Chapter 8 A Custom-Made White Shirt for Liam
Emma pushed her chair back and headed straight for the restroom, anger burning beneath her ribs. She wanted nothing more than to rip away Ben’s carefully crafted façade.
“Hello.” A low voice came from the corner of the hallway.
She jumped. Liam was leaning against the wall, half in shadow.
“Need help?” he asked, his tone rough with alcohol.
“No. I’ll handle it myself.”
“Alright.” He pushed off from the wall and walked away unsteadily.
…
Emma ate her fill and downed several extra glasses of Napa Valley cult wine.
In the underground car park, Ben insisted, “I’ll drive you back.”
“No need. I’ve got a business trip tomorrow,” she replied.
“Remember, don’t get my car dirty,” she added coldly, biting back the harsher words on her tongue.
He took the keys and got into the driver’s seat.
“I love you, Emma!” he shouted, leaning out of the window as he pulled away.
She watched the car until it disappeared from sight. Her vision blurred, and tears spilled over.
She swallowed a sob and hissed under her breath, “Scoundrel.”
Taking a few moments, she pushed her hair back and composed herself. When she turned around, she nearly ran straight into Liam, who was standing at the elevator entrance.
She quickly looked away and wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks.
“You…”
“Emma?” He moved closer, his steps uneven.
She turned her face aside to avoid meeting his eyes, but he leaned down to look at her.
“It really is you…” He smiled, almost losing his balance.
She grabbed his arm to steady him.
“Mr. Hayes…” Her voice still shook from crying.
“You’ve been crying?” he asked, leaning heavily against her.
“No. Something got in my eyes,” she said quickly. “Where’s your car? Give me the keys.”
She guided him to lean against the wall and reached for the pocket of his coat.
“I didn’t drive,” he said, tilting his head, gaze fixed on her pink nose and tear-reddened eyes.
Muttering under her breath, she pulled out her phone and dialled Ryan.
“Ryan, where are you? Your boss is drunk.”
“I’m off work,” he complained.
“I’ve been off work for ages,” she snapped. “You’re his assistant. If you don’t deal with this, I’ll just leave him here.”
“Where is he?” Ryan asked.
“The Oak Room’s underground garage.”
There was a pause on the line. Then: “Put the boss on.”
Emma exhaled sharply and turned to Liam.
“Your assistant wants you. Tell him to come pick you up.”
She shoved the phone into his hand.
Liam glanced at the screen, shook his head slightly, and walked a few steps away to take the call.
Emma dragged her hands through her hair, exasperated.
“It’s me,” Liam said.
“You’re at The Oak Room, right?” Ryan confirmed.
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t need to come?” Ryan’s tone made it clear he knew perfectly well Liam wasn’t that drunk.
Liam appreciated his assistant’s instincts.
“I can call in sick, but I’ll need tomorrow off. Paid,” Ryan added smoothly, not missing his chance.
“Okay.”
“Great. Have a good evening. I’m turning off my phone,” Ryan said cheerfully.
Liam ended the call and walked back to Emma, letting his arm drop naturally around her shoulders.
She stiffened in surprise but still reached up to support him, afraid he’d fall.
“Did you get through?” she demanded, snatching the phone back. She hit redial, but it had already been switched off.
“Ryan, you’re unbelievable,” she growled at the dark screen.
…
They hailed a cab.
In the back seat, Liam rested his head against her shoulder.
She turned slightly and caught the faint, clean scent of his hair.
“Going out drinking without a bodyguard? That’s dangerous, you know,” she said, taking the opportunity to pinch his cheek lightly.
It was nearly eleven by the time she managed to get him back to his villa.
As soon as they reached the door, a bodyguard started forward.
“Get lost,” Liam snapped, cutting him off.
“Stop! Are you out of your mind?” Emma snapped.
The bodyguard froze, stunned.
Drenched in sweat, she all but dragged Liam inside and shoved him down onto the sofa.
Just as she turned to leave, he grabbed her wrist, yanked her back into his arms, and held her tightly.
“Ouch!”
“Don’t go…” he murmured.
“Smack!” Her hand flew on instinct, cracking across his cheek. She recoiled, then scrambled to her feet.
Shocked by what she’d just done, she reached out to gently stroke his face. “I’m sorry…”
He gazed up at her, eyes suddenly clear, watching every movement as he leaned back against the sofa.
Zoe, who’d been about to help, froze in place.
Emma smoothed down her clothes and said quietly, “Don’t tell him I hit him. Just say he fell.”
“Okay…” Zoe nodded.
Once Emma left, Liam’s drunken act dissolved. He lifted a hand to his cheek and winced.
“Ouch…”
Zoe pressed her lips together, fighting a laugh.
Back at her place, Emma stripped off the coat as soon as she walked in and headed straight for the shower.
The next day, her vacation officially began.
She slept until noon.
Then she slipped into high heels and a sleek, body-hugging dress that showed off every perfect curve. Her long, golden hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, catching the light with an effortless elegance.
Just as she was about to leave, she spotted Liam’s jacket on the sofa.
- I should return it. *
After a brief pause, she draped the jacket over her arm and headed out.
She treated herself: a fresh manicure, her straight hair styled into glamorous waves, and meticulous makeup at the salon before a round of shopping.
Her last stop was a high-end bespoke menswear boutique that normally required appointments months in advance.
“Hello, I’d like to have a shirt custom-made,” Emma said, handing over the suit jacket.
“Welcome!” the clerk greeted her warmly. “What size do you need?”
“I’m not sure. This is my boyfriend’s suit. Could you tailor a shirt based on this jacket?”
The clerk took the jacket and examined it carefully.
“I’ll need to consult our owner, Mr. Hunter Hayes,” she said gently. “Please have a seat.”
“All right, thank you.” Emma settled into a sofa to wait.
In the back, the clerk carried the jacket into the design studio, explaining the request to an older man with a full white beard and showing him the faint mark on the collar.
