Chapter 19 Liam
Liam
Perhaps she wasn’t going to come?
No, that was ridiculous. Two minutes late was nothing for most people for dinner. A dinner meeting. No need to text her just yet. That would make me look desperate, and I wasn’t giving her that satisfaction.
The restaurant was getting busier, and I scanned the menu.
The food here was excellent and not at all pretentious.
She’d appreciate that. Although I should’ve asked about dietary requirements.
What if she was vegan? Or allergic to nuts?
Both? Fuck, what a nightmare that would be.
Was there something for vegans who didn’t eat nuts?
“Business meeting, sir?” The waiter gestured to my leather folder on the table. “Perhaps I could suggest a private room?”
“No, thank you. A … friend.” The waiter tipped his head and left. Was it a business meeting? Andrea always managed to derail my focus from business in an instant, no matter how hard I tried to keep my distance.
But she wasn’t a friend. Far from it.
Not since she found out who I was.
19:03. Another minute. Maybe she couldn’t find the place. I knew I should have sent a car. But she would’ve hated that. Too controlling. And picking her up in my car would have looked like a date. She’d have shut that down fast.
At least she’d be comfortable here. It was chic and modern, without being snooty.
And top-notch bathrooms if she needed them.
The Defenda pads flashed into my mind—her face going red when she realized I’d seen them.
I winced. You never knew what someone was dealing with behind the scenes.
At least the bathrooms here had proper privacy.
Focus. We were here to sort out wedding preparations, not worry about how Andrea felt about the restaurant.
I glanced at my watch again. Five minutes late now.
Punctuality really wasn’t her thing. At least I had time to think of what to say when she came in.
Lovely to see you? Christ, no—that was what you said to your great-aunt.
You look beautiful? Of course she would, but that was way too personal.
Are you well? Better, but stiff as hell.
Maybe enchanté? Jesus, what was wrong with me?
Laughter from the other side of the room grabbed my attention, and I turned my head to see a beauty in a pale-pink dress by the door. The waiter was taking her coat. Andrea. A couple of guys were checking her out, a bit longer than I’d have liked. I couldn’t blame them, though. She looked stunning.
“Hi, Liam.”
I stood, half offering a hand at the same time as she leaned in. We both adjusted mid-move and ended up with a brief brush of cheeks and a handshake that lasted a beat too long.
“Are you lovely?” I asked.
Jesus Christ.
Her mouth quirked. “Functional, thanks. You?”
“I’m well, thank you.” The waiter slid her chair out, and she sat, tucking one ankle behind the other.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, setting her phone face down. “Traffic.”
“Absolutely fine, of course. I hope this is close enough for you? To your home, I mean. I thought it might—”
“God, it’s only five minutes. My sincerest apologies.” Great. She thought I was being sarcastic. She really didn’t like me.
“Thanks for coming.” Perfect. Now I’d made it sound like I was conducting a job interview. Well. Might as well get down to it.
Her gaze dropped to the folder. “Sorry, I didn’t realize we had homework.”
I moved it an inch, as if that would make it less visible. “Something like that.”
“I’m afraid the dog ate mine.”
I cleared my throat. “We do … have a lot to get through. I thought it might save time.”
The waiter appeared at my shoulder. “Something to drink, sir?”
“Yes, please. Andrea, do you know what you—?”
“Please, you choose. Something white.”
“A bottle of the Chablis Premier Cru, thank you,” I said.
“Excellent choice, sir.” The waiter inclined his head and withdrew.
“So what’s in here, then?” Andrea nodded toward the folder. “Is it for me?”
“It’s my résumé. Or my life résumé. What you’d know if you really were my … girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows shot up, her mouth a perfect circle. “May I—?”
“Yes, by all means. I made it for you.”
She picked up the folder and slid out the paper, her eyes moving line by line down the text. I shifted in my chair. Not since the service, perhaps, had anyone studied my credentials so intently.
“So this is …” She scanned the document, her index finger hovering in places.
I straightened the cutlery. She remained quiet, squinting at the text.
“Perhaps it would help if I filled in any blanks?”
“No need, Liam. It’s pretty standard stuff. Boarding school, Oxford. I’m amazed this wasn’t laminated.” She dropped the document on the table. “Sounds nice.”
“Ah … yes. Thanks.” Probably not as nice as she imagined, but nobody likes a poor little rich boy.
“You were in the Air Force?”
“I was.”
“Why?”
Why? Nobody asked that. They asked what combat was like, or why I’d dropped out. They didn’t ask why I’d joined in the first place.
“I didn’t want to just … fall into the life that had been mapped out for me. I wanted to do something—” Fuck. Where was I going with this? “I wanted to make a difference.”
“Oh. And did you?”
Jesus. Could we not at least wait for the starters?
“I think so.”
But not the way I’d wanted to.
Certainly not for Samir.
Her eyes stayed on mine, as if she was studying me. The room seemed to close in, the hum of voices tight around my ears. I pressed my palm flat against my thigh, released it, pressed again. The restaurant’s murmur seemed sharper, everything clanging, scraping, loud.
Breathe.
She didn’t mean anything. She didn’t know.
I fixed my eyes on the menu card, tracing the typeface. Maybe if I looked at the little dots between the prices and the dishes, I could anchor the air back in my lungs.
Andrea’s voice cut through, lighter than before. “All right, important question. Are we ordering starters, or are you one of those people who pretends he’s not hungry and then steals half of mine?”
She’d placed a hand on my forearm.
I looked up, and she was smiling. “Here.” She took back her hand and tore a bread roll in half. “You look like you need the carbs more than I do.”
“Thanks.” I took it. The room floated back into place.
Did she know what that small action had done?
“Your Chablis Premier Cru, sir.” The waiter stood there with the bottle.
“Thank you.” He poured a splash into my glass, and I took a sip and set it down.
“Very nice. Thanks.”
He poured for Andrea, then filled my glass, leaving the bottle in the cooler by my elbow.
“Well, your CV’s lovely, Liam. But nothing someone couldn’t find out online. If I were your girlfriend, I’d know a hell of a lot more than this.”
“You would?”
“Obviously I would, yes.”
She folded her arms and leaned back in the chair. Had something changed? Her voice seemed to have lost that careful edge.
“Like what?”
“The good stuff, Liam. Not what you’ve done, but who you are. You know?”
No, I did not.
She took a sip of the wine. “Like, I don’t know … what little quirks you have. Why you’ve made the decisions you’ve made in your life. What you do for fun. That sort of thing.”
“Oh. I see.” I didn’t want to talk about my life decisions. Not all of them, anyway. “Well. I do have a section under ‘interests’ on the résumé, but I’m happy to run you through the rest if it would help.”
She laughed. “Happy to? C’mon, Liam. You sound like you’re offering me a PowerPoint presentation. Do you have bullet points prepared already?”
“I don’t, I’m afraid. We’ll have to wing it.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go.” She placed both elbows on the table.
The waiter appeared again. “Are you ready to order, sir?”
“Couple more minutes, please.”
She was watching me like she expected me to say something, but I didn’t think of myself like that. I was all about what I’d achieved. Nobody ever asked who I was or why. Least of all, me.
Maybe I didn’t want to know.
“Why don’t you go first, Andrea? Give me some idea of what sort of content you’d find useful?”
“Well, I’d love to, Liam. But I didn’t bring my CV, I’m afraid. Dog, remember?”
“Aren’t you in sales? I thought you people were all about making things up on the fly?”
She raised her brows in faux disapproval. “I see. Like that, is it? Give me a pen, then.”
I pulled one from my jacket pocket and slid it across the table. She flipped over the wine list and began writing on the back of it like it was standard practice.
The waiter, halfway to another table, glanced back and hesitated for a fraction of a second. Andrea ignored him, hair falling forward as she scrawled on the paper. Fuck, she was pretty. I found myself watching the slim curve of her wrist as she scribbled.
“There. My CV.”
I picked it up and cast my eye down the page.
“‘Hates balloons’?”
She smiled at me and placed one elbow on the table, chin resting on her fist.
“And this defines who you are as a person, does it? Essential background for Hugo and Miranda, in your view?”
“If you were my boyfriend, this is something you’d know by now, yes.”
I flicked my gaze back up to hers. “‘Education, not a private school’?” Clearly some sort of dig. “You are aware, you don’t have to define yourself by how unlike me you are.”
Andrea smirked. “No, but it’s more fun like that.”
“‘Cat person’. Would never have guessed.” I placed the document down on the table. “Andrea, I already know more about you than everything on here.”
A smile twitched at the corners of her lips. “No, you don’t.”
“A couple more minutes for you both, sir?” The waiter was hovering again.
“Sorry, please.” We were that couple who took too long to decide. Not that we were a couple. He nodded lightly, then left.
“I think I do.” I looked her dead in the eye. “Try me.”
“Oh, please. Trawling through my HR records doesn’t count. And that’s probably a privacy breach, by the way, under the circumstances.”
“Andrea. This … CV tells me nothing.”