Page 24 of Love to Loathe Him

I fix him with a glare. “He also threw a chair at a window.” I raise an eyebrow, wondering if I need to draw him a picture. “I’m not sure why I have to spell that out for you.”

“But he’s the best fund manager we’ve got, by a long shot.”

“I can’t have my people acting like animals, no matter how much money they bring in. Brandon really should have considered the potential ramifications before going full rock star tantrum on my thirty-fifth-floor offices.”

“You can’t hold that against him forever.”

“Did I stutter, Ollie?”

His eyes widen as if he’s just realized he’s poking a bear.

I lean forward, both elbows on the desk, annoyed I’m still talking about this. “Here’s how this is going to go. Brandon keeps hisshit together for the next six months. No more childish outbursts, no more redecorating my office with flying furniture. He does that, and the Lambo’s his. Hell, I’ll even let him pick the color, tie a pretty little bow on it myself. But if he fucks up again? If I so much as hear a whisper of him acting out? The deal’s off, and he’ll be lucky if he’s still employed, let alone driving a luxury car.”

Ollie’s throat bobs nervously, clearly realizing this isn’t a hill worth dying on today.

I let out a sigh, turning my attention back to the rest of the room. “Chris, run me through the other bonus allocations for the quarter.”

As Chris lists off names and numbers, I can’t help it—my mind drifts back to Gemma’s scathing takedown. She has a point about volatile personalities, all right.

Almost on autopilot, my fingers find their way to the folder she accidentally shared. It’s still there. Gemma’s “Burn Book” of boss roasts. Clearly, she still hasn’t realized her grievous error in sharing it.

Any rational, self-respecting CEO would have already sacked her on the spot and had security escort the foul-mouthed vixen off the premises by now.

And yet . . . there’s something delicious about watching her dig her own grave deeper. How many more biting insults and wicked little jabs will she throw out, thinking they’ll never see the light of day?

Well, well, well.

Look at that—the document’s timestamp shows it was updated again last night. Gemma’s been busy. I open the file, leaning in like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

Dear Diary,it starts. Christ, she even writes like a schoolgirl with a grudge.

Where do I begin? Today was even more chaotic than yesterday. Lately, I feel like I can’t catch a break. I was late reviewing and signing off on the intranet changes today, and I completely spaced on approving two of my team members’ expense reports as well.

And I’m not the only one. The whole staff is fraying at the seams, snapping at each other over tiny mishaps and dropping major balls left and right as we struggle to keep up with our breakneck growth and expansion.

Here’s a little fact that our esteemed leader McLaren conveniently chooses to ignore in his infinite wisdom: whether someone is earning a modest five-figure salary or an obscene seven-figure one, if they’re stuck in a pressure-cooker environment with unrealistic demands and endless stress, they’re going to eventually crumble. Just because we’re being paid handsomely does not actually make the strain any more bearable.

But what do I know? I’m just HR.

I shift in my chair, my jaw clenching. My people are here because they want to be. If they wanted easy, they’d be somewhere else. We only pick the ones who can handle the pressure. They’re talented, driven. They thrive on the adrenaline, the high stakes, the opportunity to be part of something major. That’s just the nature of the financial beast in London.

“Liam?” Chris’s voice cuts through my haze. I blink to see the whole board staring at me. “The numbers all check out to your satisfaction, boss?”

“The financials are solid,” I say, and brush him off with a hand wave. “But let’s cut to something else—staff morale. How’s everyone holding up right now?”

I’m met with a sea of confused faces. Am I really that much of a hardass that asking about our people’s wellbeing is cause for alarm?

“Don’t all jump in at once,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Is there some lawsuit or complaint we missed?” Mike, the head of Legal, finally pipes up with a concerned frown.

“No, nothing like that.” I shake my head, stifling an irritated sigh. “I’m asking about the bigger picture here—staff morale in general. With this expansion, how is everyone holding up?”

“They’re smashing targets left and right. It’s all smooth sailing,” Ollie says.

“That’s not what I asked, Ollie. I want to know about their personal well-being, not just output numbers.”

An awkward pause stretches as they seem to fumble for a response to my surprisingly humanistic line of inquiry.