Love to Loathe Him: A Billionaire Office Romance
Love to Loathe Him: Chapter 28

“I think we have a spy,” Gemma says as she stands on the other side of my desk, anger and determination swirling in her eyes in a way that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

She’s wearing that damn blue dress again. The one that makes me want to forget I own the company.

I resist the urge to vault over my desk and close the distance between us. I need that barrier.

What happened between us on that boat . . . it’s uncharted territory.

In all my years running this firm, I’ve never crossed that line with an employee. Especially with someone as crucial as my head of HR. It’s a recipe for disaster and I know it.

But I’m still a red-blooded man. And despite my better judgment, she’s still a knockout in that dress. Maybe I should institute a potato sack dress code just for her. But who am I kidding? Even in those baggy yellow sailing pants, I wanted to bend her over the nearest flat surface. The woman is a menace to my self-control.

It’s only Tuesday, and I’ve been struggling to concentrate since our . . . encounter on the boat over the weekend.

“A spy?” I raise an eyebrow, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, did you find James Bond hiding in the copy room?”

“A spy. A mole, whatever it’s called,” she snaps, not appreciating my humor. “That’s the only explanation for why my recruitment campaign is tanking. I went over everything with a fine-tooth comb, Liam. I personally interviewed our top two candidates. They were practically salivating over our offer package. They were ready to sign.”

She slaps a folder down on my desk. “I have all the emails here in chronological order from Kim and the other candidates who pulled out. They were thrilled with their contracts. Then suddenly, they start to stall. Four days later, they decline.”

I lean back in my chair, my blood already beginning to boil. “What are you saying? That someone is committing corporate espionage?”

“It has to be it. Someone is leaking our recruitment information to Vertex, giving them the ability to undercut our offers. They know precisely who we’re targeting, what we’re offering, and they’re using that knowledge to poach the candidates.”

Frustration courses through my veins. Of course Alastair’s behind this. The man’s as predictable as he is irritating. “Who has access to the information?”

“HR, obviously. But also IT, Legal, Accounts, senior management, and the team leads for the departments the candidates would be joining. They all review the proposed contracts at some point in the process.” She frowns, her brow furrowed in thought. “What I don’t understand is how Vertex can afford to consistently outbid us. They must be offering well above market rates to lure the candidates away after they’ve already verbally accepted our offers. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Not from a business perspective, but it makes perfect sense,” I counter, my jaw clenching.

Gemma’s gaze sharpens. “This is personal. Between you and Alastair.”

“Yes,” I admit, seeing no point in denying it.

“Come on, Liam, you expect total honesty from me. I think it’s only fair that you extend the same courtesy.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I don’t make a habit of discussing my personal life with my staff, even Gemma. “We’ll discuss this over dinner. How’s tomorrow evening? Along with a plan of action. This is too sensitive to hash out here, in the office.” I pause, eyes locking with hers. “And there are other matters we need to address as well.”

She swallows, her cheeks flushing. “Okay. . . sure.” She takes a breath, her expression turning serious. “There’s also a situation that I may need to bring to the legal team. In case there are any consequences.”

“Let’s hear it.”

She proceeds to inform me about the absurd love triangle that has developed between three of my employees. It never ceases to amaze me how foolish people can be.

“The HR team is interviewing them separately to gather facts and any evidence of unprofessional behavior,” she explains crisply. “We’ll assess whether Emily is stepping out of line or if Daniel’s personal biases are clouding his judgment.”

I lean forward, my elbows on the desk. “What does the company policy state regarding workplace relationships?”

“In summary, employees must disclose any romantic relationships. But they aren’t strictly forbidden—with one exception. We have an explicit policy prohibiting supervisory relationships. Romantic involvement between a manager and their direct report is not permitted.”

She looks away from me, and the air between us thickens with the unspoken acknowledgment of the line we crossed on Saturday night. The policy we violated.

“It also states relationships shouldn’t interfere with work responsibilities,” she adds, quieter.

I nod, my jaw tightening. “Which is precisely what this absurd trio is failing at spectacularly. If they can’t separate their personal entanglements from professional duties, then they have no business engaging in a relationship in the first place.” I pin her with a pointed look. “If disciplinary action proves necessary, you have my full trust in your judgment.”

She nods. “I’ll handle it.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken implications of our own hypocrisy.

“It’s frustrating how some people struggle with compartmentalization,” I say pointedly, testing the waters. “Clear boundaries allow for . . . indulgences without compromising professional focus. I’ve never found that to be an issue. And you, Gemma?”

The pulse in her throat jumps. “I think you’ve seen that from my diary. I’ve been compartmentalizing my frustrations about you for years while maintaining professionalism.”

A surprised chuckle escapes me—she certainly has me there.

“Are you planning to disclose our . . . indiscretion to HR?” I ask, my tone neutral.

She narrows those defiant green eyes at me. “Why? Do you feel you deserve to be disciplined?”

“If memory serves, you weren’t complaining about my lack of discipline on Saturday night.”

Gemma’s cheeks flush. “I thought what happened on the island was supposed to stay there.”

“Touché.” My smirk widens, but the sight of Ollie approaching snaps me back to reality. The reality that I shouldn’t be flirting with my employee.

“I have another meeting incoming,” I state, rising to my feet. “I’ll send details about dinner.”

She nods and strides out. Watching her go, I feel unsettled.

Saturday was a day of firsts. I didn’t win the race, but for once, Whitmore didn’t look at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe. I’ve got Gemma to thank for that.

Sleeping with her wasn’t part of the plan. But seeing her away from the office, doing something I love . . . I let my guard down. I slipped up. Now I can’t seem to put that guard back up.

I’ve bedded plenty of women at the port before, ones who don’t know my bank balance or my name. Women looking for a fantasy with the brooding sailor, and I’m happy to oblige. It’s clean, simple. No strings attached.

But this? This is messy. It’s blurring lines I’ve kept sharp for years. Gemma’s not just some random woman I can fuck and forget. She’s my HR manager, for Christ’s sake.

That diary of hers opened Pandora’s box. Now I’m seeing her in a whole new light. Not just as the beautiful, no-nonsense HR manager who hires and fires for me. But as a woman with depth, with fire, with a mind that both challenges and intrigues me.

Now I’ve got to figure out what the hell I’m going to do about it.

Gemma

“Looks like the prime minister has arrived,” Lizzie announces, her nose practically glued to the window.

I roll my eyes but can’t ignore the nerves rippling in my stomach as I smooth down my shift dress one last time. I’m wearing one of my most sensible outfits. A shield so I can remember this is professional. A business dinner. Not “Fifty Shades of Sailboat: The Sequel.”

But who am I kidding? Ever since Liam suggested dinner yesterday, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.

“For the love of god, get away from the window and quit peering out like a nosy neighbor,” I hiss at Lizzie. “Now wish me luck,” I add, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

“Good luck.” She grins wickedly. “If he made you squirt the first time, just imagine what’s going to happen this time around.”

“Elizabeth!” I scold, physically squirming as if the neighbors could somehow hear her outrageous comment. “It’s a work thing. We’re discussing work.”

“Work work work,” she mocks, cackling. “Yeah right, if you’re two porn stars.”

I roll my eyes and stride out the door before she can say anything else mortifying.

My stomach does a somersault when I see Liam waiting in the back seat of the car. I fully expected him to send a driver like last time, not show up in the flesh. It’s not a date, I remind myself sternly. A business dinner. With the man who’s seen me naked. And made me squirt. No big deal.

“You look beautiful,” he says when I slide into the car.

“Thank you,” I reply, trying to sound casual even as my heart skips a beat. “You look . . . very handsome yourself.”

Understatement of the century. He looks like a god, which is not helping my this is just work mantra.

He inclines his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing at those full lips, acknowledging the compliment. Smug git.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“La Rocca,” he says, casual as you like, as if he’s just suggested we pop down to the local Greggs for a sausage roll.

“La Rocca? For a work meeting?” I splutter.

“It’s a work dinner,” he corrects, “at a restaurant that I happen to like.”

La Rocca is one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, known for its discretion and VIP clientele. You can’t even get a reservation unless you’re a CEO, royalty, or just stinking rich.

Thirty minutes later, the car pulls up outside what has to be the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Before I can step out, Liam is rounding the car in a few long strides. He opens the door for me, taking my hand to help me out, and a shiver racks my body.

The hostess greets Liam the second we cross the threshold. “Welcome back, Mr. McLaren.”

She takes our jackets with a demure smile, ushering us toward the intimate back dining room. They clearly know him as a regular here, which means either Liam spends way too much of the company’s money wining and dining clients . . . or he does this sort of thing with women a lot.

Both, I think.

As we’re guided through the restaurant, I can’t help but notice the way women’s eyes follow Liam. If he notices the attention, he doesn’t show it. But of course, he does. He’s probably so accustomed to being openly gawked at that it doesn’t even register anymore.

I do my best to focus as the sommelier pours out a healthy tasting pour of some obscenely expensive wine.

Liam doesn’t waste any time before cutting straight to the chase. “So who do you think is our mole?”

I take a sip of my drink, buying myself a moment to gather my thoughts. “I’m not sure yet. No one has presented any obvious red flags—in relation to this,” I quickly add, because the company is full of walking talking red flags. “But I’m going to get IT to pull a log of who accessed the candidates’ files and when. They’ll likely have printed the documentation because they can’t email it out without leaving a trail. If we cite the possibility of corporate espionage, then we’ll have the justification to dig into everyone’s file access history.”

Calling it espionage feels dramatic, but that’s basically what it boils down to.

Liam nods, frowning.

“If they’re bold enough to try sabotaging our recruitment efforts,” I add, “it’s really not much of a leap to think they could be targeting other sensitive information too, like pending contracts and acquisition bids.”

Liam’s jaw tightens. “A much more serious offense, certainly. But I agree. Work with IT to initiate a full audit trail. I want to know who’s been accessing what files and when. And I want a full background check on anyone on that list, and everyone involved in the deal. Debts, skeletons in the closet, the works. I need to know if anyone has a vulnerability that Alistair could exploit.”

I shift in my seat, not overly comfortable with the idea. “That’s quite intrusive. And time-consuming. We’ll have to notify them that it’s happening.”

“No, we don’t,” he cuts me off, his tone brooking no argument. “Their NDAs cover this. It’s standard practice in finance.”

“Yes, Liam,” I say, swallowing my protests. Sometimes it’s just easier to go along with his demands, even if I don’t agree with them.

He leans back in his chair, studying me. “There’s one other avenue I’d like you to explore. Alastair approached you about a job, right? I want you to take him up on it. Meet with him, get close to him.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And what makes you so sure I won’t just take the job and leave?”

A knowing smile tugs at the corner of Liam’s mouth. “Because I don’t think you really want to leave me, Gemma.”

Me. Not the company, not the job, but me.

I feel a flare of irritation at his arrogance, at the way he thinks he’s got me all figured out. “It’s not about wanting to stay with you.”

For a split second, something flickers across his face—a flash of hurt, gone so quickly I might’ve imagined it. But no, there it was. Maybe he is part human and not 100 percent sociopath. Fancy that.

“Take the meeting with Alastair,” he says, his voice oddly quiet. “Get close to him, find out who he’s been talking to inside the company. Because whoever it is, they’re going to regret crossing me.”

He’s not kidding. I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard who’s gotten on his bad side.

Our waiter chooses that moment to arrive with our main courses. I’ve gone for the priciest thing on the menu—a steak so expensive it should come with its own financial advisor. Liam didn’t even blink at the cost.

“All this animosity,” I mutter, cutting into my steak. “Because of a schoolyard argument. What, did he steal your lunch money?”

Liam’s eyes harden. “The guy used every opportunity to make my life hell. And the prick isn’t any different now. So, no, I don’t have time for him.”

“He bullied you?” I ask, surprised. I try to picture a young Liam being pushed around and fail miserably.

He stiffens. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

Of course he doesn’t. God forbid Liam McLaren admit to any vulnerability.

“I bet you gave as good as you got.”

“Not back in those days,” he clips out. “I was a bit scrawnier than I am now. School wasn’t an enjoyable experience for me.”

Wow. I’m shocked he’s opening up to me, sharing a piece of his past like this.

“Couldn’t you leave? Go to a regular school instead of some fancy boarding school?” I ask, genuinely curious.

He sighs, attacking his steak with a bit more force than necessary. “We have the shrinks at work, Gemma. That’s not what I hire you for.”

His tone is light, almost playful, but the message is clear. This topic is off-limits. I can see the walls slamming up, his crafted mask of indifference sliding back into place.

The moment of vulnerability is gone.

One hour later, the drinks are flowing freely. Waiters buzz around us, topping up my glass as soon as I’ve taken a sip.

“Let’s discuss the elephant in the room, shall we?” he says once we’re alone again, swirling the contents of his wineglass.

The elephant? Is he talking about his cock? Because if so, I’m going to need a lot more wine for this conversation.

“There’s no elephant. There’s nothing to discuss, Liam. We’re both adults who made a reckless decision, and now we’re going to move on from it like mature professionals. Blame it on the sea air.”

End of story. Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.

He regards me for a beat. “But here’s my issue. While I have immense professional respect for you, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t physically attracted to you.”

I feel my face burst into flames at his blunt admission, and I take another deserved sip of wine.

“If circumstances were different,” Liam continues calmly, “I think we’d both have to admit our indiscretion on the boat was far too enjoyable to write off as a regrettable one-time thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

My mind floods with memories of that night—his body moving over mine, the feeling of him coming inside me so deeply . . .

“I . . . yes, it was quite enjoyable,” I mumble. Understatement of the century.

“Precisely.” His gaze drops briefly to my lips before dragging back up to meet my eyes, making my stomach do a cartwheel. “Which is why I propose that we continue exploring this newfound aspect of our relationship on a more regular basis.”

I blink, hardly daring to believe what he’s suggesting. “You mean like . . . ?”

“Like entering into a casual arrangement,” Liam clarifies, his tone as businesslike as if he were discussing quarterly reports. “Separate from our working relationship, of course.”

My jaw drops as the weight of his proposal hits me like a ton of kinky bricks. Oh my god. Is this really happening?

“Why would I agree to something like that?” I finally manage.

“I thought the appeal would be obvious after this past weekend,” he responds dryly, one eyebrow raised.

I bristle at his arrogant assumption, even as a traitorous part of me throbs at the memory of just how appealing he was that night. “You think I should feel lucky that you’re doing me the favor of fucking me?”

“Not at all.” He frowns. “I wouldn’t be putting my professionalism on the line if I didn’t want this. I’m merely suggesting that two mature adults enter into a consensual, mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Part of me wants to bolt out of this fancy restaurant, hail a cab, and never look back. But another part, the more reckless part—Ginger, wants to climb into his lap and ride him, right here in front of all these posh old couples.

If Liam was just some random guy off the street, I’d be signing up for this in a heartbeat.

“Let’s cut the bullshit. The sex was incredible.” The undercurrent of hunger in his voice makes my toes curl. “We both know it. And I want more. Immensely, Gemma.”

I bite my lip, struggling to think straight. “I can’t. It’s too messy.”

“Well, here’s the problem.” He leans forward, his elbows on the table. “If we constantly dance around the what-ifs, the might-have-beens, this chemistry between us, it’s going to be distracting in the office. And I can’t have distractions.”

My heart stutters at his words, even as I try to keep a level head. “You want me as a fuck buddy.”

I glance around the posh restaurant. This is hardly the place for such a scandalous conversation.

His eyes darken, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I wouldn’t be so crass as to call it that.”

“But it is, right? Let’s call a spade a spade.”

“Does it matter what we call it? You want me just as much as I want you.”

“But there is a power imbalance,” I point out, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“Yes.” He pauses. “This comes down to whether you trust me. I don’t exploit power imbalances. And I wouldn’t propose this to a woman I didn’t see as my equal.”

I think my brain has short-circuited. To hear Liam sees me as an equal . . . That might be the nicest thing he’s ever said to me, and he’s not even trying to be nice.

“We carry a lot of stress in our jobs,” he says. “We work like maniacs. You might not be a CEO but I’m fully aware of what you do for the company. And you can say all you want but I know a big part of you likes the high-pressure environment. You know how people like me manage our stress levels? Sex. I’ve been using sex to release stress for years now. And I think that you should do the same.”

I stare at him, my mind reeling, my heart pounding.

Could I really do this? Separate sex from emotion? Keep things purely physical between us without catching feelings?

“If you say no, no hard feelings. We continue our business relationship as normal. This exists solely on our mutual willingness,” Liam says quietly. “I may be an egotistical prick in your eyes, but I would never stoop to exploiting a woman for sex.”

I swallow hard. “And if I say yes?”

His gaze darkens, his voice dropping to a low, rough rumble that sends shivers racing down my spine and straight to my clit. “You come home with me tonight. And I fuck you in every room of my apartment. But if we are going to fuck, if we are going to do this, we’re exclusive. I don’t share.”

I nearly choke on my tongue, my eyes widening as I try to process the filthiness of his words. “How many rooms do you have?”

He smirks. “Eleven.”