Page 5 of Liam
How is it fair that he gets to be obscenely rich, obviously smart—though I’d never admit that out loud—and look like...well, like that?
I shake my head, trying to dispel these unwelcome thoughts. So what if he’s aged like a fine wine? He’s still the same entitled, arrogant man who broke me without a second thought, the one who vanished without a word. No amount of muscle or chiseled features can change that.
I’ve built walls since then, walls that won’t crumble just because Liam Valeur has reappeared in my life. He'll never get close enough to hurt me again. Some of us actually have integrity, and I'll be damned if I let him waltz back into my life and wreak havoc all over again.
I lean against my favorite lab bench, crossing my arms.
“Problem, Mr. Valeur? Don’t tell me you’re missing a vital board meeting about—what is it you do again? Professional money-counting?”
He glares at me, those blue eyes flashing with anger as he pockets his useless phone. “This is serious. We need to get out of here. Now.”
“Oh, of course,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Heaven forbid the world be deprived of your presence for an hour. I’m sure the economy will collapse without you there to what? Sign things? Frown at spreadsheets?”
He runs a hand through his hair again, messing up the styled locks even more.
I wonder how much he pays for that haircut.
“I need to be?—”
“Somewhere else?” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Yes, you said. Let me guess, you’re losing money.”
His jaw clenches, a muscle twitching. It’s almost hypnotic. “You don’t know anything about me or my responsibilities.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s difficult being a billionaire,” I say, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice. “All those yacht parties to attend, golf games to play. How do you manage?”
Liam paces the length of my lab, his expensive shoes clicking against the linoleum floor. He navigates around the cluttered tables and equipment, his discomfort growing with each pass. He looks like a caged animal, all sleek lines and barely contained energy.
“Isn’t there an emergency override or something?” he asks, his voice tight.
I roll my eyes, pushing myself off the bench. “Oh sure.” I make a show of rummaging through a nearby drawer, pulling out a broken pencil. “Will this do? Or would you prefer a solid gold override switch? I’m sure that’s more your style.”
“Don’t you care that we’re trapped?” he snaps, stopping his pacing to face me.
I spread my arms wide, gesturing to the surrounding space. “In my lab, surrounded by my life’s work? Oh, the horror. How will I cope with all this science?”
Liam turns away from me, examining the doors and windows. He tugs at the reinforced glass, his muscles straining against his tailored suit. The sight of the fabric hugging his shoulders steals my focus.Snap out of it.
“Planning a daring escape, Mr. Bond?” I call out, unable to resist mocking him. “Should I expect you to rappel down the building using a rope made of lab coats? Or perhaps you have a helicopter on standby? That seems more your speed.”
He whirls around to face me, his face flushed with anger. It’s a good look on him, I have to admit.
“At least I’m doing something instead of just sitting there like it’s a normal Monday.”
“Maybe because it is a normal Monday for me. Some of us enjoy our work. You know, contributing to society instead of just leeching off it?”
“Enjoy your work?” He pauses by my workstation, his eyes catching on my unlocked computer screen. The timesheet application is still open from when I logged in this morning. His eyebrows rise as he leans closer, scanning the numbers.
“You did seventy-five hours last week.”
Heat creeps up my neck, moving up to my cheeks. I force my voice to stay neutral and professional. This partnership could mean everything for the project. “The research requires dedication.”
“Dedication.” His careful tone makes my fingers clench. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Some of us feel passionate about our work,” I say, straightening a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening.
He laughs. “Right. I’m sure your intellectual fulfillment keeps you warm at night.”
“Well, at least I don’t need to buy my friends with corporate credit cards and fancy dinners. I bet your idea of a deep conversation is discussing stock options,” I snap, professionalism abandoning me.
