10. Liam

CHAPTER TEN

liam

My alarm buzzes me awake and I'm still half asleep when I stretch my arm across the bed, looking for April's body.

I have no idea what time we went to sleep, but I've slept like a rock for the few hours between then and now.

Just so I don't break my just acquired bad habit, I forget this was just another job for her and catch myself wishing she was still in bed with me.

I check my phone for the first time since I turned it off last night, look at the time, ignore the many message notifications I have waiting for me and take a quick look through my emails to see if there are any fires to put out.

Before I jump into the shower, I call George, my driver, asking him to come pick me up at the hotel this morning and not home.

Afterward, I stroll around the room, clean but resentful of the soap that erased April's scent from my body. So I grab her robe to put on instead of mine and scavenge for my scattered clothes, finding a note on top of my trousers.

I'll be walking funny

for the foreseeable future,

but thanks for giving me

a night to remember.

xxx

April

What is this? A goodbye card? Brooke must have told her I don't do repeats. Fuck, if I'm not tempted to. Tempted to, planning on. Tomato, tomahto.

George's reply pinging onto my phone stops me from reminiscing. He's already at the door. I fasten the robe in place and open it to get my suit carrier from him.

"Is he decent, George?" Mia's voice peeps from behind him.

"Gunn? It'd take reincarnation to call him a decent man, Mia." George answers and they daftly laugh together. Am I incapable of hiring serious professionals?

"Come in, you fucktwits." He's not wrong, but I can't just laugh along. "Order breakfast if you want. I'm going to get changed, then you can talk me through my day. Make yourselves comfortable." I point to one of the few immaculate surfaces safe for them to sit on in this room. "But for fuck's sake, be useful. Do some actual work for a change."

George is young, smart, and has been with me for the last four years. I hired him as a favor to God knows who. I can't even remember. I see too much potential in the kid to let him waste his brain away driving me up and down, so Mia is training him to take on more responsibilities and he'll become her PA or something when she says he's ready.

Unfortunately, they're having too much fun at it. George never made it to college, so I've enrolled him in marketing and managing night classes. Kid's fucking acing it and will get his degree soon enough.

I come out of the bathroom brushing my beard down, hair already styled back.

Fuck, what a night. I feel so good, I could smile. I won't, but I could.

I stare at myself in the full-length mirror, ready to face the day in a sharp, navy, three-piece suit. Then the toddlers I hired start catcalling me and ruin the post-fuck vibe I was riding.

"I don't know if I should fucking ground you or fire you. My advice: do not tempt me or my patience," I tell them when their teasing pushes me to my limits.

"Like you have any," Mia fires back. "Smile a bit. I promise it doesn't hurt."

George comes to her rescue before I tell Mia what can, in fact, hurt. "Let's go or we'll get stuck in traffic. Here's your coffee, boss." He hands me the takeaway cup and pushes Mia out into the corridor.

I check the room one last time as I finish packing the clothes from last night into my bag and put April's note in my pocket. I down my triple espresso in one go and follow them to the garage.

Before the car door locks, Mia is going over my agenda for the day.

"Your first meeting is at the stadium to go over Mr. Sinclair's recovery. We're heading to Stamford Bridge now. You have a couple of hours in your office before the meeting." She scrolls down her tablet, too slow for my liking, but she's back reciting my appointments before her snail impersonation gets her dropped off at the zoo. "Then you have lunch with Noah at the Ivy at 1 pm and after that George will drive you back to your office in the City."

She drops the iPad to her lap and lists the rest from memory. "You have a meeting with Mr. Rogers at 4 pm, Mrs. White at 5:30, then your massotherapy appointment is at 6 pm. Do you want to have it at the office or at home? I can get it prepped and done in either place." I'm about to say something when Mia holds up her finger, not to be interrupted. "And no, you can't cancel it again."

Fucker is right, I was about to tell her to cancel it.

"Fine. At home, then. Is it a woman?"

"No, because I don't want to keep finding you a new therapist after you're done with her. Well, them, if we're being honest." Oh well, that's embarrassing. I inadvertently turned Mia into a masseuse's pimp. "Anyway, Hunter came highly recommended and was quite hard to book. So please don't mess with my good work, sir."

I give Mia a side eye. She knows me too fucking well by now.

To be honest, I asked out of habit. I'm more than satisfied after April's services last night, so I don't put up a fight.

"Fine. Get Kyle to meet me at the gym at 8 then."

Mia doesn't bother looking up as she types away and ignores my request. " I said…" She stretches the vowels, "Don't mess with my good work, Mr. Gunn. You trained yesterday, today you relax. We've been over this. I have no interest in being scared to death again, thinking you're having a heart attack." She pauses for a deep, calming breath. "I'd say twice was more than enough for a lifetime, wouldn't you?" No, not calming. That had so much sarcasm dripping from it, it smudged her lipstick.

"They were a cardiomyopathy, not a heart attack. Knock back the drama a bit, why don't you?"

She straightens her posture and tells me with more authority than she's got, "They're stress induced and I'm not going through that again."

She stares at me with a homicidal disposition. She might or might not have learned that look from me.

"Moving on, Mr Gunn. Martha is cleaning your flat today and was kind enough to call me and let me know your fridge is in a despicable state. Do you want to order in, or should I shop for you?"

I enjoy cooking but am often too tired or annoyed to bother. Not today. "Shop, please. Fresh pasta, eggs, guanciale and pecorino. Some fruit and veg, bread, juice and milk would be great too. Thank you, Mia. And thank Martha for the heads up."

Mia pauses and casts a doubtful glare. "Just like that? Just ‘thank Martha'. No to Kyle and yes to a male masseuse without a lengthy argument that drains years out of my life expectancy? No. I'm not buying that. Spill it, Gunn."

My soon to be ex-PA, who's now begging for a trip to the nearest Job Centre, checks the whites of my eyes and then tests my temperature with a hand on my forehead. "What happened? Are you high? Did you finally decide to try the anxiety drugs the doctor suggested?" I slap her hand away, but she's on me again a second later. Seriously, I give her too much leniency. "Did you hit your head? George, change of plans. Let's go to the hospital."

I grab both of her shoulders and push her back into her seat. "Are you done with your theatrics, Mia?"

That's when George, young and not afraid to die George, repositions the rearview mirror to look at me with a stupid grin on his face. "Mia, take another look. The man's freshly shagged."

I take a deep breath to expunge the murderous feelings out of my body and push forward, my head going between the car seats to deliver my message nice and clear. "George, do you hate your job? We can easily fix that. You are aware of this, right?" He flinches. "Now shut up before I kick your fucking ass. Or keep at it and I'll rephrase that with murder." I lean back and fish for my laptop inside my briefcase. "God knows I have enough money and connections to get away with it."

They do a lousy job of containing their giggles. They're lucky they excel at their actual jobs. I ignore them both and fire emails until we get to the stadium, where I head straight to my office. Once inside, I shut the door, raise the blinds, and call my brother. I'm regretting this phone call before he even picks up.

"How very Pretty Woman of you, Liam." Noah mocks me as I knew he would, and even though I don't completely get the reference, I know I should take offense.

If it's true what people say about how the more you care for someone, the more what they do and say gets to you, then I must really love this motherfucker.

"Fuck off, Noah." He just laughs some more and I wonder why I bother sharing my life for my brother's scrutiny.

Noah and I share the same father but not mother and we were born a few days apart. Safe to say our father is not the best at relationships either. A catholic, averse to condoms and abortion who ended up with nine kids scattered around the globe.

I'm the oldest—barely, but still—and Noah is the only one I'm really close to. We've competed against each other from birth and had fun while at it. Fought for toys when we were kids, for football and girls when in school, for grades in college, and for companies once we became adults.

We'd be fucking invincible if we worked together, but we're rich and lazy enough that we choose to keep having fun trying to outdo one another instead of joining forces to annihilate everyone else.

Part of the reason I bought this club was to piss him off. Unlike me, he didn't switch sides out of spite and is still the Arsenal fan our father brought us up to be. Only now he's an Arsenal FC co-owner, too.

"Come on, mate. You make it a rule never to fuck the same escort twice and now you want to go exclusive with this one?" he scoffs down the phone, and I swear I can feel his mocking breath on my face.

"I'm telling you. Our chemistry was just… I don't even know how to begin explaining it. But I know I need another go. And fuck, one more won't be enough, either." I run a hand through my hair, messing it up to match the current state of my brain.

"Next you'll tell me you'll draw up a contract?" he barks in disbelief, giving me a great idea I adopt on the spot.

"Of course I'll draw up a contract. I'm not stupid," I say, feeling very much stupid. I can't think straight or of anything else since I woke up this morning in that empty bed.

"You're beyond stupid, Liam. Dad really fucked you up in the love department, didn't he? Were you that brainwashed?" This again? I wish this was a video call so he could see my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

"Because you're happily married yourself?" I invalidate his theory and carry on. "I'll have Brooke find an arrangement that pleases April enough not to need another customer while she's servicing me. I want her at my beck and call until I get my fill of her. Maybe a week? Two? I don't know."

I'm thinking out loud, pacing from one side of my office to the other, staring out of the large windows. One faces the field and the other, the parking lot. And that's when I see April getting out of Max Sinclair's fucking car.