Page 143 of Love to Loathe Him

I nod, not able to talk because I’m scared I’ll cry.

He takes both my shoulders in his hands, like he’s about to perform an exorcism on my corporate-possessed soul.

“I can feel how stressed you are from how you hold yourself,” he coos, rubbing my shoulders in a way that feels nice. I resist the urge to close my eyes and moan. Or burst into tears.

He’s right, my asshole is permanently puckered from work stress. I’m basically a walking, talking stress ball.

“Just do it. Do what you have to do. It’s a big, beautiful world out there. Live your life in a way that’ll make your spirit sing, you know?” He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deep through his nostrils, as if channeling some higher being. “Hey, I gotta bounce, but come to one of my classes next week, okay? Free of charge. We’ll get those negative ions out of your system, Gem.”

I smile and wave him off.

Liam lured me into a false sense of happiness. Now I feel like I’ll never be happy again.

But I have no right, I tell myself, to feel this upset. This is actually a gift. A gift wrapped in barbed wire, but still a gift. I’m seeing this as devastating, but the reality is I was falling hard and fast for someone who could never be mine. That was the agreement from the beginning. Imagine if I had my heart broken in six months or in a year. Better that it happened now.

I just have to keep my head together until I never have to see him again.

Liam raps his knuckles against my office door that afternoon, his presence commanding attention as always.

His brown eyes are glowing as he strides in, a rare, genuine smile lighting up his face. “It’s done,” he announces, his deep voice thrumming with excitement. “Sir Whitmore is on his way with his lawyers to sign the final papers. We won.”

It’s the most positive emotion I’ve ever seen from him in the workplace.

Cue the Academy Award–winning performance. I plaster on a smile convincing enough to hide the festering wounds beneath. “That’s great!”

He grins at me, oozing with charm. His hand twitches at his side, like he’s physically restraining himself from reaching out and pulling me into his arms. “I wish I could kiss you here. I couldn’t have done it without you, Gemma. You were brilliant.”

“Yep,” I reply, finding it increasingly difficult to maintain this charade. I just want him to leave. Preferably via the window.

One eyebrow arches as he appraises me. “I expected a little more enthusiasm from you, darling.”

I wince, hating the way that endearment falls from his lips. It hurts.

It’s the first time he’s used a pet name for me in the office. He must have forgotten his gift for compartmentalization for a hot minute. Or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit anymore.

“I’m sorry, I’m just really tired.” It’s not a complete lie. I’m exhausted. Crying yourself to sleep tends to be quite draining.

“We’re going to have some drinks tonight for the teams up on the roof. We’ll celebrate this evening. I gotta go sort some last-minute stuff with our lawyers. But I can’t wait to spoil you for all your hard work on this. Having you by my side through it all . . . it’s meant a lot to me.”

My phone rings, a blessed interruption from this hellish conversation. Saved by the bell.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Liam says, heading for the door. He pauses, turning back with that rare, genuine smile. “This is big, Gemma. Really big. Thank you.”

Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, asshole.

I don’t even bother answering my phone, letting it ring out as I watch him leave. Everyone needs to fuck off today, and thatincludes you, Caller ID Unknown. The world can burn for all I care. I’m done playing nice.

Looks like I wasn’t the only one played for a fool by Liam McLaren. Sir Whitmore finally caved. Poor bastard. Welcome to the club.

I remember telling him that Liam was a straight shooter. That you might not like him, but he was a man of his word. What a joke. The only thing straight about Liam is his cock when he’s buried inside his latest conquest. I hope his next conquest has vagina teeth like in that movie, and it falls off.

I stab at my keyboard with unnecessary force, channeling all my anger and betrayal into the mundane task of pulling up the details for our new recruit. If only human resources came with a manual on how to handle a lying, cheating, boss-turned-lover. Chapter One: How to Resist the Urge to Castrate the Bastard. Chapter Two: How to Move on When You’re Dead Inside.

As I seethe at my desk, I notice some of the admin staff carrying bottles of champagne and wine, headed straight for the company kitchen. Liam is there, chatting with the teams, looking as relaxed as a fucking cat that got the cream. And why wouldn’t he be? He just landed the deal of a lifetime and got to fuck over his mistress in the process. It’s a win-win for him. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here with a broken heart and a burning desire to set his designer suits on fire. Soon I’ll just be the silly HR girl he used to get his rocks off.

“Of course he won the bid,” I mutter bitterly under my breath. “Men like him always get what they want.”

I must be losing my mind.