5. Liam

The dark, warm scent of soil and greenery draped around me like a linen cloak. Gentle rain tinkled on the glass roof of the metal structure, the day's chill seeming far removed from this verdant oasis. Years of being friends with George had turned his family's greenhouse into a familiar space of quiet comfort for me.

"So, let me get this straight." He glanced up from a collection of roses. Their petals were a vivid array of colours, some so deep and rich they seemed almost unreal. "Adam Harrington—the Adam Harrington—climbed down from his high horse long enough to set foot in your house. And promptly decided it needs a do-over."

"Well. That's a simplified version of events given it's just an office, but…roughly accurate, yes." I tucked a hand into the pocket of my jeans. Since the trickle of earth magic in my veins didn't compensate for my brown thumb, I was under strict orders not to touch anything as I followed George around the space.

"Okay." Slowly, he shook his head, a frown crossing his features. "Why? Like, what's he getting out of it?"

Ah—the crown jewel of questions.

"I mean, it's just his brother giving me a first idea of what it could look like. We're not obliged to take their offer after that." Adam had said it would be the best we'd get, though, and I didn't doubt it. "But my best guess? A chance to lord it over me."

Although that hadn't been my impression yesterday, when he and his brother had dropped by. Just like the first time I'd met Gale, he'd seemed quiet and sweet, and it was clear how much he looked up to Adam. For his part, Adam had been subtly protective, stepping in when my sister had asked why Gale had studied architecture when most fire mages went for something like physics or materials science. In Laurie's defence, she hadn't been aware that Gale was a Spark—only Nan Jean and I could read someone"s magic potential.

Adam didn't have any other siblings, and his cousin Christian was also a Spark. To my knowledge, Christian had two younger sisters who rarely attended events—which suggested their magic potential might be equally low. If Adam was the only powerful mage of his generation...

The pressure on him would be enormous.

"You'd owe him," George said. "If their offer comes with a discount."

Yes, there was that. I focused on the leaves of a fern, droplets of water shimmering on its delicate fronds. "I'm aware."

"And you're comfortable with that?"

Another excellent question.

"Not entirely." I inhaled, the air in here pleasantly humid. "But he's right that if this thing goes ahead, I need an actual office." I rubbed the velvet-soft petal of a rose between my fingers.

"No touching," George told me, and I snatched my hand back. Right.

"I barelytouched it."

"I can feel it wilting as we speak."

"That's what she said?" I asked, and George's teeth flashed with a smile.

"Man, I just love those deep, mature conversations you and I keep having. Can I interest you in a fart cushion?"

It tickled a laugh out of me, and God, that felt good—seemed like it had been a while, tension thick in my veins since I'd been called with the news that we'd co-lead the Green Horizon Initiative. I was so far out of my depth I couldn't even see the bloody shore anymore.

"Anyway." I sobered. "Point is, I can't manage something that…that massive from our kitchen table. I need an office, and the Harringtons might be able to make it happen within two or three weeks. Everyone else? Probably months."

George was quiet for a second, moving from plant to plant with a calm, easy rhythm that betrayed years of practice. He was poised to take over the Sands' gardening and landscaping business once his parents retired. I let my gaze soften to study his magic. While not as powerful as Adam's, it enveloped him in a soft, green glow that made his eyes look hazel more than brown.

"Do you think…" He trailed off.

"I generally try not to," I replied anyway.

His chuckle blended in with the patter of rain before he grew serious once more. "No, I mean—he's not trying to, like, buy sexual favours, is he? Or your silence, I guess?"

My silence? While possible, it seemed unlikely given I'd made it clear I wouldn't out him. On that note, I had to hand it to my siblings—they'd been on their best behaviour yesterday, at least after I'd told them that Adam might be in the closet and accidentally outing him to his own brother would be inexcusable.

Maybe I didn't give Laurie and Jack quite enough credit sometimes. But then, I still found it hard to believe they were adults in the eyes of the law.

"If he really is worried about me outing him..." I shook my head. "He shouldn't be. And if he wants sexual favours, all he needs to do is ask. Ideally on his knees."

Not that I'd given it much thought other than the occasional flicker of attraction. Really. Or maybe my denial was working overtime and those occasional flickers were more like a powder keg I used as a rocking chair.

George slid me a searching glance. "I thought you didn't like him?"

"I don't." I offered a hapless shrug. "He's hot, though."

"Shallow, mate." George's tone carried exasperated amusement.

It reminded me of how he'd indulged me back in uni, when I'd gone through a brief but intense phase of too much booze and sex combined with insufficient sleep. He'd eventually sat me down as exams loomed and told me to cut the crap. I'd spiralled into defensiveness only to come crawling back the next morning, contrite. Our friendship had emerged stronger for it.

I spread my arms. "Honestly, I prefer the term aesthetically appreciative."

"Aesthetics over ethics, eh?" Another chuckle that barely translated over the rain. "But anyway, enough about your hard-on for Adam?—"

"Don't make it bigger than it is," I interrupted, and George tossed me a smirk.

"Thought it's your job to inflate the truth?"

Well, if that's where he wanted to take this discussion…I bit down on a grin. "Like you haven't seen it before."

"Not when it's loaded and ready to go," he said with a dramatic shudder. "And thank fuck for that."

I had a quip ready, then decided to rope it back in since experience taught me that George would not back down first. Another time I would be game for a banter race to the bottom, but with the presentation to the government just around the corner…

"I think we had a point," I said. "Seems we lost it some ten minutes ago."

"Right." George nodded, all traces of humour melting away. "And that point was: do you accept his offer? I say yes—you need an office. You could have used one two years ago, and now it's become absolutely necessary. If he wants to throw the Harrington weight behind making it happen, hey, why stop him?"

"You said it yourself—I'd owe him."

"Yes." George's forehead wrinkled in thought, his fingers absently tracing the stem of a rose. "But the two things that immediately come to mind, namely sex and silence, aren't an issue. Anything else…I trust your moral compass."

An actual office instead of the tiny desk crammed into a corner of my bedroom. Space to spread out the project plans and detailed maps of the areas. It would be…helpful. To put it mildly.

"Makes sense." I exhaled and leaned against a metal pole that supported the glass roof. "So. Presentation to the government in three days. Adam's assistant is getting the slides ready as we speak, and then we meet tomorrow for a run-through. If we get a yes…You know I'll want you involved in the park area, right?"

George looked flattered. "Thanks, mate. I doubt the Harringtons will be keen to bring us in, though. They've got their go-tos."

"That's their problem, not mine."

He seemed about to disagree, then smiled with a small shake of his head. "All right—if you say so. But more importantly…On a scale of one to, say, calling your date by your ex's name, how nervous are you about the presentation?"

"About a fourteen?" I spread my arms. "It's 10 fucking Downing Street, man. Maybe Adam is used to rubbing elbows with the Prime Minister, but I'm sure not. Plus, if this goes through, we're…We'll be busy for a year on just the pilot areas. If it gets expanded beyond that…"

"You'd be set for life," George finished.

I drew a breath, filling my lungs with warm, humid air. "Yeah. And no selling weapons."

He reached out to squeeze my shoulder, the corners of his lips lifting in a small but genuine smile. "You've got this, mate."

I could only hope he was right.

* * *

George was wrong—Iwas out of my depth.

An hour ago, I'd arrived at the Harringtons' manor so that Adam and I could finalise our presentation. We'd started off civil, even pleasant, and had agreed on the general concept over exceptionally good coffee. Only once we'd turned to the actual slides did I realise that he wanted things his way. In his not-so-humble view, I didn't measure up.

"No," he cut in, slicing right into the middle of my sentence. "You're doing that thing again."

He was right—I'd been about to spiral into another rabbit hole of minutiae, this time about the sourcing of certain materials. That didn't mean I appreciated his tone.

I set the printed notes down and crossed my arms. "Look, man. I know you were raised surrounded by servants, but here's the thing—I'm not one of them."

He grumbled something I didn't catch.

"What was that?"

"Clearly not, yeah." He stopped pacing the polished floor of his office long enough to shoot me a derisive look. The sunny brightness that flooded through the windows couldn't fully outshine the orange glare of his magic. "Our servants know how to take constructive criticism into account, or they're gone."

Bloody hell.

I let my mouth curl into a smile that dripped with sarcasm. "Sorry, you can't fire me."

His chest rose on a deliberate breath, and I absently noted how nicely his shirt clung to his torso. The jeans did wonders for his arse too. Might be tailor-made because yes, he really was just that posh.

"Just…try, please." His tone implied the effort it took to be patient and reasonable. "Skip the details. They won't care about how exactly we transform magic energy into electricity, or where our steel comes from to minimise its carbon footprint. This isn't your first presentation. Act like it."

About to offer a biting response, I noticed how tension pinched the corners of his hazel eyes, his spine stiff. We'd encountered his father on the way in, and Benedict Harrington was the human equivalent of a frosty winter morning. Adam must have grown up with a checklist of unattainable standards.

I paused for a second to study him, exhaling through my exasperation. "I'm more used to an engineering student audience at uni, that's all. They didn't need me to dumb it down."

Adam shook his head. "Tailoring your message to your audience is not dumbing it down—it's about making it resonate."

"Resonate with people who don't have a fucking clue, yeah." I set my jaw. "They're prepared to throw some sixty million in taxpayer money at us. Shouldn't they care about the details?"

"These are people who decide whether the UK buys fighter jets worth twenty-five billion, builds a high-speed rail for fifty billion, and increases NHS funding by twelve billion a year. You and I are peanuts." Adam halted an arm's length away to level me with a withering glare. "The only reason we're getting a full hour of their time for what's essentially an urban development project? Is because of the new link to magic and how it could be scaled up beyond London."

Again, he had a point. He'd better change his tone, though.

"Cut the patronising crap, will you? Some of us haven't been trained for this since we were old enough to hold our own pee."

"You did fine with your original pitch." He made it sound like an accusation.

"I had weeks to prepare and practise."

"Well, I fucking need you to shape up." His gaze hardened. "I'm not going down because you can't stick to the big picture."

"Going down?" I echoed, my forced calm trickling away by the second. Man, the lofty air he must be breathing—amazing. "Remember how the government could have awarded the project to only you, except they didn't? Because I do."

"People love rooting for an underdog."

"Or maybe your concept just wasn't that good." I grinned. "Little tweaks here and there? Cute."

Adam exhaled through his teeth, and I glimpsed his magic twitching like a nervous cat. With anyone else, I might have been worried they'd lose their hold. With him? Not at all. Even back in school, his control had been impressive, and the way his magic coiled around him now, ready to obey, surpassed anything I'd seen.

So I doubled down. "I guess that in the end, they wanted to bring some true innovation to the table. And that's just not the Harrington way."

"You have no idea how much I want to punch you sometimes." It was a tight murmur, Adam's eyes narrowed, his entire focus on me. His attention buzzed under my skin, fight or flight, my grin widening. God, I'd love to take him down a peg. I'd also love to get him out of that stupidly well-fitting shirt, to get my teeth on his throat and see if it still made him melt into me.

Bad idea.

"It's mutual," I said.

"Fuck you," he gritted out, and I laughed hollowly.

"Oh, honey. You wish I would."

Low blow. I realised it at the same time as his shoulders tensed, brow furrowing. God, he was hot.

"That," he said in a low growl, "was out of line."

Abort.

"So you don't want me to bend you over this desk?" I asked, all friendly curiosity. "Never thought about my mouth on your dick? I'd make it good, you know."

His gaze flitted to my lips, and Christ, what was I doing? Playing with fire, literally. Also, he was damn near engaged—although I suspected it was more complicated than that, and anyway, that hadn't stopped us the first time.

"You're so…" He didn't finish, waving one hand in a vague arch that could mean anything.

"Hot?" I suggested. "Able to fuck your brains out?"

"Frustrating." Yet he was still staring at me as though I held the answer to a question he didn't dare ask. I flicked through layers of reality to catch sparks of bright gold in the orange glow that enveloped him. Fuck, his control was magnificent. Good enough to touch me with nothing but the tendrils of his magic? Heat slithered up my spine at just the thought.

He was close. If I grabbed him right now, pulled him in…

"That's a lie," I told him, quiet but sure. "You're a second from dropping to your knees for me."

His scoff couldn't mask the faint flush to his cheeks. "How do you not choke on all that arrogance?"

"I'd rather see you choke on my dick." I hadn't planned to say that, but it was true. Last time, it had been too dark to make out the details. A repeat here, in his sun-flooded office? God, it would fuel my fantasies for years to come.

He stared at me and swallowed. Silence stretched thick like a rubber band, nearly physical in its intensity. I could take it back, laugh it off. ‘What—you thought I meant it? I'm not drunk today, man.' I could pretend I'd only said it to knock him off balance.

I didn't.

He swallowed again, his eyes flicking down to my mouth and back up. When he finally spoke, his voice came out soft and a little raspy. "You didn't say please."

If I did, he might shoot me down.

Would he, though? Yeah, it would be a victory of sorts—but he wanted me. I could read it in how his pupils had gone wide, the way he was leaning towards me ever so slightly, in how his breathing seemed a tad shallow. When I reached for his wrist, he blinked, drugged-slow, lips parting on a quiet rush of exhaled air. His pulse was hammering under my touch.

Another moment of silence, time suspended between us.

Then I smiled and held his eyes. "Please."