29. Liam

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

liam

Everything is going according to plan. George and Mia did a great job orchestrating the conference ahead of the charity game. Even footballers that only met April for a day wanted to take part in it once they got wind of what was going on. Guess I'm not the only one falling victim to her charm.

I hear protests by the door. "What do you mean, I can't come in?"

I recognize the voice of the reporter, or so he proclaims. An old, vicious man who always has a snarky comment to make, a button to push. His was the first name I put down on the club's persona non grata list. I watch with profound satisfaction as my security catches and slices the lanyard along with the badge he no longer has the privilege to use.

"Are you mad, boy?" He wraps his hand around his neck as if the guard has carved through his wobbly skin. "Get your boss. Call the manager. Anyone above your paygrade!"

That's my cue. "Is my paygrade high enough to cater to your ego, Baltimore?"

"Mr. Gunn." He recoils at my sight, not feeling that brave anymore. "There must've been a mistake." His bravado only returns when he addresses my employee. "This boy," the wrinkled old man has the audacity to poke the bouncer on the chest, "ripped my badge and said I couldn't come in. You don't know shit." Arrogance radiates off of him.

"Callum?" I play dumb, turning to my staff and tossing an arm around his shoulder. Poor Callum eyes me with a mix of surprise and suspicion. I flash him a smile as if I act like this on a regular basis. "Oh, he knows shit. He's doing the precise shit I've asked him to do." I smile brighter, faker. "Thank you, Callum. Good shit." Then I face Baltimore with a very different expression.

"You've lost all your privileges at this stadium. You smear one of us, you shit on all of us. Did I make myself clearer using terms you understand?"

"Gunn, come on, you know how it is…" His palms are up, his tone came down and I don't give one fuck.

"If you or your paper write one more degrading word about anyone from my team, you'll never step inside this stadium or get a quote from the players ever again." I take a step closer, looking down on him. "I'll make your life miserable, Baltimore. You have no idea how far my reach goes. Do you want to try me?"

I already know his answer, so I don't bother sticking around to hear it.

Before I turn my back on him, I see other tabloid reporters taking a step back to spare themselves from the same humiliation. Not as dumb as they look, then.

I'm on my way to the conference room to check on how things are going when I bump into my brother. He's laughing about something stupid with George. I didn't hear it. It's just safe to assume.

"Could you please tone down your cheerfulness, little brother? It's becoming increasingly annoying. Take it down a notch, will you?"

Noah jumps at me and crushes me between his arms. I can't describe such an attack as a hug. Civilized people do not embrace each other like this.

It was fun when we were kids and more often than not would turn into a rough brawl. But now? It's appalling and odds are, he does it just because it wrinkles my clothes and pisses me off.

Fuck, he probably messed my hair, too . I check my reflection in the glass walls and fix what I can.

"For God's sake, mate. Take that stick out of your ass and lighten up." Even though I have a couple of inches and pounds on my brother, Noah says that while grabbing my shoulders and shaking me, like said stick will fall out if he jerks me hard enough. "This is a party, not death row. George, tell your boss to stop being a sourpuss."

George likes his paycheck enough to know not to collude with Noah. However, he does let out a small cough to hide the laughter that threatens to escape him. Mia's already left, so now I'm giving George the death stare instead of her.

I straighten my jacket from Noah's assault. "It's celebration drinks and a charity game, little brother, not a wild party. Lower your expectations for tonight." Noah gives me a side hug, which I half-heartedly shake off. Despite this, he tightens his grip on my shoulder and I let him. "And Mum is coming, so please have the courtesy of behaving and spare her eyes from bleeding."

I eye him skeptically, and he gives me a smile that could be used to illustrate malice in a picture dictionary. And then the teasing begins. "You mean my mum? Emphasis on ‘my'."

I breathe out a long, weary sigh. That's all he gets from me nowadays, just like I don't get much of a reaction out of "little brother" anymore.

Katherine is not my birth mum. My real mum, Natia Hauata, died during my delivery. My father impregnated her during a trip to Samoa, and upon discovering the pregnancy, brought her to London. By then, Katherine was also pregnant with Noah.

Edgar, daddy dearest, made the distasteful decision to buy the house next door to Katherine for Natia. None of them were romantically involved with Edgar anymore—wise women that they were. It was just convenient for him to have the two pregnant women nearby for him to visit, and in the future, his heirs, too.

Katherine took me in and raised me as her own, but only until I was old enough for Edgar to ship me off to a boarding school.

He never allowed her to adopt me, reasoning he needed his first-born to be ruthless and prepared to take over after him. Edgar accused her of being too soft and already on her way to ruining Noah.

Quite the opposite, Katherine raised the best man I know and never bent to Edgar's will. Denying her something she wanted so bad was just a spiteful attempt to gain some control over her. She had to go through him to get to me.

I fixed that once I was old and smart enough and had the adoption papers drawn up myself.

We cleared the sitting area, turned the reception into a posh bar, and are spoiling the good media with photoshoots and exclusives with the athletes and training staff ahead of April's statement.

Drinks are flowing, and my eyes sweep the entire floor. I can't help but look for April while I nurse my whiskey and Noah laughs at my poor attempt at being subtle about it.

My brother rambles on about… how the fuck would I know because I'm rendered stupid when I spot April across the floor. She's a fucking vision. Her brown hair is curled and pulled to one side, cascading on top of one shoulder. She's wearing dark red lipstick that makes her pouty lips look even bigger. Her dress mirrors the same shade, possibly signaling the danger I'm choosing to ignore, and it hugs all her curves.

It has a single zipper on her back, tracing a path from her neck to her knees. So fucking inviting. So tempting. The dress goes past her thighs and has long sleeves. It's tight. Probably not as tight as my underwear right now.

I chug down my cognac and bark at my brother. "Bar. Now."

"Let me guess. That's the American doctor? The one in the red dress?" Fuck, am I really that obvious?

"Yes." Facing the bar, I adjust myself inside my pants and close my suit jacket for better coverage. The barman refills my glass and I thank him.

My brother sees what I'm doing and bursts out laughing. "Fuck, man. What are you? Fifteen?"

"She turns me into a horny teenager. Fuck if I can help it." Noah finishes laughing at my expense and states the obvious.

"She's fucking hot, man. And a bit young too. Is she Lisa's age? Please tell me she's Lisa's age." Lisa is Edgar's last souvenir, our baby sister from Colombia. My brain refuses to calculate her age.

"That's not even remotely funny, Noah. Stop looking at her or I'll gouge your eyeballs out of their fucking sockets."

"Okay, okay. But if I wasn't checking her out—" I cut him off with a sharp turn of my head, the promise of a slow death written all over my face. Noah raises his hands in mock surrender. "Bro, relax. If I wasn't innocently staring at her , I wouldn't be able to tell you that your girlfriend brought a date."

I spin around so fast I get whiplash. And my brother giggles like a five-year-old girl.

"It's not a date," I say with a bit more anger than I should. "That's Max's physiotherapist. They work together."

My brother carries on messing with my head. "With his hand on her waist like that? Could have fooled me." They do look too intimate for my liking. Well, if I accidentally break his hand, he can do the physio on himself. What a lucky man.

Max arrives and makes a scene of showing April off. He steals her from the physio, twirls her around, drops both hands to her waist and kisses her cheeks. Hasn't the motherfucker learned his lesson?

What the fuck is it with these men taking too many liberties with what's not theirs? Well, she's not mine either, I remind myself. But come on, she's not a doorknob. Hands off, people!

"Pace yourself, brother." Noah grins mischievously at me, nodding with his head at my second empty tumbler.

It's a rare instance, but my brother is right.

I don't turn away from her to put it down at the bar. I'm not taking my eyes off April and handsy Max. Not even Noah's screechy laugh can make me look away right now.

My brother is having way too much fun pissing me off. It is his one true talent, after all.

April laughs uncomfortably and blushes. My knee jerks forward, begging my leg and the rest of my body to follow suit, to go and put an end to this. Instead, I clench my fists and teeth and stay put. Don't make a scene , I tell myself over and over again.

Can't he see the unease in her face? The way her eyes went wider and her skin matched her dress? What an imbecile. April pushes Max away with a fake as fuck grin on her face then jokingly slaps his arm.

Put some strength on that slap, woman. Make your point, goddammit.

Max goes to pull her in for another uncalled for hug when the physiotherapist does one thing right in his life and steps in the way, shaking Max's hand.

My irritation begins to dissipate, but then I wonder why Physio Guy would do that in the first place and I get annoyed all over again. Of course they all want her , I think as I tilt my head back.

My brain needs a rest from this mindfuck, so I turn away, open the shirt button behind my tie and stretch my neck. It's no use. There's no comfort to be found tonight. I rest my elbows on the bar and ask for a refill. Running my hands through my hair, I give my neck a rest, letting my head hang its weight on my hands.

Then I stare at the neat row of bottles in front of me. I'd gladly drink them all by the gallon tonight if it would be enough to wash that woman out of my system.

Noah tells the bartender to add some water to my whiskey. He's got a point, so I won't argue. This is not the place to get shitfaced, but I couldn't care less right now. I need something to numb these irrational feelings running rogue in my body. Impatience rises to the surface and my fingers tap away on the counter while I wait for my drink. I find myself again trying to crack my neck.

"Mate, turn around. There's more competition." Noah is cackling like a demented chicken. Are those tears coming out of his eyes? Has he lost all sense of self preservation? I'm this close to kicking my little brother's ass. Conveniently enough for him, there's a doctor in the house. But hey, joke's on me, because he wasn't lying. April is hugging some man I haven't met, and she seems waaaay too happy to see him.

"Who the fuck is that?" Fuck, I didn't mean to say that out loud.

He's tall—not as tall as me—broad and not too bad looking. He's much older than her, maybe even older than me, with a full head of gray hair to prove it.

Noah is right by my ear, planting horrible thoughts in my mind. "Hmmm, maybe she has a daddy kink. Would explain her dating you and that guy."

That's it. I'm taking him down. I turn to Noah and he's giggling again, hands up in the air and walking backward, wisely removing himself from my reach.

I turn back in time to see the older man is now hugging April from behind and resting his head on top of hers as they chat to Max and the physio.

Is he more suicidal than my brother?

And why am I planning a fucking carnage?

My breathing is faster, hotter, and I can feel my nostrils double in size. Fuck it. If she's going to rub herself on another man, I'm going to get someone else to fuck her out of my mind.

I grab my phone to text the escort service, but my eyes glance back to April before I hit the green button. She sees me for the first time tonight and her immediate reaction is to let go of the gray haired man.

That's my girl. I put my phone back in my pocket and smile approvingly at her reaction. I get a champagne flute from a passing waiter and make my way to them.

Competition, my ass.