Page 54 of Love to Loathe Him

Gemma

I exit the bathroomand do a sweep of the crowded ballroom, trying to spot Liam’s broad shoulders in the sea of penguin suits. I finally spot him in a secluded corner and stop dead.

Because he’s leaned up against the wall, giving this stunning blond woman the most unbelievably sexy smile. And whatever he just said to her makes her throw her head back with a laugh.

I sidestep back out of view, not wanting him to catch me watching this little performance.

He doesn’t smile like that in the office. Funny I’ve never seen him charm a woman and now I feel like I’m seeing it in full force.

A very surprising pang of . . .something. . . stabs my chest. It’s not jealousy. It’s just professional indignation. Yeah, that’s it. We might be boss and employee but I’m technically his date here tonight, even if no one knows that. Surely he can respect me enough not to come on to someone else while I’m here?

The woman laughs again, and I can’t help wondering what the hell Liam could have possibly said to get that kind of reaction. Or whether aliens took over his body and turned him into this charming guy I’ve never seen before.

Hang on . . . isn’t that the woman who was seated beside Alastair Harrington earlier? Is that what this is all about? Liam flirting with her to antagonize Alastair?

From where I’m standing, he seems invested. More than just putting on a show.

And I can’t blame him. The woman is gorgeous with a Scandinavian air: tall, lean but with curves, and a beautiful face. She puts her hand softly on his arm and smiles at him, and something in my chest twists. Not jealousy.

I tear my eyes away. Liam doesn’t need me cramping his style anymore, not after we’ve already talked to Sir Whitmore.

I stride away, wishing this night was already over. Couples are swaying to the band’s slow jazz, and part of me considers firing off a text to Liam asking if he wants me to leave.

Or do I try to charm the Whitmores by myself? I don’t know what Liam expects of me now. Probably to disappear into thin air so he can continue his flirtation uninterrupted.

“Allow me the honor of this dance?” A smooth voice sounds from behind me.

I turn to find Alastair Harrington giving me an easy, dimpled smile. “Since your boss seems to have forgotten his manners and abandoned you,” he adds with just a hint of reproach.

“Your date won’t mind?” I ask.

“My wife, Victoria?” he drawls, oozing that gentrified, Oxbridge sophistication. “Not at all. She’s occupied chatting with her girlfriend.”

No she’s not, buddy. Unless by “girlfriend” you mean “my handsome boss who looks like he wants to fuck your wife.”

He takes a step closer, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his perfectly tailored tuxedo trousers. “Besides, after fifteen years married, she trusts me implicitly. And has every reason to.” Hechuckles, as if him cheating is an impossibility so far-fetched it’s funny. “It’s Gemma, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I reply, surprised he remembers. “We’ve met a few times before at conferences.”

“Of course. I don’t forget a face.” He holds out his hand expectantly. “Shall we?”

I shift uncertainly, aware that dancing with Liam’s chief rival in no way fits into tonight’s agenda of corporate schmoozing and deal-making. But a petty part of me thinks, if Liam can flirt with Alastair’s wife, why can’t I dance with Alastair? Liam hasn’t even bothered to go looking for me.

My gaze darts involuntarily toward the corner where I’d last spotted Liam, but he seems to have vanished from view. Probably off to some even darker corner with Ms. Swedish Supermodel. I place my hand in Alastair’s, letting him lead me out onto the dance floor.

Alastair’s arm slides around my waist with a confident but respectful possession, the other capturing my hand and pulling me closer as we begin swaying in measured time to the music.

“Don’t worry, I won’t put you in an awkward position,” he murmurs. “No harsh commentary on your boss, I promise.”

“Thank you.” I exhale, relieved.

“First time attending one of these shindigs, I take it?”

“Is it that obvious?” I laugh it off.

“Not at all.” But the gleam in his eyes says otherwise.

Alastair’s an attractive guy, I’ll give him that. A Mr. Darcy type. I don’t really know much about him, or the story behind his and Liam’s epic rivalry. Maybe it’s just a male ego thing—both wanting to be top dog. Surely this city is massive enough for both their substantial egos. But it feels like more than that.