Chapter 11 Liam #2
“Please consider the risk your recent behavior has created.” Bonnie steadied herself, then leaned over and grabbed her laptop and handbag from the tiny back seat. She straightened and attempted to run her fingers through her hair before realizing it was futile.
“And under no circumstances are you to admit liability or apologize. That’s probably what she wants, if she’s planning something.
If she tricks you into saying you’re sorry, you might as well take out an ad in the Times saying you’re a sexual predator.
Women are all over that right now. Don’t you read the news?
Of course you don’t.” Bonnie shook her head.
“I’ll message you some stories. That might wake you up. ”
“I don’t need waking up,” I said. “She’s not like that.”
“Oh Liam. This woman is in sales. They’re basically paid to manipulate you.”
“Like lawyers then?” I said under my breath.
Bonnie glared at me. “They’re professional charmers, Liam. Get a grip.” She paused. “You know, she might even try to record you.”
“Bonnie,” I said slowly, trying to infuse her with a sense of calm I didn’t feel. “She’s not going to record me.”
Was she?
“You have no idea what she might do. You don’t know this woman, and there’s money involved. And please don’t forget that the lift thing could have been a lot worse. Just because Novexia doesn’t own the car park doesn’t mean we don’t have RIDDOR duties. I’ve got legal looking into it.”
“I appreciate you.”
“Fuck off, Liam, this is serious. You’re the CEO of a pharmaceutical company now—you’re more of a target than you’ve ever been.”
It was almost as if Bonnie expected Andrea to whip out her phone and open Voice Memo.
“You’re overly concerned. Andrea isn’t—”
“Save it,” she said. “This could go south very quickly, especially with the power imbalance, so keep your wits about you. You can afford a lawsuit, but a hit to your reputation could bury us. If this thing ends up in the media, you can kiss your plans for Novexia goodbye for good.”
*
“Andrea?”
She stopped, one leg through the gap, left hand grasping an iPhone and an orange pen. There was a notebook gripped under her armpit. The other hand struggled to push open the heavy fire door that led to the service stairs.
“Oh,” she said. “I was just—” Her jaw tightened, and I pretended not to notice.
“Let me get that for you.” I reached for the door and pulled it open into the stairwell. She looked up and then away quickly, like she couldn’t stand to look at me.
Ouch.
“Thanks.” The word was clipped.
Still ten minutes till our meeting. I hadn’t planned on bumping into her like this, climbing the service stairs. I’d wanted to get my words sorted. I wasn’t ready.
Keep it professional, Liam.
“Well.” I tried a light laugh. “I was just—”
“Me too,” she said at the same time, with a wave of the phone toward the staircase. The pen flew out of her hand and landed by my foot. It had a pink pompom on the end. I handed it back to her, ignoring the slight blush in her cheeks.
Fuck. This was all my fault. No way she was a calculating extortionist like Bonnie was making her out to be.
They’re basically paid to manipulate you.
No. Bonnie was paranoid.
“You’re … ah … taking the stairs then?” I asked. Dear God. What else might she be doing here, hosting a dinner party? Of course she was, after what had happened.
“Safer than the lift.” She glanced at me coldly, her expression unreadable.
I wished it could have been like it was in her apartment again. Before I’d fucked everything up.
“Right.” I cleared my throat. “No risk, of—um—” I made a downward gesture with my right hand to indicate falling.
“No.” She frowned, like I was an idiot.
Fuck. Was that movement suggestive?
Eyes forward, Liam. Lock it down.
“I mean, of mechanical failure.”
“Yes.” Her tone was ice.
Was that admitting liability? No. Of course not.
“Unless you count knees. Technically, they are mechanical.”
What did I just say?
She stared at me for a beat. “They are.”
No laugh. Not even a polite smile.
“But less likely to break down than an elevator. We hope.” My heart bumped against my ribs. I shouldn’t be mentioning body parts, either. Although, hopefully, knees weren’t sexual.
Were they?
“Well. Good call with the stairs. They’re very … one foot after the other, aren’t they?” What? I wasn’t making sense. “Like walking, but—”
My sentence hung in midair like Wile E. Coyote running off a cliff.
“More upward.” The cartoon coyote fell, and a boulder landed on top of him, crushing him like the bumbling loser he was. I mentally stuffed my entire fist into my mouth and tried to remove my voice box.
We looked at each other, expressionless.
If things were okay between us, she would have laughed.
She didn’t.
I hoped to God she wasn’t recording that.
“Right,” I said. “Shall we?” I stepped back from the next flight of stairs, so she had to go first.
“Please.” She indicated for me to go ahead.
Every teacher I’d ever had at boarding school was staring me down in my head. What she was suggesting was sacrilege. No way was I walking in front.
“After you,” I said again. She didn’t move. A standoff. As if this wasn’t awkward enough. Although on second thoughts, if I had to walk behind her, up the stairs, her hips swaying right at my eye level—might she think that was some sort of sexual harassment?
No. Ridiculous. I’d already seen and touched everything … and then I’d run away like a coward.
No wonder she hated me. Was that why she was being hostile?
Yeah. That would piss anyone off.
How could I make things right?
Because if I was honest, Andrea Jones had been stuck in my head since Monday, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it.
I took a deep breath. I could wait all day if I had to.
Honestly, that seemed preferable to the conversation we were about to have.