dated someone thinking, where is this going?"

"Yeah, but generally, I'm thinking about where is this going tonight or next week," I say with a laugh, "not where is this going as in will we get married. Am I going to live in a five-million-dollar penthouse on Fifth Avenue?"

He chuckles. "Is that where you wanna live?"

"No. I don't really care where I live, as long as I'm happy. I mean, honestly, if my dad's broke, then I can't afford where I live now. I'll move out. That's okay. I'd even live in a place like yours."

"You think I live in a crappy apartment?"

"I don't think it’s crappy. I mean when I first saw it, I was surprised and thought it was a little shittt,” I say honestly. "It took me aback when I saw it because it wasn't fancy like I expected it to be. It was normal, but it was nice. It was lived in, and even those cartoon character throw pillows had a story to them."

"They do." He nods. "Thank you for saying that."

"For saying what?" I stare at him in surprise. "What are you thanking me for?"

"Thank you for seeing me as I am and not for who I could be."

"I don't really know what that means."

"It means that I'm thankful for the fact that even though I have a shit ton of money, you don't expect me to spend it all.”

“I mean, as long as you're giving to charity, then hey, who cares what you spend it on, right?"

"I don't know that I actually give enough to charity," he says, looking at me. "Does that make you hate me?"

"No. I mean, I don't know how much you're giving."

"Do you want to know?" he asks.

"No, maybe not. I don't want to judge you."

"You'd judge me?"

"Yeah, because if you told me that you're a billionaire and you're only giving like ten grand a year, I'd say you're a jackass."