Yeah, not the best adjective to have used. "You’re the one who said it’s best to say what you’re thinking?"
He nods slowly.
I square my shoulders and decide to say what’s been on my mind since I joined, "Some of the things you say are not conducive to the workplace."
He curls his fingers into a fist. The veins on his arm stand out in relief. The cords of his throat are so pronounced, I’m sure he’s going to have a coronary. He draws in a deep breath. And then another. He seems to have gotten himself under control. Then nods.
"So, I have realized.” His words are matter-of-fact.
He doesn’t seem particularly upset by my having been upfront with him.
That’s unexpected. I look at him with suspicion. It’s not like him to agree to what I've said. Unless—a bulb seems to go off in my head. "There are conditions attached to your investors not pulling the money."
He jerks his chin. "As I said, many of the viewers are convinced what they saw was a lovers’ quarrel. Enough that the chairman of my board of directors believed me when I told them that was the truth."
“You did what?” I gape at him.
He pretended it was true that we loved each other. Me and James Hamilton, my boss. My best friend’s brother. The man who refused to give us a chance in love with me?
I cough. "What…" I clear my throat. "What are you trying to say?" I say through lips gone numb. This time, not just from the cold.
He squeezes the bridge of his nose, and when he opens his eyes, there’s a look of fatalism in them. "Nothing I said could convince themthat we—" He frowns. "That we aren’t in a relationship. Ultimately, I had no choice but to agree to their condition."
"Wh-what condition?" I whisper.
He cracks his neck, then rolls his shoulders like he’s preparing for a fight. When he looks at me next, his expression is twisted, like he’s finding what he’s going to say deeply unpleasant. "My investors will not pull their money from the restaurant, provided we get married."
16
Harper
"I’ll have a shot of tequila please."
I’m at The Famous Cock pub on Primrose Hill.
The bartender grabs the bottle of José, pours me a shot and slides it over. "Rough day?" he asks sympathetically.
"You have no idea,” I choke out, the words catching in my throat.
My boss—the man who makes my life a living hell—just asked me to marry him.
He’s, clearly, lost his mind. Or maybe, this is just another one of his twisted games. Part of me wonders what being his wife would actually feel like, but I shut that thought down instantly. No. Not going there.
This has to be a joke. He’s probably laughing right now, relishing how he caught me off guard. That’s why he wanted to meet here; to tell me it was just another one of his sick little experiments to see how I’d react. Keeping people off-balance is exactly how James Hamilton operates.
It’s his favorite way to maintain control. And I'm not falling for it.
The alcohol burns its way down my throat. When it hits my stomach,it sets off a warmth that relaxes my muscles. I lower my shoulders. Only now, do I realize how tense I've been all day.
"Top me up, please." I nod at the bartender.
He obliges me.
“Thank you.”
I curl my fingers around the shot glass and roll my neck from side to side. As I bring the glass to my lips, the hair on the back of my neck rises. Warmth reaches out to me. And when I turn my head, I’m not surprised to find it’s James who’s slid onto the barstool next to mine.
He changed out of his chef whites after closing The Edge, but I'm still wearing the same clothes that smell faintly of the jacket he wrapped around my shoulders, even though I was cooking for hours after the cold storage debacle.
