Page 67 of The Women of Wild Hill
“Not quite yet. I know I’m irresistible, but you’ll have to wait just a little longer.”
Brigid wished she could stomp out and never come back. When she didn’t, it was as good as a confession. Liam was right. She was fucking hooked.
THE FIRST STOP WAS JUSTon the other side of the glass doors. She hadn’t looked around much on her way through the living room. Like other rich people’s homes, it was a museum of someone else’s good taste. The decor had been handpicked by an expert whose single-word brief must have beenmanly. Sleek leather furniture of the sort that had inspired decades of knockoffs. A two-thousand-year-old Roman war helmet. An early Picasso nude. The only work that didn’t seem to fit was a portrait of a pudgy old man in judge’s robes. He peered down imperiously at them from above the fireplace.
“Who the hell is that? And why would you want him in your living room?”
“Dad was best friends with Antonin Scalia,” Liam explained. “They were on holiday together when Nino died. I believe Scalia’s widow gave that painting to my father.”
“It’s vile,” said Brigid.
“And astonishingly lifelike,” Liam added, pausing to sip his drink. “That’s exactly how slimy he was in person.”
“You met him?”
“Of course,” Liam said. “I know the whole gang.”
“The gang?”
“My father’s friends. Billionaires, senators, justices, dictators. There’s a group of them. They make all the big decisions together. They gather for a weekend in a place like this and determine the fate of the world. Everything’s decided long before the public ever gets wind of it.”
“These are conservatives, I’d imagine.”
“And you’d be wrong. There are a few people out there who have real political convictions, but they’re rarely the ones with real power. The left and the right don’t mean much anymore. When you boil it all down, there’s just the superrich and everyone else.”
“I have a lot of money,” Brigid said. “Could I join the club?”
Liam shook his head. “Sorry, sweetheart. We have enough tokens. Only boys are allowed in at the moment.”
He seemed to be joking, but it still left her fuming. “Of course,” Brigid muttered. On her trip up the Hollywood ladder, she’d heard the same sentiment phrased a thousand different ways. “I assume you’re a member?”
“I own AMN. Not only am I a member, I’m their favorite boy.”
“I see. So what are you going to do with AMN now that you’ve inherited it?”
“Run it. Keep owning the libs. Make a bazillion more dollars.”
Brigid hated herself for being even slightly surprised. “Then I guess we’ll just have to be enemies. In fact, in the spirit of full disclosure, I might have to kill you someday.”
“Fair enough.” Liam took a step closer. “But do you think we can call a truce for the afternoon? In fact, do you mind if we cancel the rest of the tour? There’s something I would really like to do to you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since last night.”
She could smell him. That same earthy scent she’d picked up on the plane, mixed now with rum and pot and salt water. It made her weak in the knees. “Oh really? What’s that?”
His warm hand closed around her own. “Come this way, and I’ll show you.”
THE BEDROOM WAS STARK ANDmodern, with nothing out in the open but a bed, a nightstand, and a chair. There was only one reason to be there.
“You’re awfully presumptuous,” Brigid told her host.
“Am I?” He kissed her.
“How long have you had this all planned out?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for decades,” Liam told her as he unbuttoned her dress.
“You’re not a crazed stalker, are you?” Brigid asked. Her dress fell to the floor.
“No,” Liam told her. “Just a fan. I was twenty-two years old when I saw your first movie. I didn’t recognize the name. I didn’t even know who you were. But I knew one day, we’d end up in bed together.” He lowered her back onto the mattress.
