Chapter 11 Liam
Liam
“For the love of God, can we please put the top up?” Bonnie’s face was screwed into a knot, her eyes tightly shut.
I shifted into second as we curved past Wellington Arch. There were faster routes from my apartment in Mayfair to the Novexia offices in London Bridge, but none as scenic. And at least this way we avoided most of the Wednesday morning traffic.
“Yes, I know,” Bonnie said. “Eight Bond movies. Blah, blah, blah. It doesn’t even have a cup holder.”
“I’m afraid they didn’t design it with Bonnie Marchand’s iced caramel macchiato in mind.” I rested one hand on the leather steering wheel, enjoying the feel of the rim under my fingertips.
“Can’t you at least get over your tragic little spy fantasy and get a car with a proper roof?” Bonnie’s hair whipped around her face in wild, stinging strands, sticking to her red lipstick. “Even Bond wasn’t stupid enough to get the convertible model.”
“Sorry, Bonnie. I’ll pack my motorcycle helmet for you next time.”
“Fuck you, Liam.”
I handed her a black woolen beanie from the glove compartment, doing my best not to laugh. She pulled the hat down low, scowling like a disgruntled bank robber. “I hate your stupid car.”
“That’s a good look for you. You about to hold up Waitrose?”
If she could have stabbed me with her eyes without us crashing, she would have.
Bonnie looked out to her right toward Buckingham Palace. “Liam, we need to talk about that girl again. From the lift. Very sweet of you, jumping to her defense in front of Gerald.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She looked at me crossly, her wind-watery eyes making her anger less intimidating than usual. Poor thing. I’d have to remember to put the top up in the future.
“Liam. I don’t care what you get up to in your free time.” She breathed out heavily. “But I do care when it puts the project at risk. This isn’t some random girl. She’s an employee.”
My neck stiffened. I didn’t think of Andrea like that at all—an employee. And certainly not a “random girl.” I still couldn’t get her out of my mind. But I knew what Bonnie was referring to. I felt my hackles rise.
“You’re not telling me the whole story,” she said. “Something else happened in that lift. The energy between you two was palpable. You’d better spit it out before we get hit with a harassment claim or something shows up in the Daily Mail.”
Bonnie never left a stone unturned—part of the reason I needed her around. My sanity was a small price to pay, I suppose.
“I already told you. I didn’t tell her my full name because I didn’t know she worked there.”
Bonnie scoffed. “Whatever. You wanted to see if you could pick up a woman without relying on your name and wealth.”
Sometimes I really hated my strategic adviser. I took a deep breath.
“Did you hit on her, Liam? I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
Goddammit. It was like trying to work with an AI chatbot who had access to your entire life’s data and no compunction about using it against you.
The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben came into view on the right, towering along the north bank of the Thames. Hordes of tourists clogged the pavements, red double-deckers and black cabs jamming the roads.
“Nothing’s going on.” I paused. Probably best if I just came clean. “But—”
Bonnie’s head snapped toward me.
“I do need to give you one small update.” I kept my voice deliberately light.
She folded her arms, looking about as threatening as anyone could in a woolly hat. “I see.”
“We may have had some interactions that could be construed as”—I searched for words that wouldn’t create a nuclear reaction—“more friendly than professional.”
She nodded stiffly, her lips pursed. “Friendly. Of course.”
I paused. “And—”
“Oh God, what else?”
“After the lift fell—” How was I going to make this sound okay? “I did something that, on reflection, might not be considered … standard, between an employer and a member of staff.”
Bonnie looked at me sternly. It was incredible how I could be driving an Aston Martin along one of the most iconic routes in the world—my own Aston Martin, no less—and still feel like a schoolboy who’d forgotten his homework. I took another deep breath. So did she.
“Well,” she said. “I suppose you’d better tell me.”
*
Borough High Street carried us toward London Bridge. Less than five minutes to Novexia now. I’d told her everything. It hadn’t been easy, but somehow, I’d calmed Bonnie down.
“Liam,” she said. “We can’t be complacent.
UK employment laws are very favorable to staff, and things get dicey during an acquisition.
” She sniffed. The wind had destroyed her hair, and her pink nose was pink and leaking.
It certainly took the edge off her frostbite-in-heels vibe.
Now she looked like she might actually have frostbite.
“We have to handle this extremely cautiously. The last thing we need is a constructive dismissal situation.”
“Andrea’s not like that.” Our connection had been real. I was sure of it. I wanted to see her again, no matter what Bonnie said. I just wished it could be without all the billionaire Wilhelm von Roth bullshit. But we could never go back to the elevator. It was just a bubble in time that had popped.
“Everyone’s like that when money’s involved.” Bonnie looked at me like I was a moron. “Be realistic. Or have you forgotten all the issues I’ve cleaned up for you in the past?”
The DB5’s engine rumbled as I eased past an old brick warehouse. Office workers in lanyards hovered outside glass-fronted cafés, sipping steaming coffee and squinting in the sun.
Was everyone like that? I hated to think she might be right. Once women found out who I was—well. I’d been burnt once or twice. It was almost impossible to tell until it was too late.
But … fuck. That was hard to swallow.
“Speaking of.” I changed the subject. “I still need to get in front of Hugo.”
Bonnie switched into operational gear. “Yes, I haven’t forgotten. I thought we could arrange for you to bump into him at an event, accidentally. I’ll have Claire send his EA some cupcakes.”
For a woman with the heart of Lex Luthor, Bonnie could be surprisingly thoughtful. Odd how it only leaked out in snippets. I wondered if she curated special Christmas tree decorations, each with their own individual meaning.
“Very cute,” I said. “Are you sure you’re not a frustrated primary school teacher?”
She gave me a look that would have withered Wolverine’s balls. The stone-cold legal killer was back.
“Liam, you know who Hugo is.”
I did. Hugo Stewart was the Minister for Health and Emergency Services.
“Without putting too fine a point on it, we’ll have our work cut out for us if he’s going to take you seriously.”
I kept my eyes on the road. “Because of the—”
“Because you spent six months in a psychiatric facility after Afghanistan, yes. And because every tabloid in London has run at least three stories about your … let’s call them ‘enthusiastic social activities’ since you got out.
” She paused. “Hugo’s not going to risk his reputation on a regulatory favor for someone unstable.
Right now, you look like a man who’s either running from something or running toward the next breakdown. ”
“And cupcakes will fix that, I assume?” Behind her, the Shard sliced into the sky, its mirrored panels and sharp edges throwing light in every direction.
Bonnie smiled like she’d just sucked an unripe lemon. “Hugo will remember you—I’m sure he remembers all his son’s close friends—but cupcakes to the EA never hurt. It’ll warm her up. She’ll give me Hugo’s schedule.”
Of course. Not so much thoughtful as manipulative. Oh well. On second thought, she probably hired someone to do her Christmas decorations to match her decor.
“Didn’t you stay with them once or twice in the school holidays?” Bonnie tugged at the tangled ends of her hair. She looked like she’d been in a wind tunnel.
I nodded. “Ben and I did. At their place in Surrey. Nick invited us.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize you both knew them. That’s helpful. Nick and Juliette are getting married, by the way. You can drop in your congrats when you see Hugo. People love it when you ask after their kids.”
“Thanks for the coaching.” Political networking, brilliant. I’d rather chug a pint of cold puke.
To the right, the Thames flashed in glimpses between buildings. A tourist boat slid past below the level of the road, its white wake curling behind it.
“I know you’re not keen on this sort of thing,” she said. “But I think you’re going to have to get on with it.”
The truth was, I rather liked Hugo, and not just because he was my friend’s father. He and his family had always been good to my brother and me. What I didn’t like was the idea of exploiting our connection to help my business. But that was the game I was in now.
“Just let me know where I need to be, and when.”
“I’ll book you in to whatever he’s got next in his diary,” she said.
The Novexia building loomed ahead. I dropped the car into second as we approached and slid into the underground car park. Bonnie tugged the beanie off and realized, too late, that it was stuck to her dangly earring.
“Ouch. Oh my God, fuck this car!” She untangled the hat and threw it in the back as if it were a rodent that had personally attacked her. Her hair was plastered to her scalp, the ends splayed out at all angles. “Don’t look at my fucking hair.” The words were a vicious growl. “This is your fault.”
I stifled a laugh. Did I hear her mutter “dick” under her breath? Surely not. I decided to ignore it.
She swiped her phone open. “Okay, your session with the elevator girl is lined up for nine thirty.”
“Andrea is her name,” I said.
“Hm. And you know what to say?”
“I’ll clear the air. Set things on a professional footing. It seems quite simple.”
“It always does to you, Liam.”
I hopped out and held the door for her. She swung out her calves and resentfully extended a hand for me to pull her up from the low seat, glowering. I didn’t recall Bond’s leading ladies ever looking like they were wedged in a tire swing.