Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Madison
Pushing aside the curtain and separating the blinds on the side window, I catch a glimpse of Liam’s retreating form, running away from the cabin complex.
I guess the running is a consistent thing.
I suppose he has to keep that body in shape somehow when he’s moving all over the country.
And he’s doing an awfully good job of it.
The observation is simply an acknowledgment of fact, nothing more. Still, I make a mental note to add more barre sessions with Clara to my to-do lists.
I’m on day-three hair, and while I frequently push it to four or even five days with the help of quality dry shampoo, I decide to take a fast shower before going to Liam’s cabin. After all, they do say to dress for the day you want to have—and I’m gunning for a win today.
While I shampoo and condition my hair, the eucalyptus and tea tree oil scent wakes me up even more. I may not even need caffeine today. But I’m not turning down the chance to count Liam’s suits, assuming his cabin has the same open-concept feel. I bet he has at least six.
I don’t bother to blow-dry my hair since it air dries mostly straight all on its own.
I do take a few minutes to apply some light makeup, including the mini cat-eye eyeliner that helped maintain my token “sassy” aura at WritInc.
I even go so far as to slip on a pair of jeans and a sage-green sweater in lieu of leggings and a sweatshirt.
Because I have an extra few minutes, I repaint my nails, choosing a coral pink as the main color.
After painting my right thumb and index finger, I pause.
Should I switch back to ring finger accent nails now that I’m no longer secretly sticking it to Chad?
After a momentary debate, I skip over my middle fingernail, leaving it blank.
When the coral nails are finished, I decide I may as well just go bold and paint my accent nails stark black. Call it a power move.
Dressing for the day you want to have—check. Maybe I’ll actually add that to my to-do list for the day so I can officially check it off.
At 6:57 a.m., I cross the few yards of gravel between our cabins and knock on Liam’s door.
He swings it open almost instantly, and holy moly, I was not prepared for freshly-showered Liam Park.
He must not have sprayed any cologne yet because I’m hit by a scent of masculine body wash instead.
I physically bite my tongue to stop myself from telling him to ditch the cologne altogether.
His black hair has been styled but holds that still-wet sheen, and the black dress shirt he’s wearing with light gray slacks should be the poster look for business professional dress codes.
He isn’t wearing the matching blazer yet (although it’s hanging on a hook by the door), and it has me picturing what the shirt would look like with the sleeves rolled up on his forearms and paired with jeans.
All of these observations have flooded my brain in the split second it’s taken Liam to say, “Good morning, MJ.”
I’m a fish with its mouth hanging open. I’m about to be caught acting like a total psycho if my brain can’t manage to remember some common greeting phrases, stat. Something streaks across the room behind Liam, causing me to scream, jump, and narrowly avoid psycho-staring territory.
“You have a cat in here?!” I exclaim just before I realize I have a death grip on Liam’s arm.
It’s a very firm arm.
His eyebrows form a wry line as he looks down at my hands wrapped around his bicep, then back to my face. “Are you . . . afraid of cats?”
I release his arm only to give it a firm swat. “No, I’m not afraid of cats. I was just startled. I didn’t expect to see any animals running around the tiny cabin.” His amused smile remains in place. I huff. “Are you even allowed to have pets in here? Does James know you have a cat?”
Liam shrugs. “I assume so. I didn’t book the lodging—our executive assistant did that. She’s good about finding places for me that allow pets, so I’d imagine the landlord is aware of Hamlet’s presence.”
In response to his name, the cat gives a loud meow as it brushes up against Liam’s ankles. It sits down at his feet and eyes me with a look of utter contempt.
“Um, hi there, Hamlet,” I say uncertainly as I bend forward and reach out my hand. The cat hisses and swats at my fingers, causing me to jump back in alarm. Maybe I am afraid of this cat.
“Don’t take it personally,” Liam says. “Hamlet doesn’t really like people, but he’s harmless.”
“Duly noted,” I say, pinning my own haughty glare on Hamlet. He narrows his eyes at me before trotting across the room to curl up on the bed. I turn to Liam. “I was promised a cup of coffee that would tempt me to change my mind about hot beverage rankings.”
Liam claps his hands together, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “Indeed,” he says as he walks the few steps to the kitchenette. “If you think tea is better, it’s probably because you haven’t had a high-quality cup of coffee yet.”
He places a hand-crank coffee grinder on a kitchen scale.
With practiced movements, he turns on the scale and a goose-neck water kettle.
He opens a vacuum-sealed container and pours coffee beans into the grinder, measuring out the right grams. While the water heats, he grinds the coffee beans, retrieves a coffee mug from the cabinet, and covers it with a pour over contraption.
He places a cone-shaped filter inside but doesn’t add the coffee grounds yet.
When the water has been heated to the set temperature, he pours hot water through the filter over the sink.
“Why are you doing that?” I ask, stepping closer in my curiosity.
He looks down at me as I stand next to his shoulder.
“Pouring water through first gets rid of any lingering taste of the filter,” he explains as he dumps the coffee grounds into the damp filter.
He places the whole pour over setup onto the kitchen scale and zeros it out before slowly pouring hot water over the grounds in a controlled swirling pattern.
As he stirs the water into the grounds with a tiny spoon, I can’t help but think this entire process is rather soothing to watch. Even if it turns out to taste bitter and disgusting. Liam continues to swirl more water over the grounds in intervals as he asks me about my to-do list for the day.
“I’m hoping that my friend who’s designing my logo and other graphics will get them back to me today.
Then I can finish the web design and get some social media accounts created.
I also have an editing course to start, and I’ll get through as many of those video modules as possible so I can add the credentials to my résumé ASAP,” I answer.
I’m still mesmerized by Liam’s sure movements making the pour over coffee.
He sets the water kettle back on the heater, and I look up to meet his eyes. He asks, “I thought you had several years of proofreading experience? Why do you need to take an editing course?”
“Well, the specific style guide we used at the company I worked for is different than the style guidelines used for books. Thank goodness I get to embrace the Oxford comma again,” I reply. I launch into the differences between style guides, and he doesn’t even look bored as I explain.
“What company did you work for, and why did you quit?” he asks.
Although it’s a reasonable question, I feel embarrassed to answer. Ashamed to admit that, apparently, I wasn’t irreplaceable. I give a brief description of WritInc as a company, but shy away from answering his second question.
“And?” he asks, holding intense eye contact.
Sighing, I say, “And last month, my manager decided to save the company money by replacing me with a robot.” Liam raises an eyebrow, and I say, “They’re using AI to run the final proofreads instead of a human proofreader.”
Considering Liam’s job description—optimize processes and get businesses running more efficiently—I expect him to side with Evil Chad. So I’m surprised when he shakes his head in disapproval.
“Were there ever any complaints from customers about typos or errors?” he asks.
“I resent your insinuation that I would let a mistake slip through!” I huff. “Zero complaints in the seven years I worked there.”
Liam shakes his head again. “I understand the manager’s logic, but that’s a short-sighted decision.
They could lose more money than they save in the long run if they start having errors.
Customers don’t like ‘efficiency’ if it means mistakes—they could lose some clients,” Liam says, miming air quotes.
I resist the urge to hug him. Enthusiastically.
“Thank you!” I say instead. “That’s exactly what I said. Apparently, I’m not very persuasive. Or, I’m not very essential.”
“Untrue,” Liam says as he removes the pour over funnel from the mug, now that the water has finished draining through. “You’re both.”
He hands the mug to me with a gleam in his eye. “I think you’ll find I’m also very persuasive. I used my favorite coffee beans, just for you,” he says. “Moment of truth.”
“Don’t I at least get some cream or sugar in here?” I ask, scrunching up my nose. Even though the coffee smells divine.
Liam mimics my dramatic reaction to his hunt-and-peck typing confession two nights ago, covering his ears and squinting his eyes closed. He begins in a falsetto voice, “I think you ruptured my ear—”
I smack his arm again to cut him off, which causes him to fully laugh. It’s a deep, comforting sound, especially paired with the smile lines around his eyes.
“You need to try it black,” Liam says when his laughter dies out. “Quality coffee doesn’t need to be drowned out with milk or sugar. You’ll get the full-bodied tasting experience by sipping it black.”
Eyeing him with suspicion, I raise the mug to my lips and take a slow sip.
I’m offended by how not awful it is.
Faking a cough, I give Liam my best accusatory eyebrows. “I don’t know—tastes pretty bitter to me.”
He gives me a smug smile in return. “You are such a liar.” I roll my eyes but take another sip.
Gosh darn it, this is actually pretty good.
“If you enjoy the variety of teas I saw on your kitchen counter, then I know you have the refined palate to taste the different notes in the coffee,” Liam says.
I stand a little straighter at the compliment.
And mentally glitch over his casual snoopiness when he was in my cabin the other night.
I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s matching my game.
He motions toward the mug. “What do you taste?”
I take a longer drink, paying close attention as I swallow. “Warm, earthy undertones. Like chocolate or nuts or something. It’s not acidic or fruity at all.” Liam gives me an approving look, and I can’t help but smile. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Liam nods as he says, “Cocoa, hazelnut, and caramel—it’s a single origin bean from Brazil. It brews really smooth without any acidity or bitterness. You can go ahead and admit that you like it,” he adds as I’m taking a full drink.
I groan as I turn away from him, holding the mug with both hands.
“Fine. I admit it. But I don’t necessarily like it better than tea.
” My eyes scan the space of his cabin. It’s larger than mine with a spiral staircase leading to a loft, but otherwise the layout is the same, simply bigger.
The bed is neatly made, and I notice (with smug delight) several suits hanging on the bar by the bed.
Swiveling around, I lock eyes with Liam, which could be a bad idea for my runaway hormones. “I’m seeing an astounding number of blazers hanging up over there.”
Liam leans against the counter, crossing one ankle over the other and folding his arms across his chest. The casual pose is doing nothing to corral my hormones. Neither is the self-assured smile on his face. “I already told you I like suits. That’s not a dirty secret.”
I swallow hard before plastering a smirk on my face. “How many?”
“I have enough,” Liam says, his lips twitching slightly. I raise my eyebrow in challenge. “Eight,” he finally admits on a sigh.
“Here—but you have more that you left at home?” I prod.
He makes a “whatever” face. I tsk my tongue, turning a full circle in the room as I take another appreciative sip of coffee (and keep an eye out for the cat that is no longer on the bed—that gray devil might sense my sarcastic teasing of his master and attack me).
When I turn back to Liam, he’s restarted the coffee brewing process with an insulated to-go mug. “You're taking coffee with you to work, or is that a second cup for me?” I quip.
He looks over his shoulder at me with a smug smile. “Told you I’d convert you.”
“You did not convert me,” I snap back. “I’ll be happily drinking tea the rest of the day while I accomplish twice as much as you do, Suits.”
Liam fights a smile as he swirls water over the coffee grounds. “We’ll see about that, MJ.”