Chapter 14

Chapter 14

“Oh my God, it’s worse than I expected. What is that dreadful thing you have on your arms?”

“Scarlett! You’re early!” I rushed out from behind the reception desk and wrapped my arms around my friend. After we hugged, Scarlett pulled back and held my shoulders.

“Is that brown?”

I glanced down at the blazer I wore. “It’s part of the hotel’s uniform. I wear it when I’m behind the front desk. What’s wrong with it?”

Scarlett seemed confused at my question. “It’s brown.”

I laughed. As expected, Scarlett looked like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine instead of off a seven-hour flight. Her shoulder-length blond hair was styled in roaring-twenties finger waves. She had on wide-legged cream slacks with a simple navy silk blouse, but the six or seven layers of pearls wrapped around her neck, oversized men’s Rolex on her wrist, and bright red pointy shoes on her feet made the outfit scream fashionista. Scarlett was a good five inches shorter than me, standing at only five foot two, but I doubted anyone knew that since her heels were always sky high. Her skin was as pale as mine, yet she could pull off bright red lipstick like no other. I think when your mother names you Scarlett, you might not really have a choice.

“We all can’t look picture perfect like you. How was your flight? And I thought you were bringing another person?”

“I did. He had to go straight to a meeting. I told him I had a pressing engagement and he’d have to handle it alone.”

I pouted. “I hope you aren’t gone too long. I was looking forward to having drinks. I haven’t found a new Friday night happy hour buddy yet.”

Scarlett draped her arm around my neck. “You are my pressing engagement. Why else would I take such a dreadful early-morning flight?”

I smiled. “Oh, great! That’s exactly what I need.”

It was the first time in a few days that I hadn’t felt a bit blue. I hated to admit it, but the lack of attention from Weston had left me feeling almost melancholy. It was stupid, I knew that, but logic didn’t pep me up any. Sadly, our fighting—and what came after our fighting—had been the highlight of my last few weeks. Ever since our lunch with Travis two days ago, Weston had been scarce. He’d even been keeping the door to his office shut now, which he’d never done before.

Granted, we were both really busy. Between the construction, the meeting we’d had with the union, our legal teams holed up in conference rooms and constantly requiring us to chase things to continue their due diligence, and just the general time constraints of trying to run a hotel you’re barely familiar with, it was a wonder either of us had time to notice the other one’s absence. I really hated that it bugged me at all.

Scarlett’s visit couldn’t have come at a better time. There was no better cure for feeling down and out than a heaping dose of Scarlett’s sarcasm.

I grabbed one of her two oversized wheelie bags. “How long are you staying? You only had me book four nights. This looks like enough luggage to last two months.”

“Darling, I’d need a separate plane for my bags if I were staying two months.”

I laughed. “Come on, let me show you to your room. I already checked you in. I’ll let you settle, and then we can enjoy happy hour at the main bar upstairs. It has a beautiful view of the City.”

***

“Come meet my new friends.” Scarlett swiveled on her bar stool as I walked back into the lounge. I’d been called down to the basement to deal with a broken pipe. When I returned, two very handsome men were seated to her left, and both stood.

“You must be Sophia.” The taller of the two smiled, extending his hand. “I’m Ethan, and this is my business partner, Bryce.”

I looked to Scarlett to fill in the blanks. I’d only been gone for about twenty minutes. Perhaps they were people she knew here for the fashion show. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ethan and Bryce are in the travel industry, too,” Scarlett said. “They own private planes that are rented by people who aren’t satisfied flying first class commercially. I told them they could buy our next round.” She picked up her drink and swirled the straw. “What more does a girl need than a best friend who owns beautiful hotels and two new friends who own private planes? Sounds like a match made in heaven, if you ask me.”

There were no seats left at the bar, so Bryce motioned to the one he’d been sitting in. “Please, take a seat.”

Scarlett caught my eye and wiggled her eyebrows discreetly. The men were handsome and obviously successful, but I’d been looking forward to some alone time with my friend. Though Scarlett seemed excited about our new companions, so I smiled and took a seat.

“What can I get you to drink?” Bryce asked.

Just then the bartender, Sean, walked over. He set a napkin down on the counter in front of me. “You want a vodka and diet cranberry, Ms. Sterling?”

“Ohhh. That sounds good. You have diet cranberry today?”

He nodded. “Sure do. Mr. Lockwood made sure we ordered a case of it the other day.”

“He did? Are we adding a special drink to the menu that uses it?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” He shrugged. “He just told us to make sure it’s in stock from now on because that’s what you like.”

It had felt odd to take a seat and agree to have drinks with these two men. But I quickly chalked that up to being out of practice. Liam and I were together for a long time, and I hadn’t jumped back into the dating world yet. Well, not really. Obviously Weston and I had had our dalliances. But the bartender’s mention of Weston doing something so small, yet sweet, made me realize the reason I felt uncomfortable sharing a drink with a man had nothing to do with being out of practice.

Forcing that thought from my head, I said, “Vodka and diet cranberry sounds perfect, Sean. Thank you.”

Bryce smiled. “I guess it’s hard to buy a woman a drink in a hotel she owns, huh?”

I smiled, and the four of us fell into easy conversation. Eventually, the seat to my left opened up, so Bryce sat down next to me. It allowed the conversation for four to turn into two more intimate conversations of two.

“So, I take it you live here in the City?” he asked.

“Right now, I live here in this hotel. My family just recently became partial owners of The Countess. I’d been living in London the last few years and moved back to help transition things here.”

“Does that mean you’ll go back to London after things are settled?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Bryce smiled. “I’m happy to hear that. New York is my home base, too.”

His flirting was innocent, yet it made me feel guilty to participate. Obviously, Weston and I hadn’t talked about seeing other people. Not that he and I were actually seeing each other. I wasn’t naïve enough to think there was anything other than a physical relationship going on, and even that seemed to have fizzled as of late. So, I forced myself to stay open-minded, even though all I really wanted to do was go back to my suite with Scarlett and tell her all about me and Weston.

I sipped my drink. “So your office is here in the City, then?”

“Only a few blocks away. I’ve never been inside this hotel though.” He looked around the bar and out the tall wall of windows nearby. “The view is amazing. I have to admit, Ethan wanted to come here for drinks to celebrate a new contract we just signed, and I didn’t feel like it. Now I’m glad I did.”

Bryce and I sat together for a half hour, our conversation flowing pretty easily. I learned that six months ago he came out of a two-year relationship, and I shared that my long-term relationship had also recently ended.

“We got a dog together,” Bryce said. “Or rather, she picked out a dog, and I got to feed it and walk it.”

“What kind of a dog was it?”

“Is, not was. I got the dog in the breakup. Sprinkles is a shih tzu. She was the one who wanted the dog, yet she showed up at my apartment with some clothes I’d had at her place and the dog. Said if I didn’t take it, she was going to the vet to get him put down. What kind of a person does that? Anyway, now I have a girly-looking dog named Sprinkles.”

I laughed. “Did you not want the dog to begin with?”

“I wanted a dog, but I’d been thinking more along the lines of a black lab named Fred.” He shrugged. “The little guy is a damn yapper, but he’s grown on me. He sleeps on my pillow right next to my head and likes to lick my ear at five o’clock in the morning. If I’m being honest, it’s pretty much the only action I’ve seen in a while.” Bryce laughed.

I had a smile on my face until I saw the man walking toward me. Weston did not look happy. His long strides ate up the distance between us.

“The front desk said you would be here. I didn’t realize you were on a date.” He didn’t say the word date so much as spit it at me.

“I’m not—I mean, I wasn’t… We aren’t…” I shook my head. Motioning to Scarlett, who’d turned around, I said, “Scarlett and I came for happy hour.”

Weston glanced over at Scarlett, gave her a curt nod, and returned his angry glare to me. “You were dealing with a busted pipe in the laundry room?”

“Yes, why? Once the plumber arrived, I came back to finish my drinks with Scarlett. Is everything okay?”

Weston’s eyes slanted to Bryce and back to me. “The plumber wants you to sign off on the repair estimate since you hired him. I told him I could take care of it, but apparently you’re the only one capable of making such a decision in his eyes.”

I stood. “Oh. Okay. I’m coming.”

Weston did another sweep of our group, and his jaw flexed. “Scarlett.” He nodded, turned around, and marched back out of the bar.

“Umm…” I stood. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Bryce stood also. “Was that your manager? He was a little gruff the way he spoke to you. Do you want me to walk with you to meet the plumber?”

I held up my hands. “No, I’m good. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Weston was nowhere in sight as I made my way down to the basement laundry room. At first, when he’d walked in and found me sitting at the bar talking to another man, I’d felt guilty. But as I rode the elevator, my mindset started to shift.

What an asshole.

How dare he storm into the bar and give me such an attitude?

He hadn’t even spoken to me the last few days.

He’d been completely unprofessional.

By the time the elevator doors slid open in the basement, whatever misplaced guilt I’d been feeling had morphed into anger. My heels echoed loudly on the floor as I marched to the laundry room and swung open the door.

Finding Weston inside, I tossed him a dirty look and walked over to the plumber, wearing the fake smile I usually reserved for when my father was around. “Hi. Mr. Lockwood said you wanted my approval on the estimate?”

The plumber had been kneeling on the floor packing away his tools. He snapped the top of the metal box shut and stood, extending a piece of paper to me. “I capped off the water that goes to the two machines on the end for now. But you got some pretty bad rusted pipes overhead.” He pointed to the ceiling where a few tiles had been removed, exposing the plumbing. “Looks like you have original pipes in here. They should have been replaced twenty years ago. You’ve been lucky. I gave you an estimate for re-piping all the machines to the main and an estimate for just getting these two machines up and running again.”

Great. Rotted pipes.

Looking down, I eyeballed the bottom line on the estimates. My family kept a database of approximate prices of most repairs. Managers could approve up to five percent more than the average, based on the job. When the pipe had burst earlier, I’d checked the average cost of replacing a broken pipe in the laundry room, and the repair estimate in my hand was in line with that. But I hadn’t checked what re-piping an entire laundry facility should cost.

I looked over at Weston. “Do you have any thoughts on this?”

He didn’t even glance at me as he responded. “I hopped on a washer and took a look at the pipes in the ceiling myself. No point in doing just a repair when everything up there is rotted. It’s a fair price.”

I nodded and spoke to the plumber. “When can you start a full re-piping?”

“Tuesday. Can you handle being down two washers until then, or do you need me to get those up and running tomorrow when the plumbing supply store opens?”

I shook my head. The Countess had at least twenty washers and as many dryers. “We should be fine until Tuesday.”

He nodded. “Okay, then. I’ll see you next week.”

Weston opened the laundry room door for the plumber and extended his hand for the man to walk out first, though he didn’t follow. Instead, he pointed down the hall. “The elevator is just down the hall to your right. Have a good night.” He barely waited until the guy started to walk away before shutting the door.

With the two of us alone in the laundry room, the big space suddenly felt very small. Weston stood with his back to me, facing the door, for a long time. Neither of us said a word. The basement was so quiet that I could hear the clock on the wall ticking. It felt like I was listening to the countdown for a bomb about to explode.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

More silence.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until Weston reached out and put his hand on the doorknob. Then I exhaled a sigh of relief.

But I’d breathed too soon…

Instead of turning the handle, Weston twisted the lock.

The loud clank of the bolt fastening into place echoed through the room, and my pulse took off like a rocket.

Weston turned around. Without a word, he slipped off his suit jacket, tossed it on top of one of the dryers, and began to roll up his shirtsleeves. My eyes were glued to his corded forearms as my heart ricocheted against my rib cage.

He finished one sleeve and began to work on the other. “Are you planning on fucking the nice man you’re having drinks with, Fifi?”

I glared at him. “What business is it of yours if I am?”

“I’m spoiled. You’ve said so yourself, right? Well, us spoiled people do not like to share their things.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m a thing? You’re such an asshole.”

Weston calmly finished rolling up his second sleeve and finally looked up at me. The smile that spread across his ridiculously handsome face could only be described as sinister. “You are so much more than a thing. In fact, you’re everything. That’s why I have no intention of sharing you.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “That’s not exactly your choice.”

He took a few steps toward me, and my body began to vibrate. “No, you’re right. It’s not my choice who you give your body to.” He twirled a lock of my hair around his finger and gave it a strong tug. His eyes locked with mine. “But you don’t really want anybody but me.”

I was about to argue with him, but we both knew where that would take us. So instead, I straightened my spine and decided to make this conversation useful.

“Why have you been avoiding me the last couple of days?”

Weston looked away. He seemed to consider my question. “Because you’re a nice woman, and you deserve better than a playboy alcoholic.”

“You’re not an alcoholic. You stopped drinking fourteen months ago.”

He shook his head. “That’s not exactly the way it works. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic.”

“That’s a technicality, a definition for a word. You’re not drinking anymore. That’s what’s important, isn’t it?”

He looked up into my eyes. Sexual tension radiated between us, but he seemed to be listening. And I had more I wanted to say.

“And as for being a playboy, are you currently sleeping with any other women?”

Weston shook his head.

“Okay, then. So you’re not currently a playboy or a drunk. Now that we’ve established that, are there any other reasons you’ve been avoiding me?”

Weston stared into my eyes. “You deserve better.”

“Maybe I don’t want better. You know, I’m pretty much an only child. So if anyone is selfish, it’s me. You might not want other people touching your things. But I want what I want.”

Weston’s eyes dropped to my lips. He reached a finger to my neck and traced my pulse from jawline to my collarbone. “Fine. But no fucking other men while your spoiled ass is getting what she wants.”

I squinted at him. “Fine.”

“Slip off your panties, Fifi.”

I blinked a few times.

He repeated himself, this time more gruff and each word spoken in a staccato burst. “Slip. Off. Your. Panties.”

Goose bumps broke out all over my body. I needed my head examined. A nice, handsome man who wasn’t a Lockwood sat upstairs in the bar waiting to get to know me, and here I was in the dingy basement with a man who’d just referred to me as a thing. Yet my arms shook as I bent and reached under my skirt. Hooking one finger over each side of the lacy fabric, I shimmied my underwear down my legs. Letting them drop to the floor, I stepped out, one dramatic foot lift at a time.

Weston’s eyes glittered. He side-stepped around me to one of the washers and twisted the dial. The machine turned on and began to hum. Turning back to me, he ran his tongue across his bottom lip as his eyes swept over my body from neck to toes.

“Hike up your skirt.”

My eyes jumped to his. “What?”

“Up around your ass. Hike it up.”

I hesitated, but honestly, I was so turned on that there wasn’t much he could ask that I wouldn’t do. Grabbing the hem of my skirt, I bunched it up until the material was gathered around my waist. Standing with everything from my waist to my toes completely on display left me exposed in so many ways.

Weston stepped forward, gripped my waist with two hands, and lifted me off my feet. He carried me over to the washing machine he’d turned on and gently set me on top.

“Spread your legs.”

I opened them a little.

Weston shook his head slowly. “Wider. One leg on each side of the machine. Straddle it for me.”

At that moment, the empty washing machine began to vibrate. It started slow, but quickly ramped up to jumping around like a Mexican bean.

Weston saw the concern on my face and smiled. “It’s fine. An empty washer on spin cycle isn’t going to buck you off, so spread those legs for me.”

It might’ve been the strangest thing I’d ever considered. Nevertheless, I did as he instructed and spread my legs wide enough to straddle the machine, one leg hanging over each side.

Weston smiled. “Now, lean forward a little bit.”

I gripped the front edge of the washing machine and shifted my weight from my ass to my hips. The sensitive skin between my legs met the cold metal, but I quickly realized why he wanted me to tilt forward.

Oh my God.

Oh wow.

My eyes wanted to roll back into my head.

The empty washing machine vibrated and bumped around. When I tilted forward, all of the sensation hit my most sensitive spot. It felt like I was holding a vibrator between my legs, only better. For the first time in my life, I might’ve felt all eight-thousand nerve endings firing at once. My jaw went slack, and a sheen of sweat broke out over my skin.

Weston’s eyes were glued to my face. The heat emanating from him blazed off the charts. I thought for sure this was just a quick bit of foreplay, but then he walked over to one of the out-of-service washing machines on the far side of the room and climbed on top.

“Wha… What are you doing?” I asked. With the vibration between my legs, I could barely string together a few cohesive words.

Weston reached above his head to the ceiling and started screwing with the tiles the plumber had left displaced.

“Fixing the ceiling.”

“Now?” I screeched.

He chuckled. “Trust me, we both need a few minutes. Seeing you with that douchebag got the best of me. That machine is giving you foreplay you wouldn’t be getting from me. You have no idea how much I need to pound the thought of that guy from the bar out of your head. Plus, I was on edge already and wouldn’t have lasted for very long.”

Since I was in no condition to argue and it felt so damn good, I closed my eyes and figured I’d enjoy the ride. A few minutes later, I felt Weston’s hot breath on my neck.

“We still playing by your rules?”

The question confused me because it seemed like Weston was the one making up the rules for whatever game we were playing.

He must’ve seen the question on my face.

Pushing a lock of hair behind my ear, he said, “No kissing. Only from behind.”

In the moment, I really wanted him to kiss me. Yet something inside me felt like that wouldn’t be a good idea. So I swallowed and nodded.

Weston’s lips flattened to a line, and the muscle in his jaw flexed. Yet he gave a curt nod, lifted me off the washing machine, and set me on my feet. “Turn around. Bend over the washer.”

My skirt had fallen into place, so he hiked it back up to my waist. The sound of his belt unbuckling, zipper teeth separating, and the foil of a condom wrapper tearing coiled tension in my lower belly. Weston leaned over me, covering my back with his front, and I felt him nudge at my opening. He settled his mouth at my ear and bit before grumbling, “Dumb fucking rules. You better hold on tight.”

***

Remember the first time you walked into your house after you’d been out drinking with your friends at age fifteen and you found your parents in the living room, still awake? You weren’t sure whether you should do a quick wave and attempt to escape to your room or if that in itself might raise suspicion. But if you went and sat down on the couch, there was a distinct chance your parents would either smell the alcohol on you or you’d slur your speech.

Well, I might’ve been twenty-nine now, and Scarlett might’ve been my best friend instead of my parents, but that was exactly how I felt walking back into the restaurant from the laundry room.

I’d been gone for over an hour, so I wasn’t even sure if Scarlett would still be at the bar. She was, though I was relieved to find her alone now.

Her back was to me as I approached, so I smoothed down my hair and did my best to act normal.

“I’m so sorry. That took way longer than I expected.”

Scarlett waved me off. “No problem. Our friends just left five minutes ago anyway. So I had good company.”

I settled into the empty seat next to her and relaxed a little. Okay, maybe Mom and Dad won’t suspect a thing. “You must be starving by now,” I said.

“I had a…” Scarlett trailed off and her eyes roamed my face. They suddenly widened. “Oh my God. You just shagged that tall glass of testosterone!”

I debated denying it, but felt my skin starting to flush, even as I went over my options.

Scarlett clapped her hands. “I almost went looking for you. That gorgeous man’s face was murderous. Now I’m relieved I didn’t, or I would’ve walked in on him putting that anger to good use.”

I covered my face with both hands and shook my head. “I think I’ve lost my mind.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind losing mine, too. Any chance your man has a pissed-off friend for me?” She smiled.

The bartender came over. “Can I get you another vodka and diet cranberry, Ms. Sterling?”

I was about to say yes. Alcohol sounded exactly like what I needed at the moment. But Scarlett responded before I could.

She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Sean, my love, any chance we could persuade you to slip us a bottle of the wine I’m drinking, a bottle of vodka, and one of those diet cranberries? I haven’t seen my best friend in a while, and I think we could both use a change into our pjs and some room service.”

Sean smiled and nodded. “I’ll do you one better. Why don’t you ladies head upstairs, and I’ll send the bottles along?”

Scarlett leaned across the bar and planted a kiss on Sean’s cheek, leaving behind a smear of her trademark red lipstick. “I love America. Thank you, darling.”

I thanked him and dug a fifty out of my purse. “Please put everything on my room.”

“Not necessary.” He shrugged. “The gentlemen left their tab open for you ladies. They said to make sure all of your drinks and any food you ordered were put on their bill.”

Well, now I just felt like shit. Nevertheless, Scarlett and I headed up to our rooms. She went to change in hers, and fifteen minutes later knocked at my door wearing Duck Dynasty footie pajamas.

I chuckled as she walked into my suite. “I’ll never understand how the woman who abhors television and walks around like she just stepped off the runway could be so obsessed with those pajamas.”

“You’re just jealous I can rock it.” Scarlett settled into the couch.

Room service had delivered a tray with a bottle of wine, two silver cocktail shakers filled with chilled drinks, an unopened bottle of Tito’s vodka, a full bottle of diet cranberry, and an assortment of nuts, pretzels, cheese, and crackers.

She grabbed a handful of cashews and tossed a few in her mouth before pouring a drink for each of us into glasses. “Tell me again why you weren’t living in one of your hotels in London? Because I can surely get used to this service. Especially if there’s a resident stud who takes care of the hotel’s and my pipes.”

I took my drink from the coffee table and sat down on the chair across from her. Tucking my legs beneath me, I sipped. “Trust me, that life sounds more glamorous than it is. Living in a hotel turns into a very lonely existence pretty quickly.”

“Oh? You weren’t looking very lonely when you walked into that restaurant. Seriously, Soph, Liam used to stay over at our house. I don’t recall you ever looking as properly fucked by that bore.”

I sighed. “I guess that’s because sex with Liam was never half as good as sex with Weston.”

Scarlett smiled. “I am over the moon for you. This is exactly what you needed.”

I arched an eyebrow. “To canoodle with a sworn enemy of my family while trying to come up with the winning bid that will allow me to force him out of any management of the hotel?”

“First off…canoodle? Now I know you’re American, but as far as I know, you are not over the age of seventy. So let’s give what’s going on the proper amount of respect, shall we? Shagging, fucking—I’ll even permit getting it on from that car-accident-waiting-to-happen of a show you Yankees loved, Jersey Shore. And secondly, it’s your grandfather’s ax to grind, not yours, correct? Did the angry Adonis ever do anything to you personally? Other than give you what I assume are spectacular orgasms?”

“Well, no… But…we aren’t even nice to each other.”

Scarlett sipped her wine, looking at me over the brim. “Being nice isn’t a requirement for good sex.”

“I know. But…”

Ever since the moment Scarlett figured out what was going on, the smile hadn’t left her face. Until now.

She set her drink on the coffee table and shook her head. “You’re growing feelings for him, aren’t you?”

I shook my head. “No… Definitely not… I mean, I don’t know.”

Scarlett sighed. “It would be easier if you could keep feelings out of it.”

I nodded. “Trust me, I’ve tried. And it started out that way. I didn’t like him the slightest bit when this first started—well, that’s not true. I might’ve liked some parts of him. But it was purely physical. Every time we argued, we’d wind up having pissed-off sex. He’s the absolute last person I’d ever pick to go out with. Aside from the fact that we’re competitors and our families have been at war for a half century, he’s a playboy, arrogant, not exactly stable, and has more emotional baggage than I do.”

“Well, you’ve spent the last ten years picking men you thought would be good for you. How did that turn out?”

I made a disapproving face. “Thanks.”

“As much as you thought Liam checked all of your required boxes, I always thought he was a selfish slug. Whenever we all went out together, it was on his timeline and to a place he liked. He never seemed to ask what you wanted. We’ve never discussed your sex life, but I would venture to guess he wasn’t generous in that arena either.”

She wasn’t wrong. Toward the end, it had been a special occasion if Liam put in more than three minutes of foreplay. And him giving me oral sex was essentially a birthday or Valentine’s Day gift, even though he knew my orgasms from that were incomparable to any other. I worked weekdays. He worked weekends. Yet the only time we ever went out late was on the days he didn’t have to get up, even though I did.

“I’ve definitely noticed that Weston is more attentive sexually. He pays attention and figures out what works for me. Liam had his little routine, and it worked for him—sometimes it worked for me, too. But I can chalk that up to experience. I haven’t asked for a headcount, but I’m certain Weston has been with more women than Liam.”

Scarlett pointed to my drink. “How is that with the diet cranberry?”

“It’s great. You don’t even taste the difference.” I held the glass to her. “You want to try it?”

Scarlett tilted her head. “Did Liam ever stock his fridge with what you liked?”

I knew what she was getting at. “That was very thoughtful of Weston. But…”

“Listen, Soph. I don’t know this man from Adam, so I could be totally off base. But I get the feeling that if you really think about it, you’ll see there’s more to it than just Weston ordering diet cranberry juice and making sure you finish first. And the same goes for Liam. If you think back, I have no doubt you’ll see you were second on his priority list. Liam was always number one.”