Chapter 14 Liam
Liam
“This is the ugliest painting I’ve ever wanted to own,” Dex murmured, leaning in close. “Look at that brushwork. It’s almost … angry.”
“It’s a horse,” I replied.
“An emotional horse.” Dex sipped his champagne and turned to face the room. He was loving his new art aficionado persona, which didn’t suit him at all. “Speaking of questionable creative choices, who the hell are all these people? It’s like Oxford again, but in bohemian fancy dress.”
I scanned the gallery, not for the first time wondering how I’d let Bonnie send me here. I was supposed to be prepping for an emergency board meeting. Instead, I was surrounded by people treating art like stocks, and a friend who was in denial that his actual name was Dennis.
“I feel like I’m at a school reunion for people I never liked,” I said.
“Mm-hmm.” Dex nodded approvingly. “You’re blending in nicely, though. Expensive-looking. Very collector-core.”
“Yeah? At least I don’t look like I’m auditioning for ZZ Top.”
“Wha—you don’t like the beard?”
“Oh no, I do. But mainly because you look like a 1970s vagina.”
Dex choked on his Dom Pérignon.
In the distance, a metallic crash sounded, and heads turned toward the kitchen. Odd—it hadn’t come from the kitchen at all, more like the side entrance.
Everyone went back to their drinks.
“No sign of Hugo,” I said, surveying the room. He’d probably been cornered by health-tech bros explaining how their app was going to fix the NHS. Heaven forbid I might have to mingle.
“You sure this is the best way to catch up with him?” asked Dex, looking past me.
“No. But it’s the one that won’t get me yelled at by Bonnie.”
She’d made it clear that I wasn’t here to ask for anything. I was here to look safe enough that Hugo might consider helping me—and Novexia—when it mattered. Hugo wouldn’t back someone who looked unstable—or worse, uncontainable. If he was going to back my name, I had to be a sure thing.
A bit of a rebrand for me, unfortunately. But that was the game now.
“A little bird told me Ben’s coming tonight?” Dex raised his brows.
“He is.”
“Didn’t know he was into works of art?”
“Only living ones.” He’d probably show up with the latest Sports Illustrated cover girl on his arm.
Ben’s flings always seemed so vacuous. Was that what I’d been like for so long? The thought didn’t sit well.
Andrea’s face flashed briefly into my mind, her eyes accusing. She seemed like she really hated me. If only she’d let me explain—but she’d already made up her mind. I was Wilhelm von Roth. Capitalist douchebag. I pushed the thought away—I had to focus on Novexia tonight.
“You’re a fine one to talk, Liam.” Dex nudged me. “In the meantime, do you want to look at another horse?” He pointed his glass toward a piece that may or may not have been an ox.
I sighed. “God help me, yes.”
A camera flash went off to our left, and Dex flinched like he’d been shot.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Was that for me?”
“I think that was for her.”
The crowd was shifting, speculation buzzing around us. I raised my chin to see what was happening, just in time to see Ben Roth strolling through the archway at the far end of the room like a bloody debutante.
“My God,” Dex murmured. “He’s brought a Bond girl.”
Ben spotted us and raised his glass like the living incarnation of the Leonardo DiCaprio Great Gatsby meme. A willowy blonde in a black dress dripped off his arm. Dex waved back with the enthusiasm of a man spotting a good bottle of tequila.
“Fuck,” I said under my breath. “Do you think he could tone down the cheers, peasants energy?”
Ben reached us in seconds, gleaming like someone had buffed him for display. He clinked glasses with Dex, then turned to me with a mock-serious expression.
“You look tense, bro. Too many rich people, not enough exits?” he asked. “Or do you think the art should still be sealed mint in its original packaging?”
If he got any more pleased with himself, Sotheby’s would auction the smirk.
“Christ.” I exhaled. “One pressed seam and you’re doing stand-up.”
He laughed, slinging an arm briefly around my shoulders. “One of us had to look like we belonged.”
“She’s … what, then?” Dex nodded at the woman standing next to a sculpture of a decapitated badger, staring into the middle distance.
Ben followed his gaze, as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Oh, that’s Ava. She’s”—he paused, searching—“the face of something. European. We met in Monaco. Or maybe Ibiza. I forget.”
“Does she speak?” I asked.
“She doesn’t have to,” Dex said wistfully. “How do you do it, Ben?”
“C’mon. She’s a red-blooded female.” Ben gestured to himself. “Honestly, sometimes I wish I could turn it off. You wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re really leaning into that self-aware Zoolander vibe tonight,” I said.
Ben grinned and handed me a fresh drink. “You planning on buying anything? Brighten up that concrete bunker you sleep in?”
“If you mean my Mayfair penthouse, no. I’ll add a splash of color the day you stop microblading your eyebrows”—I waved my hand toward Ben’s forehead dismissively—“if that’s what this is called.”
“Brutal repartee, boys,” said Dex. “I, on the other hand, have every intention of going home with something spectacular and provocative.”
“Ava’s taken, I’m afraid.” Ben looked at Dex properly for the first time. “Holy fuck, Dennis. Are you sleeping on trains now?”
Dex rubbed his chin warily.
“Seriously, dude—you look like you’ve been rimming a goat.”
“Hey, lay off old neckbeard here. At least he’s growing a man bun to go with it,” I said.
Dex ignored us and scratched his chin purposefully with his middle finger, looking conspicuously around the room.
“So.” Ben turned to me. “Where are you at with Novexia?”
“Getting somewhere. Assuming Hugo doesn’t ghost me.”
“He won’t. He likes you.”
“He likes the version of me who didn’t disappear for two years after Afghanistan.”
Ben was quiet for a second. “You’re not that guy anymore.”
“No,” said Dex. “Now you stand in art galleries pretending to care about abstract horses.”
Ben looked at me quizzically. “Well, fuck it, Liam. Maybe the RAF … incident … knocked the edge off your terminal playboy image. Lately, at least.”
“True,” added Dex. “Perhaps it’s not a bad thing.” He held up his glass. “To reinvention. May ours only hit the tabloids in good lighting.”
A familiar laugh caught my attention. Hugo, and his wife, Miranda, were weaving effortlessly toward us. His crop of white hair bounced through the crowd like a rabbit’s tail—he was the same as I remembered when Ben and I had stayed with Nick, all easy charm and self-assurance.
“Liam Roth, as I live and breathe. Thought you’d abandoned the old country for good.” He gripped my hand a second longer than necessary. “Glad to see you back on your feet.”
“Hugo.” I shook his hand firmly. “You look disgustingly well.”
He laughed, nodding to Dex and Ben. “Not as well as your companions, I dare say. Hello, Ben. Dennis. Miranda and I were just debating whether you’d all be here tonight.”
Miranda leaned in to kiss my cheek, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “So lovely to see you, Liam, dear. How long are you staying?”
“A month or so,” I replied, offering a polite smile. “Long enough to sort a few things out. And of course, attend important cultural events.”
Hugo chuckled. “Cultural events indeed. Big art fans, are we now, gentlemen?”
Ben grinned. “I’m hoping the plaques will tell me what to think. Failing that, I’ll nod slowly and say ‘interesting.’”
“It’s working for Dex,” I murmured.
The group laughed.
“I heard congratulations are in order,” I said. “Nick is making an honest woman of Juliette?”
Hugo beamed. “Yes, he was ready to settle down, finally. About time.”
“We couldn’t be happier.” Miranda smiled and put a hand gently on my arm. “And you, Liam? Anyone special in your life?”
“I—”
Ben gave me a look that said, don’t blow it.
“Yes, I’ve … ah … been—” The words wouldn’t come.
For some idiotic reason, I hadn’t prepared an answer to this most basic of questions.
What could I say? I’d been so shaken by Afghanistan I hadn’t dated seriously since I left the Air Force?
That I’d had a string of meaningless liaisons, and that letting anyone get close to me now—at least, emotionally—made my blood run cold?
“Let’s just say, Liam’s been keeping his cards close to his chest lately.” Dex smirked like there was something interesting behind his suggestion. I made a mental note to buy him whatever pretentious piece of art he wanted tonight.
“I see.” Hugo’s eyes lingered on me thoughtfully. Was that a hint of disappointment I saw in his face? “Well, discretion is the better part of valor, as they say. And how are you doing since—” His hesitation hung in the air, and he examined my eyes. “Since the … difficulties?”
People never knew what to say, and I never knew how to reply.
“I heard you were back on your feet,” Hugo continued carefully. “Miranda and I were … well, we were concerned when we saw those photos from Ibiza last summer. That sort of behavior—” He stopped himself. “It didn’t seem like you, Liam.”
Ah. There it was. The real question: was I solid enough to do business with, or still the traumatized veteran making headlines for the wrong reasons?
“So you’re doing well, Liam?” asked Miranda. “Business keeping you … out of trouble?”
I nodded. “Business … yes.” Fuck, Hugo’s comment about “the difficulties” had thrown me. I breathed in.
“Liam’s been busy with Novexia,” said Dex, after a beat.
Jesus. It was a sorry state of affairs when my wingman was working a politician for me and not a hot blonde.
I needed to get my act together fast, or Bonnie would gild my bollocks and hang them off the strap of her handbag. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
“So I heard.” Hugo nodded. I didn’t miss the trace of skepticism in his tone. “Quite the change for you, Liam. Pharmaceuticals, now?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Trying to steer things in the right direction.”
Hugo took a sip of champagne. “Rumor has it you might be facing a few challenges.”