7. Liam

So, when Adam had mentioned a place in Covent Garden? What he'd really meant was a flat just a stone's throw from the Royal Opera House. Because of course.

At least the doorman was more approachable than the Harrington butler, commenting on the weather as he checked my ID. "Biting wind out there, eh? Where's climate change when you need it?"

I made a vaguely affirmative comment and waited while he called Adam, then took the stairs to the top floor. The flat was smaller than I'd expected—an open-concept loft with a mezzanine, dominated by old wood rather than the Harrington Manor's marble. "Didn't take you for a mezzanine kind of guy," I told him by way of a greeting.

"What kind of guy do you take me for?" He closed the door as I ventured further into the flat.

It was an excellent question. Before our conversation yesterday, I'd have listed a few choice words. Now? It felt like uncharted territory.

"You know what?" I turned to face him. "I'm honestly not sure anymore."

After a second, he smiled. It was small and quiet, a far cry from the confident facade he usually projected, and somehow had me grappling with an unfamiliar warmth. Just leftover dregs of heat. Watching him shake apart under me, sprawled on the carpet of his office like an advertisement for sin, was going to stay with me for a while yet.

"Tea or coffee?" he asked, mouth quirking. "Or," he quoted, "a shot of vodka to make this bearable?"

Fine, maybe that hadn't been the most diplomatic way for me to open our first meeting after we'd received the joint venture news. In my defence, he'd started it by criticising my clothing choice, implying it lacked professionalism. Funny how today, he himself had opted for jeans and a hoodie that might be cashmere.

"Depends," I told him.

"On?"

"On how insufferable you plan to be today." I softened the words with a grin. "Admit it—our first meeting, you were being difficult on purpose."

"I thought you might fold and just let us do things the Harrington way." Adam walked past me towards the kitchen, tossing me a bright look over his shoulder. "Learned my lesson, didn't I? Pushing you gets me exactly nowhere."

That explained why he'd been far more collaborative the day after.

"We're nobodies, Adam. If I folded every time someone powerful tried to bully me, my family would be wearing targets on their backs."

"Yeah, I get that."

I huffed out a short laugh. "How could you?"

He lifted a shoulder, his back turned to me as he busied himself with a coffee machine that wouldn't have seemed out of place in an Italian bistro. I allowed myself a moment of indulgence by letting my gaze travel along the curve of his spine and down to his arse, which had to be among the best I'd ever seen. Squats and running, was my best guess.

Then I wondered if he considered his sexuality a weakness. If he truly was the only powerful mage of his generation…

Foot, meet mouth. Again.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly.

He glanced at me, a flash of surprise in his eyes. "For?"

"Assuming that I know you. Or your life."

"Thank you." He offered no more than that, and I didn't expect him to.

I wandered over to a window that overlooked the green space outside a church. In contrast to the nearby tourist attractions, it was fairly calm, and the few people who'd found their way over were bundled up against the wind chill. When I turned, I caught Adam watching me. He didn't look away.

After a moment, I tilted my head. "Something on my face?"

He hesitated, then smiled. "So, made up your mind—coffee, tea, or just water?"

It felt like he'd meant to say something else, but then, what did I know? "Coffee, please. No sugar, dash of milk if you have it."

"Coming right up."

"Thanks."

This was…weird. Yesterday, we'd pushed each other until we'd ended up tangled on the floor of Adam's office and now, we were acting like passing acquaintances who found themselves in the same room by accident.

I sat down at the dinner table while Adam finished preparing our coffees. He set mine down in front of me before he took the opposite chair, and then a second of silence spiralled out between us. I took a careful sip. Compared to the instant brew we had at home, it tasted like a slice of heaven.

"This is fantastic," I told Adam.

"Thank you." He wrapped a hand around his cup and glanced down, a frown ghosting across his features. "And for the record, you probably know more about my life than most."

"That's—uh." I swallowed what I'd been about to say, but Adam's humourless chuckle suggested he was well aware.

"Sad? Yeah, probably." He shook his head. "Anyway, let's get to work."

I wanted to say something comforting, but nothing came to mind. It also wasn't my place. We weren't friends—just two people thrown together by circumstances and an ill-timed attraction that would lead us nowhere.

"Yeah." I washed down the sour taste on my tongue with another mouthful of coffee. "Why don't you start us off with the intro?"

* * *

We were ready.

Well. I hoped we were ready.

I'd felt pretty good about it when leaving Adam's flat yesterday. We'd finally found a common tone and had managed two successful run-throughs along with a brief discussion on what kind of questions might come up—behold the things we could get done if we left our grudges at the door. All personal conversations had been put on hold until further notice. Honestly, it was better that way.

"Never thought I'd see the day," Adam commented as he drew up next to me.

I turned away from the black gates that marked the entrance to Downing Street. And, uh. Adam looked…good. Like…yeah. I'd seen him in a bespoke suit before, of course—just a couple of weeks ago, in fact. But I'd been too focused on disliking him to truly appreciate the way it moulded to his frame.

"What day?" I remembered to ask.

His gaze travelled the length of my body and back up, a smile hiding in the corners of his eyes. "The day I see you in a suit that fits. Not bad."

"Well, yes. Thank you." I tugged on the sleeve of my suit jacket, picked up from the tailor after I'd left Adam's flat. It was one of the two designer suits I'd already owned, only now it had been adjusted to my exact measurements. "It's a personal meeting with the Prime Minister. And his cabinet."

The knot of trepidation that clenched my stomach must have shown in my voice because Adam reached out to squeeze my shoulder. Was that a thing we did now? "They're just people," he said.

"Easy for you to say—you probably grew up having tea and scones with the Queen."

"Oh, please." Adam adopted his snootiest tone. "The royal family are just figureheads. We prefer to rub shoulders with people who matter. And on that note…" He dropped the posh act. "Come on. This is not the moment to be fashionably late."

He had a point.

We presented ourselves along with our IDs to the uniformed guards, passed scrutiny, and were ushered through the gates. Somehow, I made my legs move. Old, distinguished buildings stared down at us as we moved along the closed-off road. Victorian, maybe? I was no architect, and anyway, it made no difference whether they were Victorian or Georgian or built by fucking Hobbits, but it gave my brain something to latch on to.

"If you throw up," Adam murmured, "I'll deny knowing you."

"You're a real support." I shot him a narrow glare that he countered with a sunny grin.

"Like you don't thrive on a good challenge."

Oddly, he wasn't wrong.

"I do, yeah. When I know what the fuck I'm doing."

"Listen, man." His voice dropped to a low level. "I'm not here to hold your hand, all right?"

I scoffed. "Well, fuck you very much."

"At least offer to buy me dinner first, will you?" He slowed his steps, the iconic black door of 10 Downing Street looming just ahead. "But seriously, let me finish. I'm not here to hold your hand because you don't fucking need it. What we've come up with? It's the best of both our proposals, and they'd be fools not to see it."

"Oh." I forced a breath into my lungs and held it for a second, then exhaled. "How do I address the Prime Minister—is it Mr Sterling?"

"You're asking me now?" Adam tucked a laugh into the words. "No. It's ‘Prime Minister'."

"Okay." I inhaled once more before I nodded and shot Adam a sideways glance. Pretty, an erratic thought informed me. "So. We're ready, right?"

Adam smiled. "We're ready."

* * *

The next hourrushed by in stutter-steps, like puzzle pieces that my brain needed to fit together.

The Cabinet Room with its yellow walls and rich brocade curtains, dominated by a massive conference table surrounded by high-backed chairs.

Adam, greeting Cassandra Hartley's father like an old friend.

How we were at least fifteen years younger than anyone else in the room, responsibilities passed onto us early—normal in a magical community still accustomed to survival of the fittest.

Archer Summers nodding at me from her end of the table.

Adam's introduction and the warm certainty of his voice that set the tone for our presentation.

Questions we took turns answering, even though I couldn't have reconstructed a single word I'd said.

When we emerged back onto the road, it was like stepping out of a dream—nightmare or daydream, I didn't know. We didn't speak as we walked back to where a small crowd of tourists was gathered in front of the gates, phones waving in pursuit of the ideal angle for a selfie. The guards allowed us outside, and then we were back in the real world where a dog owner picked up after her exuberant poodle and double-decker buses lined up at a red light.

"You all right over there?" Adam asked once we'd stopped a few feet away from the gates.

"I'm not sure." I shook my head to clear it, but the effect was limited. Reality still seemed to lag by a beat or two. "Like…That did just happen, right? We actually presented our proposal to the Prime Minister?"

"Yep." Amusement shone in Adam's voice. "Good job, by the way."

I blinked at him. "Yeah?"

"Yes. We'll get the official response on Monday, but I expect Alaric will call me once they take their next break."

Right. Because Alaric Hartley, shadow advisor to the Prime Minister, expected Adam to marry his daughter. Must be nice to have prospective in-laws in high places.

But also, we'd done it. We'd fucking done it.

The Green Horizon Initiative—one of the biggest urban development projects London had seen in the last decade, and my family was likely to be involved. We could pay off the house, maybe even renovate the kitchen. Add a second floor on top of the workshop, with an actual office for me. Order pizza twice a month.

I couldn't have done it without Adam.

"Let me buy you a pint." I'd made the offer before I could compose a mental list of why that was a bad idea—backseat hookups came to mind. Too late, though. "Unless you only drink to drown your sorrows?"

AndI'd just made it worse. Go me.

"I don't, no. Just…" Adam tugged at his tie, eyes darting away. "You want to buy me a drink?"

"That's what I just said." I paused, frowning. "It's not code for blowjobs, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not," he said quickly.

"Then what's the big deal?"

"No one's ever bought me a drink before."

"No one?" Wow, okay. Learn something new. "Excuse me, but that's a bit hard to believe. I mean, look at you."

"I'm rich. People expect me to buy them drinks, not the other way around."

"I was thinking strangers, more like."

He shot me a look tinged with cynicism. "Not exactly a regular at gay bars, am I? And women still want guys to buy them drinks, not the other way around."

Yeah, that made sense. It also made me wonder about what else he'd missed while I'd enjoyed the freedom of being out and proud at university. Not just sex—that too—but flirting, catching someone's appreciative glance and responding in kind. I could count my short-lived relationships on two fingers because hiding the whole magic thing wasn't conducive to building trust, but I'd gone on a good number of dates. It had been nice.

When had I last gone on a date?

But that was not the point. No, the point was that no one had ever bought Adam a drink, and for all that I'd have sworn I disliked him up until that garden walk two days ago…Well, that just didn't seem right.

"Let me fix that," I told him. "Not gender expectations—afraid I'm quite powerless in that respect—but the other thing. Let me buy you a drink, even if it's just as, you know..." Um. Friends? No. Mates? "Even if it's just as business partners."

Adam dipped his head, waiting until a tourist group and their loudly chattering guide had passed before he responded. "You know you don't have to, right?"

"I know. I want to."

"Why?" He sounded genuinely confused, and I wasn't sure why it made my stomach give an unpleasant twist.

"Because it pains me to admit it, but I couldn't have done this without you."

His face brightened, like flicking on a stadium-level group of spotlights. "Damn right."

I bit my cheek to hold back a smile. "Don't ruin it."

"No, seriously—a compliment from you is like a four-leaf clover. I've got to milk this while it lasts." He leaned forward to send me a coy glance, the faint indentation of a dimple pressing into his cheek. "What else?"

The smile won.

"Upon closer inspection," I said, "you're not half-bad—and I don't mean that in a sexual way." Although that, too. But I had better ditch any notions of a repeat arrangement since Adam couldn't offer anything real, and I was no one's secret.

"Like an acquired taste?" he suggested.

"Yeah. And not for the faint of heart."

"Oh, I know this one!" He snapped his fingers. "What is black pudding?"

I hit an invisible buzzer. "Wrong. Because the actual answer is haggis."

"And me, apparently." The words came without the edge of irritation they might have held a week ago. It was still Adam—classically handsome and clad in a suit designed to accentuate his wealth and privilege. But maybe I saw him more clearly now.

Didn't mean I was ready to admit that I'd been wrong.

"Listen, imposter." I shook my head in mock disapproval. "This has been fun. But where did you leave the real Adam Harrington? Because I remember him being kind of"—a self-important prick—"obnoxious."

Adam took a second to study me, then his lips curved into a lopsided smile. "I activate him as needed. And let's just agree that you're not always the nicest guy either."

Yeah, that was valid.

"Good boys go to heaven," I said. "Bad boys go everywhere."

The other side of Adam's mouth lifted. "I thought they bring heaven to you?"

This veered eerily close to flirting, and God, I was tempted. After all, what was one more time in the grand scheme of things? Except, right—if this really went through, we'd be seeing a lot of each other. It hadn't stopped me before, but now that I was starting to…not dislike him anymore? Bad idea.

"Or," I said lightly, "in this case, they bring the drinks. It's five o'clock somewhere, so let's find a pub."

Adam's smile dimmed but didn't fade entirely. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

The Red Lionpub served expensive drinks in a historic, slightly cramped setting. Should have expected a pub this close to Downing Street and the parliament to come with poor value for money.

We snagged a couple of bar chairs in an alcove, aged wood framing tall, arched windows that offered a partial view of the palatial building across the road. A drink rail served as our table. I tried to ignore how the lack of space pushed us close together, knees bumping, while around us, local gossip, political debates, and travel tales blended into a low-level buzz of conversation. The sweet, bready scent of beer hung in the air.

After the kind of deliberation that hinted pubs weren't his usual routine, Adam had ordered a pint of Oliver's Island ale. I watched him dip a finger into the foamy head on top. When he brought it to his mouth, I glanced away.

Deliberate? Maybe.

I wrapped a hand around my pint glass. "Okay, so. Question for you."

He slid me a bright look. "Who am I wearing?"

"Someone who's in the ‘if you have to ask, you can't afford it' category, no doubt." I snorted. "No—if our proposal really goes through?—"

"It will," Adam interjected.

"—wouldn't it usually take, like, a year to organise permits and things like the environmental impact assessment and all?"

"Ah." Adam took a sip of his ale and then wiped his mouth. "Someone asked the internet, it seems."

Guilty as charged. "I figured asking you would prompt another monologue about how unprepared my family is for a project of this size."

"One, rude." His voice dipped. "Two, you are. But for better or worse, we're in it together. So."

I felt my jaw tighten, exhaled, and swallowed my protest. His tone had lacked disdain, and he was right—of course I was unprepared. Woefully so. If sheer insanity had swayed the government into handing the job to only me, I would have regretfully declined.

"We're in it together?" I repeated instead, letting a grin twitch around my mouth. "Not how I would describe your initial reaction."

"Let's just say…" Adam didn't finish, opting for another mouthful of ale instead. I watched his throat, caught myself, and drank from my own glass, slightly too aware of the press of Adam's knee.

"Let's just say…?"

"Certain members of my family were displeased to learn it was a joint venture." Self-deprecating humour tinged Adam's voice. Oh, I could just imagine his father's reaction—Benedict Harrington had a reputation, and adjectives like easygoing and pleasant were conspicuously absent. No reason to believe he'd be more lenient with the son who carried the sole burden of the family's expectations.

"Certain members of your family," I told Adam, "need to get over themselves."

Adam shrugged, his suit jacket shifting with the motion. "This project is a huge deal, Liam."

"Oh." I widened my eyes at him. "Thanks. I wasn't aware."

"Chill. I wasn't casting shade, okay?" He sent me a quick smile while somewhere behind us, a glass clattered to the ground, followed by laughter and hollering. I had to lean in to catch Adam's next words. "I'm just trying to explain why my family cares a lot more than they did, say, about the Kellys' security overhaul. Words like legacy were thrown around."

What other words had they thrown around, I wondered. Affront? Grounds for lethal action? They wouldn't be that reckless, though—and strangely enough, I trusted Adam. Just not his family.

"For the sake of my sanity," I said, "can we agree that going forward, it's still you and me? Because if I have to deal with your father ..."

"Actually, I'd pay good money to see that."

"Don't you dare."

Adam tucked a laugh into his palm. "I'm honoured by your desire to spend more time with me."

"It's all relative. If the choice is between the plague, cholera, and a mildly irritating cold…" I followed it up with a wink to show I was teasing.

"Mildly irritating, huh?" Adam glanced over his shoulder before he focused on me again, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "That's not how it seemed when you had me on my knees."

Yeah, all right—definitely deliberate. It occurred to me that the last time we'd had pints together…yeah. Well.

"I'm a poor judge of character when most of my blood is south of my beltline." Another wink, and this was…flirting. I was flirting with Adam. Bad idea. Terrible idea. "Anyway, so what I meant to ask before you derailed this conversation…If our proposal goes through, when do you expect construction to start?"

It was admittedly late in the game for me to ask that question. But it had all seemed so abstract before and like I'd jinx it by considering the practicalities. I was unprepared, completely so.

"A couple of months," Adam said. "Say, late May? That'd be my best guess."

"A couple of months?" I'd expected early next year.

"This is Alaric's pet project, Liam. Preparations have been running for a year, and he's got friends in high places. It'll be a couple of months. Three, at the most."

Three months. Jesus, could I do it? Could we do it—Jack and Laurie, my parents, and me? Most of our prototypes were in the early stage, and as the only one able to see the way magic flowed, the ultimate responsibility lay with me.

Oh God. Maybe I hadn't thought this all the way through.

"Something wrong?" Adam asked, and I realised I might have been staring at my pint for a few seconds too long. I was about to reply when his phone started buzzing. He pulled it out, then turned it for me to see ‘Alaric Hartley' flashing on the display.

All right.

Fuck.

"Alaric!" Adam's voice was smooth and easy as he picked up. He was also holding on to the drink rail like it might keep him from tumbling off his bar chair. "Thanks for calling. How do you think it went?"

I couldn't hear what Hartley said. I did see the change in Adam's face, though—relief washing across his features, a smile as bright as an explosion. His gaze found mine and held it.

‘We got it?' I mouthed.

He gave the tiniest of nods even as he told Hartley…something. Thanked him, maybe. I couldn't focus past the roaring white tide of noise in my ears. Oh, wow. God. This was—it was happening, really and truly happening, holy shit. A dizzying rush of blood to the head.

"Breathe, Liam," someone said.

I did. Focused on Adam, and took another breath. "I'm okay."

We stared at each other, my heart thudding in my throat. This was life-changing. All eyes on us, a chance to make this city a slightly better place.

"I'm okay," I repeated, and I wasn't sure if it was me reaching out first or if it was Adam, bright spots still swirling through my brain as I wrapped my arms around him. We'd done it, oh God. I inhaled, the smell of his aftershave dancing through my veins, the pub fading away.

We'd done it.

I let go, not sure what to do with my hands, not sure what to do with myself. I needed to tell my family. I needed to tell George. Instead, I sat on my bar chair, trying to remember words while continents emerged and vanished in my mind. Adam's smile was the brightest thing I saw.

"You with me?" he asked quietly, an echo of earlier.

"If by with you, you mean some bizarre parallel universe where the UK government just greenlighted our proposal?" I drew a shaky breath. "Then, yeah—I'm with you."

Adam's smile changed to something more private. "Good."

I smiled back while around us, people kept laughing, talking, drinking. My pulse fluttered in my fingertips like moth's wings.