Page 6 of Liam (The Valeur Billionaires #4)
Chapter Four
LIAM
“ L adies and gentlemen, welcome to Red Door Speed Dating! Tonight, you’ll meet fifteen potential matches. You’ll have seven minutes with each person. When you hear the bell, it’s time to move to the next table. Remember, be yourself, have fun, and who knows? You might just find your soulmate!”
The low hum of chatter fills the dimly lit room, punctuated by the occasional nervous laugh or clink of glasses.
I adjust my tie for the umpteenth time, feeling out of place in my tailored suit amidst the sea of casual wear.
The smell of cheap perfume and desperation hangs in the air, making me wonder, not for the first time tonight, what I’ve gotten myself into.
The Red Door, despite its provocative name, is an unremarkable venue. Circular tables are scattered throughout the space, each adorned with a small vase containing a single, slightly wilted rose. It’s a sad attempt at romance that only serves to highlight the artificiality of this entire situation.
I scan the room, my eyes landing on a familiar mass of curls. Aleria sits at table seven, fidgeting with her shirt. Our gazes lock for a moment before I glance away.
A bell chimes, its shrill tone cutting through the murmur of conversation. The host, a petite woman with a too-bright smile, claps her hands to get everyone’s attention.
I take my seat at table nine. The first round is about to begin, and I plaster on my most charming smile as a woman with vibrant red hair and too much eye makeup settles into the chair across from me.
“Hi, I’m Stacy,” she purrs, leaning forward to give me an eyeful of her ample cleavage.
“Liam,” I reply, trying to keep my eyes on her face. “So, Stacy, what do you like to do for fun?”
Her eyes light up in a way that sets off warning bells in my head. “Oh, I have the most fascinating hobby,” she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I breed snakes.”
“That’s…interesting. What kind of snakes?”
Stacy leans in even closer, her breath hot against my ear. “All kinds. But my favorites are the big ones. There’s nothing quite like the feel of a snake slithering across your skin while you’re in bed.”
I choke on my drink, barely avoiding spitting it all over her. “I’m sorry. What?”
She giggles, oblivious to my discomfort. “Oh yes, it’s so sensual. Don’t worry. I’ll introduce you to my babies soon enough. Have you ever had sex with a snake around you?”
“No.” And I don’t intend to, thank you very much .
The bell chimes, ending our encounter. I make a mental note to avoid Stacy at all costs as I move to the next table, my mind reeling from the bizarre interaction.
The next few rounds pass in a blur of awkward small talk and forced laughter.
There’s Karen, a middle-aged woman with a severe bob and an even more severe expression.
She spends our entire seven minutes ranting about her ex-husband, her voice rising in pitch with each perceived slight she recounts.
I nod along, searching for a way to steer the conversation in any other direction.
Then there’s Tillie, a muscle-bound woman whose tight t-shirt seems one flex away from disintegrating. She can’t seem to form a sentence without mentioning her CrossFit regime or her protein intake. By the end of our time, I know more about the benefits of ketogenic diets than I ever wanted to.
Melissa seems nice enough at first. She’s a kindergarten teacher with a soft voice and kind eyes.
We chat about our favorite childhood books, and I think that maybe this night isn’t a total disaster.
That is until she mentions her belief that the earth is flat.
I spend the rest of our time trying to determine if she’s joking. She’s not.
Just as I’m losing hope, contemplating the possibility of sneaking out during the next break, I meet Sofia.
She’s a pediatric nurse with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile that puts me at ease.
We chat about our favorite books and travel destinations, discovering a shared love for obscure sci-fi novels and off-the-beaten-path adventures.
“I once spent a week in a tiny village in the mountains of Peru,” Sofia says, her eyes lighting up with the memory. “The stars at night were unlike anything I’ve ever seen. ”
I lean forward, interested. “That sounds incredible. I’ve always wanted to visit Peru. Did you do the Inca Trail?”
She shakes her head. “Not that time. But it’s on my bucket list. Have you done much traveling?”
We spend the rest of our time swapping travel stories and recommendations. For the first time tonight, I find myself disappointed when the bell chimes, signaling the end of our round.
As I move to the next table, my eyes lock with a familiar pair of hazel ones.
Aleria sits across from me, her wild curls even more disheveled than last time, as if she’s been running her hands through them all night.
There’s a smudge on her chin, and she’s wearing a blouse that I’m pretty sure is inside out.
Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, I notice how the soft lighting brings out the flecks of gold in her eyes. How delicate she is.
We both turn to the host, protests forming on our lips.
“We know each other, we can’t—” Aleria says.
“You know the rules,” the host says, her tone brooking no argument. “No skipping. You have seven minutes. Use them.”
The silence between us stretches, thick and oppressive.
Aleria’s fingers dance along the hem of her shirt, twisting and untwisting the fabric.
Her eyes dart around the room, landing everywhere but on me.
I open my mouth, then close it, words evaporating on my tongue.
My mind, usually a well-oiled machine of witty remarks and business strategies, sputters to a halt.
I’m Liam Valeur, for God’s sake. I negotiate multi-million dollar deals over breakfast. Why can’t I string together a simple sentence in front of this disheveled scientist ?
“So,” she says, her voice strained, “how’s your night been going?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Well, I’ve learned more about snakes than I ever wanted to know, heard a comprehensive history of Karen’s failed marriage, and discovered that the earth is flat. How about you?”
A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I had a guy try to convince me that quantum physics is a government conspiracy to hide the truth about alien abductions.”
We both burst into laughter, the absurdity of the situation breaking through our usual hostility. It’s strange, seeing Aleria like this—relaxed, smiling, her guard down.
“Oh, but the best one,” I say, wiping tears from my eyes, “was the woman who told me my vintage car socks were, and I quote, ‘a crime against fashion and humanity.’”
Aleria’s eyes widen. “You’re wearing car socks?”
I nod, lifting my pant leg to reveal the colorful classic cars peeking out above my shoe.
“They’re actually pretty cool,” she exclaims, her face lighting up with genuine enthusiasm. “How can anyone not appreciate classic cars? I used to help my dad restore—” She catches herself, as if revealing too much.
“You worked on cars?” I lean forward, intrigued.
“My dad owns a garage,” she says after a moment, her voice softer. “I grew up there, basically lived in coveralls. We restored this beautiful old Mustang together.”
“I never knew that about you.”
“You never asked.” There’s an edge to her voice. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“I rebuilt a ‘67 Camaro after college,” I say, watching her face. “Started working on it right after Stanford. Drove my brother Lucas crazy with all the parts scattered around the garage.”
I trail off, and something shifts in her expression.
“A Camaro?” She says, filling the awkward silence. “You? Mr. Computer Science turned CEO?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Dr. James,” I say, echoing her words, our eyes meeting.
The moment stretches between us, loaded with unspoken words. Then she swings her hand too wide during a point about engine specs, and her water glass tips, sending ice-cold liquid cascading into my lap.
I leap up with a startled yelp, the shock of cold water seeping through my trousers. “Shit!”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry.” Aleria’s words fade off as she snatches a fistful of napkins and drops to her knees. Her hands press against my thighs, dabbing at the spreading stain.
The world narrows to the pressure of her fingers through the damp fabric. My breath catches in my throat.
“Aleria...” Her name escapes my lips, barely audible over the room’s chatter.
“Just let me clean this,” she mutters, her brow furrowed. Her hand moves higher, tapping against my crotch as she tries to soak up the water.
My muscles tense. Blood rushes in my ears. “Aleria,” I manage, my voice strained.
She looks up, her eyes meeting mine. The tapping stops. Her gaze drops, then snaps back up, wide with realization.
Her face flushes crimson, the color spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath her collar. I wonder how far that blush extends.
She scrambles to her feet, knocking her chair askew in her haste. Her teeth catch her lower lip, worrying it as her hands twist the crumpled napkins.
“I...uh...” she says, “I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...”
This flustered, awkward Aleria is a far cry from the sharp-tongued scientist I’m used to sparring with. A strange warmth blooms in my chest at the sight.
“It’s okay,” I say. “No harm done.”
The bell shatters the moment. Aleria jolts, her elbow catching her water glass. I lunge forward, steadying it before another disaster can unfold.
“You should... I need to...” she mumbles, gesturing toward her seat.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As I move to the next table, my pants cold and uncomfortable, I can’t shake the image of Aleria on her knees, looking up at me with those wide hazel eyes. It stirred something in me, something dangerous and unexpected.