Page 53 of Grumpy Boss of the Year

“Fine,” she says. “Look, we both know that we’re horny for each other, but I think you’re a bit of a jackass, and I don’t even know what your story is with this other lady yet.”

“Five seconds ago, you told me you didn’t care.”

“Well, five seconds ago, I didn’t care because I didn’t care about you. In all reality— Never mind,” she says, looking out the window.

“In all reality, what?” I want to know what she was going to say.

“In all reality, this is just a fucked-up situation, and I’ve just got so much to think about right now and…”

“And what?” I stare at her. “What did your dad say?”

She takes a deep breath and lets it escape heavily. “You don’t even want to know.”

“Tell me.”

“My dad wants me to get married, and he’s having a party for me in a couple of months.”

“He is?” I frown. How have I not heard about this before?

“He’s having a party for what?”

“To introduce me to eligible bachelors,” she says, shrugging. “I guess I’m meant to meet my future husband there. Yay me!”

I stare at her for a couple of seconds. “I thought your dad just wanted you to go to Italy to hang out.”

She stares at me. “I don’t think I ever said that to you.”

“Yeah. You didn’t. I can’t think, but maybe Max and Gabe were talking about it, or maybe it was Remington. I can’t really remember. I’m guessing Skye or someone told them about it.”

“Yeah, maybe.” She stares at me. “Maybe.”

I wonder if she is getting suspicious, or maybe she was already suspicious, and this was deepening her suspicions. I’m going to have to be careful about what I say.

“So, Liam Gallagher.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Tell me more about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How did you get started in this business? Was it passed down to you from your parents?”

I stare at her for a couple of seconds and shake my head slowly.

“No. In fact, my story is pretty typical of a lot of men my age. My mother was working class. Her parents worked at a market selling vegetables, and my dad, decades ago, was part of the ruling class.”

“The ruling class.” She stares at me.

“Aristocrats,” I say. “His great-great-grandfather was the duke of something or other.”

“You don’t know?” She continues to stare at me.

“Well, of course, I know, but I don’t want to be pompous and say. Anyway, they lost their money, their land, and their title. Or rather, I should say, theysoldthe title.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you could do that.”

“There are many things you can do when the law looks the other way. Anyway, my father had pretensions of grandeur even though he had no money, and my mother was happy to be married to someone who, years ago, was someone notable.”

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