Chapter 7 Liam
Liam
“What … what is this?”
The man’s face was a picture of barely concealed scorn. Clearly, respect for serving staff was optional. He gestured toward the heavily laden food cart like he’d been personally insulted.
“It’s nearly nine a.m. I asked for buttermilk croissants with wildflower honey,” he said. “This is a tray of frittata squares. And are those … chives?”
“I believe so.” My hands were still on the handle of the cart I’d started to push aside before I’d been accosted. I’d sprinted up six flights of stairs, and I was wearing jeans, not a suit, but I was pretty sure I didn’t look like I was in catering.
The man grabbed a glass and sniffed. His navy suit was shiny and a bit too tight. Small sweat stains were starting to show under his armpits.
“And where is the Veuve Clicquot? This is Prosecco punch, isn’t it?”
Bonnie had said I could freshen up before the meeting, but the route from the stairs to the executive bathrooms had been clogged.
Hospitality staff and trolleys straining under platters and glasses made it impossible to get through without detection.
I hadn’t planned on being intercepted by a food cart, and I was no expert on wildflower honey.
But he was right about the punch.
The man swallowed and continued slowly. “And is that a cheddar scone? Who eats cheddar scones?”
“I don’t mind them myself.”
He winced, as if the effort to restrain himself caused him pain. “Very helpful. Next time, maybe someone could read the actual order. We have VIPs attending today. Please fix this.”
He turned and walked away, his cologne lingering faintly in the air behind him.
I glanced around quickly, but Andrea was nowhere to be seen. Fuck. I was sure I’d see her here. Ideally before the speech. I really needed to talk to her.
Why didn’t I get her number?
I hadn’t been able to get her out of my mind all night.
All morning too. I’d woken up hard, thinking about her.
The noises she’d made when I’d kissed her neck. How she’d dug her nails into my back. How I’d pushed apart her legs and—
“Liam!” From the other side of the office, Bonnie stared at me angrily.
She gestured with her head to the right, her eyebrows on the verge of merging with her hairline.
I rarely intentionally annoyed Bonnie as she did, quite frankly, keep my whole life organized, but it was a little comical watching her frustration right now.
“What?” I mouthed.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, meeting me outside the bathrooms. “Why didn’t you tell him who you were? Christ. I was planning on managing introductions properly.”
“You know the new time clashed with the online board meeting,” I said. “Sorry. I seem to have pissed off the Wolf of Wall Street guy. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I can’t fix his wildflower honey crisis.”
“Wolf of—? Oh, yes. Gerald’s your head of sales.” She gave me a look. “I suppose he didn’t expect you to be under forty. It’s not like this is the first time it’s happened.”
Fair.
“He’s asked me to switch out his frittatas,” I said. “Apparently not fancy enough for his VIPs.”
Gerald was going to feel a bit awkward when he found out who he’d just ordered to fix his canapés.
“His VIPs being you and me, I assume?” Bonnie rolled her eyes.
“I think we’ll leave it. Now, we don’t have long.
The staff is waiting through there already, or I’d introduce you to the leadership team.
” She exhaled. “This is what happens when you insist on staying out of the negotiations until the deal is done.”
“I think we both know it’s for the best.” It was certainly my preference. I couldn’t stand the executive power plays and grandstanding.
“Maybe. It can make things more complex, though,” she said.
Complex.
Like sleeping with a woman who worked for the company you’d just bought.
Who had no idea who you were.
Yeah.
Couldn’t wait till Bonnie found out about that.