Page 122 of Love to Loathe Him

“Okay, Mr. Grumpy,” I tease, rolling my eyes even though he can’t see me. “So why did you deliberately send me a wetsuit?”

“I thought it’d be good for you to have one, so we can actually get into the ocean next time,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s assuming you can swim, of course.”

I pause, trying to ignore the way my heart skips a beat at the mention of a next time. “I can swim,” I retort, feeling the need to defend my aquatic abilities. “But, ummm, what do you mean, next time?”

He’s quiet for a beat. “Isn’t that the deal?” he finally asks. “That there’ll be a next time?”

A smile tugs at my lips. “I guess,” I say, trying to sound indifferent. “I could probably try to survive another weekend with you.”

“Good,” he says with an amusement in his tone. “How about this weekend?”

“As intomorrow?” I ask, my voice catching.

“If you’re busy, we can reschedule.”

“No!” I blurt out, way too fast. “No, this weekend is good. I mean, I’ll have to move some things around, but yeah. Totally doable.” I’m rambling, obviously lying, and just making it worsewith every word. The only thing I need to move around is Winnie from her spot on the counter.

That excitement swirling in my belly grows into something bigger, something I can’t control.

And I don’t think he can control it any more than I can. He’s feeling this too. I know he is.

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock tomorrow night.” And he’s gone, as efficient as ever.

I hang up, turning to Winnie, who’s been silently judging me this whole time. “Don’t give me that look,” I mutter. “It’s fine, I can handle this.”

Friday morning, and I’m counting down the hours until I get to see Liam this evening. Which is ridiculous, considering he’s standing right in front of me in our management meeting.

I mean, I’m waiting until I properly get to seeallof him. And I’m not just talking about his dick. I want to see the Liam who exists outside these glass walls. The one who gets excited about boats and doesn’t have his guard up all the time.

He’s wearing that damn vest, and I feel like everyone knows my dirty thoughts. And I really need to concentrate as this topic is close to my heart.

“It’s a trial,” Ollie snaps, his hand raking over his stomach, something he does when he’s agitated.

“Fine,” I say. “We assess it every three months and replan if required.” Agenda item one of our management meeting: finally getting Ollie to relent on my idea to let the new grads have aperiod under other, nicer managers. The deal I negotiated in the Executive Lounge with Liam.

Maybe they’ll be less traumatized, and their confidence will actually allow them to learn. That’s the issue—we lose the less confident but still equally capable grads because Ollie’s management style is about as nurturing as Saddam Hussein’s.

“It won’t make a difference, this mentorship strategy,” Ollie sneers, his face contorting in disdain. “I guarantee it.”

“Enough,” Liam warns from the head of the table, his voice sharp. “Let’s move on.”

I remind myself that I’m only here for another three to six months, and then Ollie can do whatever he wants with the new grads. That’s still the plan. What’s happening with Liam doesn’t change that.

We move on to the next agenda item—the crucial meeting with Sir Whitmore and his team. I’ll be leading it, handling their post-acquisition HR concerns. No pressure at all.

A message flashes up on my screen from our internal messaging service.

Are you wearing that dress to fuck with me? You know how I feel about it.

I bite my lip, heat flooding my cheeks. He didnotjust message me that in the middle of a management meeting. I freeze, trying not to let my face betray the way my heart is doing a little tap dance in my chest.

Subtly, I pull my laptop a bit closer, feigning intense focus on the agenda in front of me. As if I could be paying attention to anything other than the fact that my boss is propositioning me via our internal messaging system. This is hardly professional behavior.

I nod diligently at whatever Carrie is saying, doing my best to look engaged and attentive. For all I know, she could be proposing we replace all the office chairs with inflatable pool floaties.

Unable to resist, I risk a glance in Liam’s direction, and sure enough, his eyes are locked onto me. He quirks one eyebrow in a silent challenge.

I type back furiously: