Page 145 of Love to Loathe Him

Ollie opens the door, his voice dripping with barely concealed fury. “Sir, if you could come this way.”

I raise my hand in a pathetic little wave goodbye to Sir Whitmore and turn back around to gather my things from my desk, my heart racing as the reality of what I’ve done sinks in.

CHAPTER 42

Liam

I drum my fingerson the desk, the slow, deliberate rhythm matching the icy rage spreading through my veins. Sir Whitmore’s team disappears through the reception doors, taking my deal with them. Taking all the blood, sweat, and tears my team and I have poured into this. Months of work, countless hours of strategizing and negotiating, all gone in a single instant.

The Ashbury Thornton lawyers sit in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on me, waiting to see if I’ll explode. But I don’t give a flying fuck about them right now. No, my focus is locked on one person and one person only—that stunning, deceitful redhead across the office, cleaning out her desk like her ass is on fire.

“For fuck’s sake!” Ollie roars, slamming his fist down on the table hard enough to make the lawyers jump.

I don’t flinch. I inhale, the ice in my veins hardening into something far more lethal.

Ollie paces, ranting and raving, but it’s all background noise. White static. My focus is singular.

The whole floor is watching us from their desks.

Gemma keeps her head down, but those pink cheeks tell me she knows I’m watching. Oh, she knows.

“He can’t just change his mind on a whim!” Ollie growls, spit flying from his mouth in his outrage. “Needs more time? What kind of bullshit is that? Even his own lawyers were blindsided. That senile bastard needs to retire already, before he tanks another fucking deal. I swear to Christ, I’m going to—”

“What did Gemma say to him?” I interrupt. The sudden quiet in my tone silences him.

Ollie laughs, a sound that grates on my last nerve. “She told him not to sign. Said you’re a liar, that you can’t be trusted. That was the gist I got, at the end. I didn’t think he’d actually listen to her. As if some HR rep’s opinion matters to him. Fuck knows why she felt the need to commit career suicide like that, but—”

I tune out Ollie’s tirade, my eyes drawn back to Gemma, still hurriedly emptying her drawer. So desperate to run after stabbing me in the back.

Gemma has cost me a billion-pound deal. Because Sir Whitmore, the sentimental old fool, is swayed by feelings and emotions, not business sense. And my own lover has somehow managed to get in his head and change his mind just as he was about sign on the dotted line.

Lover.

She’s more like Judas in a form-fitting dress, all flame-red hair and emerald eyes designed to breach my defenses and bring me to my knees. A knife poised over my heart, waiting to sink in deep and watch me bleed out.

Because that’s exactly what this feels like. A betrayal.

My chair screeches as I shove back from the desk, the sound making everyone flinch.

I storm out of the boardroom, Ollie’s yapping fading into background noise. The office goes dead silent as I storm over to Gemma’s desk.

Her head snaps up and she freezes, her hand hovering over an open drawer, the color draining from her face.

In all my time with her, in all the years I’ve known her, I’ve seen a lot of emotions play out across that beautiful face, but never this level of fear. It’s fucking warranted.

For a split second, looking into those wide, terrified eyes, I feel a flicker of tenderness. Of deep protectiveness. An urge to shield her from whatever’s causing that fear, to pull her into my arms and promise her that everything will be all right. That despite everything, I’m still in her corner. That I’ll help her sort it out.

Even if the monster she’s cowering from is me.

My jaw clenches as I fight against it. She made her bed. Now she’s gonna lie in it. Forgiveness has never been a strong suit.

I pause outside her office door, firing off a quick text. Her eyes follow the movement, pupils blown wide, and I see her throat work as she swallows convulsively, the reality of what I’m doing sinking in.

I pocket my phone and open her door, my movements deceptively calm.

She backs up against her desk, a futile attempt to maintain distance.

“Before you fire me, I already quit,” she stammers, voice shaking.