Love to Loathe Him: A Billionaire Office Romance
Love to Loathe Him: Chapter 42

I drum my fingers on 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.

I don’t say a word. I allow the silence to stretch, to suffocate her, letting the full force of my presence bear down upon her like a physical weight.

My eyes rake over her, taking in every detail. The rapid rise and fall of her chest, the nervous flutter of her fingers against her bag. Never in a million years did I think I would find myself in this position, directing my wrath toward her.

This is the woman I wanted to go public with, the woman I was ready to claim as mine in front of the whole fucking world. We were so close, so goddamn close to having it all.

But she just proved what I already knew, what I should have never forgotten. You come into this world alone and you leave it alone. Relying on other people is a surefire way of getting fucked over.

“You wanted the truth,” she blurts out. “Well, I told Sir Whitmore the truth. I’m sorry you don’t like it.”

I step closer, my voice a low rumble. “The truth? The truth is you betrayed me.” I’m fighting to keep my composure, but the fury’s there, beneath the surface, ready to explode. “Why? Why would you fuck me over?”

“I didn’t fuck you over,” she snaps back, lifting that stubborn chin of hers, defiance flashing in her eyes despite the obvious fear. “I told Sir Whitmore the truth. You’re not the right man for this acquisition. You’ll gut his business, strip it for parts, and leave the charity in ruins.”

“And who the hell are you to make that call?” I snarl, leaning in until our faces are inches apart. “What gives you the audacity to cost me a billion-pound deal? You are my lover and my employee. You are paid a huge amount of money to serve the interests of my company. Of my fucking interests. And this is how you repay me?”

Her pulse pounds in her throat, a frantic flutter beneath that creamy skin I’ve tasted countless times.

She doesn’t answer, just fumbles with her bag. Her eyes dart toward the door and something primal roars to life inside me. She’s not going anywhere. Not until I say so. Not until she looks me in the eye and tells me why she ripped my fucking heart out.

“Why?” The words tear from my throat, raw and agonized. “Fucking why?”

Her eyes meet mine. “Because it’s the truth. You’re untrustworthy. You only care about yourself. You don’t give a crap about anyone else.” Her voice breaks. “You’re a cruel, ruthless man, and I’m not worried about you in the slightest because you’ve lost the deal but still have billions in the bank, all the yes men and women you want, and people worshiping at your feet.”

“I didn’t want anyone worshiping at my feet. I didn’t want a yes woman. I wanted you,” I snarl, the words coming out like a confession. “I wanted your respect, your trust, your fucking faith in me. But you’ve made it pretty damn clear that’s off the table now, haven’t you?”

I spot Security hovering at the door. At least someone in this company still knows how to follow orders.

“Get out,” I grit through clenched teeth, jerking my head toward the door. “Get the fuck out of my office, Gemma. And make sure you stay out of my way from here on out.”

“Gladly,” she spits.

With shaking hands, she fumbles with her badge, yanking it from around her neck and slamming it down on the desk hard enough to make the monitors rattle.

Then she’s gone, fleeing like I’m the villain, security flanking her.

I stand there, staring at the empty space where she sat for five years. The white-hot rage inside me slowly cools, hardening into something far more painful.