Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
mia
By the time I’m ready to join April and her pre-dinner snacks, I hear Liam in the kitchen.
As soon as I lay eyes on him, warmth spreads through me.
It’s a mix of comfort and familiarity. Liam is loud, cranky, and exhausting, but damn, I missed him.
Which says a lot about my social life. Or the lack of one.
How sad is that? Not that he's escaping my bear hug. If I’m all up in my feelings, he’s coming down with me.
“Gunn!” I yell before charging in.
“Miss Thorne.” He smiles—such a rare occurrence pre-April. “So kind of you to join us on this side of the pond.”
April adds, “We’re so happy you’re here, Mia. Thanks again.”
“I’d never say no to anything Liam asks,” I tell her, then turn to him. “After all you’ve done for me, Gunn? Of course I came running.”
April’s eyes narrow. “What does she mean, ‘all you’ve done for her’?” She attaches herself to his side, two pieces of LEGO snapped perfectly together. “Have you been hiding your nice side again?”
“Shhhh, Mia. I have a reputation to uphold.” He lifts April’s chin with a single finger and kisses her, light but lingering, and it’s so damn sweet, I nearly gag. Luckily, my daily intake of sugar is high enough for me to endure this moment.
I swoon dramatically, though. The sound tumbles out of my throat even though my lips are pressed.
Slipping into full PA mode, I announce, “Sorry, April. Liam made me sign a bunch of NDAs working for him.”
His smile tilts crooked, half smug, half proud.
“But hey, not for this,” I say, switching to a perkier tune and locking eyes with April.
Her focus zeroes in on me, ready for me to spill the juiciest gossip.
“I don’t think anyone knows this, but your fiancé paid off all my student debt on my first day of work,” I say.
I shake my head at the absurdity of the memory.
“I couldn’t believe it. Went to work the next day terrified of what he’d ask for in return. ”
Liam’s face drains of color. “Mia Thorne, you’ve never told me that. Whatever gave you that impression?”
“The patriarchy, Gunn,” I answer flatly.
“Mia, I’d never—”
I cut him off with a scoff. “Oh, I know. Well, I learned it.” He’s still white and unblinking.
“Relax.” I wave him off and whack his chest. “You were never anything but a gentleman. Well… maybe ‘gentleman’ is too strong of a word for you, Gunn. You tested my mental health far too many times with your tantrums and perpetual bad mood.”
I wait for him to contest my very accurate description, but he just raises his glass of water in agreement.
“But one thing’s for sure. You always treated me with the utmost respect.”
He exhales in relief, smug smile making a comeback. But I’m not done yet. Giving him hell was my side job. I excelled in both.
“The only obscene thing he ever showed me—repeatedly, I might add”—I glance at him from the corner of my eye and smile, watching his expression twist back into worry—“were the ridiculous bonuses he kept paying me.”
Liam huffs an unimpressed laugh, but April beams, ready to frame my words and hang them in their kitchen.
I hesitate. “You know,” I add quietly, “I nearly quit that day. I couldn’t comprehend why he’d do that.
Growing up, I learned fast that ‘help’ was never free.
People always wanted something in return.
And when you’re a girl from a run-down caravan park on the edge of town, with no mom and a dad stretched thin working three jobs, you learn to be cautious.
Suspicious. But Liam? He wiped that debt away without blinking.
No warning. No strings. Just ‘poof’—debt gone. ”
“You’re a good kid. I did it because I could,” Liam says, low but firm, as if it’s as simple as that. Well, I guess it is for a billionaire.
And that’s why I love the big guy. He’s a complex one.
He’s got layers. He's annoying, conceited, and can be such an arrogant man sometimes. But he’s also kind, generous, and mindful of others.
He’s powerful and wealthy enough to bulldoze his way through life, but never through someone else.
And somehow, I get away with giving him hell.
I smile at him—genuinely this time.
I’m about to grab a piece of whatever’s on April’s platter when movement catches my eye. Preston’s halfway down the stairs, one hand gripping the railing, like he’s still debating whether to join the party or melt into the shadows.
He’s dressed all proper: crisp shirt, sharp blazer; I doubt there’s an outfit that doesn’t suit him. So far, for me, the towel is still the winner.
How long has he been standing there?
“Oh,” I add sweetly, because I’m suddenly evil and can’t resist. “I’ve been very blessed to only have worked for bosses who showed me nothing but respect and professionalism.”
I flick back just enough to catch Preston’s expression—the personification of a deer in headlights. He takes another step down. Except his foot misses the stair entirely.
There’s no graceful stumble, no quick recovery.
He goes down… hard. His limbs flail, one arm smacking the wall, the other clawing at the bannister like he’s reaching for a lifeline.
Something crashes—a picture frame maybe—But Preston’s too busy hitting every stair on the way down to notice.
His blazer flares out behind him; less superhero cape, more tragic parachute failing to deploy.
“Oh, my God,” April gasps, rushing to his side. Is she sniffing him? What the…
“You alright, man?” Liam joins her, concerned, interrupting my line of thought.
“I’m fine,” Preston mutters, rubbing at his elbow.
I hurry to check too, but he refuses to look at me, so I allow my grin to stretch a bit wider, once I see with my own eyes that he’s okay.
“Oh no,” I coo. “That must’ve hurt…” His head whips toward me, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and I mouth, “… your ego.”
Karma’s really working overtime today, and I’m living for it. For a beat, we just stare. Preston’s gaze sharpens, looking both mortified and… murderous?
“You sure you’re okay?” April asks again, kneeling beside him. “You’re a bit red. Did you hit your head?”
“I said I’m fine.” The reply comes clipped, but he forces a tight, painfully polite smile.
I can’t help myself. I lean closer to Liam and whisper, not nearly quietly enough. “Is this an age thing? He was bumping into things earlier; now he’s falling.”
“Mia,” Liam warns, nudging my head away playfully. “Stop trying to get yourself killed.”
Preston’s stare nails me to the spot. A sniper taking aim. Way too focused for a man who might’ve hit his head on a fall down the stairs.
I imagine he’s mentally flipping a coin. Heads, he ignores me; tails, he strangles me with his bare hands, witnesses be damned.
He finally hauls himself up, dusts off his blazer, and stalks past me without a word.
“Fine, I’ll stop,” I whine for his ears only.
* * *
His head snaps back at me, but his shoulders soften a little when our eyes meet.
The brat in me does too.Even though he’s probably stewing with rage, Preston opens the passenger door for me.
He circles the hood and climbs into the car before taking the wheel, hands at ten and two.
It’s just us, and the first few minutes of the drive to the restaurant are silent.
Uncomfortably so. Only the engine hums and the air-con whispers.
I start wondering if I’ve always breathed this loud. My knee bounces. I twist my bracelet, fingers fidgeting faster with each passing second. I’m one heartbeat away from chewing off an acrylic fingernail.
I need a distraction before my brain convinces me this man’s plotting my murder and mentally rehearsing his alibi.
When I can’t take it anymore, I reach for the radio, but his hand lands on my wrist, warm and firm.
“Mia,” he says, all serious. “Should we talk about what happened befo—”
“Noooo.” I cut him off, way too loud, saving us both from eternal humiliation and my spontaneous combustion.
“Dr. Preston Jett, the only way to save this arrangement is to never, ever”—I pause and over-enunciate the words—“refer to that mishap again. Let’s file it under ‘things we don’t speak about. ’”
I turn to check if he’s on board with this. “We’re going to move on and pretend it never happened. Deal?”
He’s still focused on the road, but his sideways glance is so intense, it almost pins me to the window.
“You got yourself a deal, Miss Thorne.” He doesn’t release my wrist, not until he’s guided it to the fancy sound system in his Jeep.
“Okay, a quick one-time exception, and we’ll never, ever speak of it.” I can’t resist it. Curiosity killed the cat and it would’ve killed me. “That tattoo in the middle of your chest—was that a sun?”
His smug grin is back, and I let him have it. Fine. I did grab an eyeful of him.
“I call Lily Sunshine. So yeah, I tattooed a sun for her, well, for me, the day she first spoke ‘sunfine.’ Did you catch the rays of light too, Miss Thorne?”
“Okay, time’s up! Poof.” I mime the explosion with my hands. “Never happened. Gone from our memories.”
I blow out a breath, easing back into my seat. Pretty sure I’m back to my original height now that my spine’s not locked in fight-or-flight mode.
I connect my Spotify and cue up my favorite playlist, already bracing for him to groan, reprimand my musical choices or turn the radio off entirely.
But to my surprise, Dr. Preston doesn’t complain. Not a word. Not until I’m halfway through an off-key duet with Harry Styles.
“That’s not happening either, Miss Thorne,” he says with a frown, twisting the volume down until Harry, my pretend boyfriend, is practically whispering our love song into my drink holder.
“Hey, you’ve made your point. You know my last name. Quit Miss Thorning me.”
“Goes both ways,” he counters. “I’m not your doctor. Call me Preston.”
He parks the car, and we shake on it. The handshake lasts half a second too long, and when he pulls his hand back, I’m left grasping air. Idiot.
There we go. Two deals struck, and one new doctor kink unlocked. Damn him. Now my brain’s staging a full Broadway production starring Dr. Jett—the wardrobe is only a stethoscope, and the script is a hundred percent XXX rated.
We’re the first ones to arrive since Liam, being the owner of a Premier League soccer club, has his whole anti-paparazzi routine and is probably doing rounds around the block.
The restaurant my ex-boss picked is, of course, fancy as fuck.
Dark wood. Black leather. The kind of place where they charge extra for eye contact.
But it’s the low and warm lighting that gives the room an intimate feel: the kind that makes you want to whisper your conversations.
A clean-shaved lad leads us to a quiet table at the back. The boy attempts to pull out my chair, but one scowl from the fine doctor and he’s gone so fast I half expect him to leave skid marks. Preston does it instead, bowing his head and leaving me speechless.
I’m having second thoughts about his grumpiness. Sometimes, it’s almost funny. Borderline adorable, actually.
It’s a table for four in the darkest, most secluded corner of the restaurant.
The nearby tables stay empty on purpose—classic Gunn booking move.
Preston sits on the same side as me, both of us facing the room.
He leaves the two seats across from us for April and Liam, so they’ll face us, not the restaurant—more privacy from prying eyes. Our knees already bumped once.
I lean in after we sit. “Quick thing before they get here—can you send me Lily’s teacher’s and the school counselor’s contact info? I’d like to schedule a quick re-entry chat with the staff.”
He blinks. “You work fast.”
“I call it being prepared.”
“I’ll forward the school portal, the login details, and all you need to know in there.”
I open Notes and choose the latest one: Lily—first 72 hours, with a list I started on the airplane: bedtime routine; safe snacks; pickup/drop-off hours. I angle the screen toward him. “Let’s start with bedtime.”
He nods and talks, while I type.
The ma?tre d’ appears, smiling wide enough to show molars. “How are you this evening, Mr. Gunn?” The man’s voice oozes fake warmth. “Can I offer you a bottle of—”
“Save it,” Preston cuts the man off with a hand in the air before he can finish. “Mr. Gunn is on his way.” No raise in volume. No shift in posture. Just the same glacial calm that somehow makes the words land harder. He doesn’t care for this over-the-top performance.
The man’s face drops faster than my credit score after Boxing Day shopping. His hand lands flat against his chest, all flair and no sincerity. “Oh,” he says, smile fading. “My apologies.”
The switch flips so fast I nearly get a whiplash. Gone is the polished host; in his place, a man who’s barely suppressing a grimace now that he knows he’s not tending to the new billionaire in town.
Liam Gunn attracts these types—leeches, all of them after his money, power, and whatever favors he can grant.
Politeness? Love it. But this isn’t it. This is brown-nosing with a wine list in hand. And I can’t stand it. It warms me to see the doctor can’t either.
The ma?tre d’ disappears in a puff of awkward silence, and I barely hold back a scoff.
These clowns never fail to amuse me, but Preston doesn’t look a bit entertained—he’s wound up.
So, of course, I joke around with Dr. Grump.
Some harmless banter to lighten the mood.
I don’t know why it’s so fun to tease him; it just is.
Is it risky to poke a bear? Yes. Yes, it is.
But it’s safer than addressing the lingering tension between us.
“What's the problem now?” I ask, propping my chin on my hand. “You look ready to spit out the food they haven’t served yet.”
He doesn’t answer me. Just glances sideways, jaw tight, face momentarily shadowed. Then his eyes find mine. Steady. Unreadable. “I see what you’re doing.” The warning landing quiet and clear. “I’m not playing.”
I smirk, because we obviously are, and it looks like I’m winning.