Page 10 of Hired By the Enemy
I can’t help stiffening because having Liam in my personal space sends alarms shrieking through my body. There’s the threat alarm from my childhood because experience taught me that bad things were about to happen anytime Liam was so close. There’s also the desire alarm, where my cock overrides my brain and reminds me that Liam, despite everything, is a drop-dead gorgeous guy, who smells like an intoxicating mix of citrus and sandalwood.
I swallow hard and work on trying to look natural as we wander over to the bar. As we greet everyone, Liam moves his hand to the small of my back. His touch scalds me like an iron poker. And I have to call on every ounce of my self-control not to jerk away from him.
“What do you want to drink?” he asks.
“Ah, white wine, thanks.”
Liam keeps one hand casually on my waist as he orders my wine and a beer from the bartender.
It’s possessive.
And even though it’s fake, and it’s my enemy’s hand, there’s still something nice about having someone claim me like this.
It makes me realize what I’ve been missing out on. I haven’t been in a proper relationship for years because my job is all-consuming, and I seem to lack the ability to make it past small talk on any of the dating apps. I’ve mastered hook-up apps, but dating apps where you’re trying to convince the person they want to get to know you better? Utter fail.
But if I’m reacting this way to having my most loathed enemy touch me, then it’s a sign I need to put in more effort.
After we’ve gotten our drinks, Liam manages to slip effortlessly into conversation with my colleagues. Soon, he has Henrietta, my chief financial officer, along with Raj, my Director of marketing, and Raj’s partner, Latisha, engaged in a lively conversation about predictions for the upcoming NBA season.
I stand next to Liam, not adding anything to the conversation—sports aren’t really my thing, but if someone wants an in-depth discussion on the merits of various Marvel films, I’m their guy—until the maître d’ tells us our table is ready.
Once we’re seated at the table, Liam slides into an effortless conversation with Neil, my operations manager, and his partner, Jules, about their house renovations.
And I find myself flicking glances at his handsome face as he charms two more people.
I’m notadmiringhim. I’m just appreciating his skillset and ability to get along with everyone and make it look so easy. It’s something I wish I were better at.
“Have you decided what you would like to order, sir?”
Shit, the waiter is here, and I’ve been too caught up watching Liam to pay attention to the menu.
I do a quick scan.
“Uh, I’ll have the steak, medium rare, please. But can I have the mushroom sauce in a separate dish on the side, please?”
I know it’s weird, but I always like to control the sauce-to-steak ratio.
Paul leans back in his chair on the other side of the table, offering me an indulgent smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as fussy about food as Matthew. Most people grow out of their fussiness, but our boy wonder hasn’t hit that stage yet.”
I flush as the attention of everyone at the table is directed toward me.
“It’s one of the things I actually like most about Matthew,” Liam pipes up.
Paul’s eyebrows shoot up. “What, his fussiness?”
“Yes, Matthew’s very particular, so it makes me feel great that he’s chosen me to be his boyfriend.”
Liam puts his hand on mine and gives me a smile, and I’m drawn into his hazel eyes for an instant before I blink and pull back.
Fuck. He is really good at the fake-boyfriend thing. I’m not sure if it’s a deliberate attempt to move the conversation on from my fussiness, but Liam then launches into a story about his trip to Europe and his inability to communicate with the locals when his car broke down in a mountainous region of France, leading to some hilarious hand-gesture conversations.
After our meals arrive, I use the clinking of cutlery and plates to mask my whisper.
“You’re doing great.”
“That’s because I am great,” he whispers back.
I roll my eyes. There’s the Liam I know and loathe.
