Love Handles (Oakland Hills #1)(67)

“If that's what you're going to be doing, getting ready for a better job, you might as well go now.”

Pursing his lips, he met her gaze with sad eyes. “I didn't say better, did I? I didn't leave here voluntarily. I love this company.”

She sighed, remembering Kennedy at the preschool with her friend rock and gloomy attitude. “Everything is going to be fine. We just have to find a better way to cut costs. There must be lots of ways to get thrifty.”

“Your grandfather was hardly known for his extravagance. Look around. The only reason we've lasted this long is we hang on a shoestring budget as it is. We haven't had the water coolers refilled in two years, the cleaning company is a lady and her disabled son who commute in from Fresno, and we unscrewed half the ceiling lights to reduce the PG&E,” he said. “And, we've had a hiring freeze.” He raised his eyebrows to indicate his awareness of her violation of that policy.

“Richard, we'll find a way. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't share your worst-case scenario with anyone else here at the company.”

He sighed. “Other than Liam, you mean?”

“When did you talk with Liam?”

“When he called me to invite me back. I told him it was hopeless.”

“And what did he say?”

Lifting his sad eyes to hers, Richard tried to smile. “Said everything would be different now with you in charge.”

She swallowed. “He said that? Was he kidding?”

“How would I know?”

She clenched her teeth together and got up. “Of course. I’ll ask him myself.” The thought of hunting Liam down so soon after last night made the butterflies in her stomach want to bend over and vomit.

It took her twenty minutes to find him. He was in her grandfather’s old suite, standing on a stationary treadmill, staring out into the white sky over the city. His shoulders hunched with tension, and as she came up alongside him she saw that he had his arms braced over his chest, elbow-in-hand, like he was about to ram somebody.

“Hope you weren't gunning for a quickie,” he said, stepping off the treadmill. “I've got a meeting in two minutes.”

It was almost funny, the idea that she was using him for sex. She bit her lip, furious with herself for getting into bed with him. “I'm sorry about last night—”

“Which part?” He turned, eyes cold, and let his gaze sink down over her body with slow, clinical disinterest.

She straightened her spine. “I regret all of it, but I'm apologizing for the part when I was rude and walked out.”

“Apology accepted.”

She blinked, skeptical. “I was just talking to Richard. He says we’re in deep trouble. We might not be able to make the payroll after next week.”

“He’s a pessimist,” Liam said. “Even without the Target deal we’d have another month.”

She stared at the way the light hit his irises, highlighting flecks of gold, and how the long brown lashes framed his eyes. How calm and remote he looked compared to the night before. Perfect.

He raised an eyebrow at her, noticing her stare, and she shook off her daze. “A Target deal?”

“They love the men's stuff, but they're just not excited yet about the women's line. Imagine that.” He strode over to the weight bench, straddled it, and leaned onto his back under the bar. Long, lean thighs stretched out before her. “Think they'd like the Jogbra of Hollywood?”

She watched as he braced himself under the bar and pushed. His face clenched with the effort, the veins in his forearms visible under the skin, and then he dropped it down with a clatter.

She moved closer. “Shouldn't you have somebody spotting you?”

He looked up at her, face blank, then smirked. “There's no weight on the bar.”

Ah. So there wasn't. She hadn't been looking way over there. “It could still hurt you, like if it fell on your neck.”

He shook his head and sat up, eyes hard on hers. “You're worried about me getting hurt?”

“Turns out you're rather indispensable around here.”

“But if I were a poser, you'd be glad to have me decapitated?” He slid out from under the bar and went over to a rack of round weights, slipped off a couple small ones, then returned to the bench. “Lie down, and I'll tell you all about the Target deal.”

“I'm not—”

“It's two five-pound weights. Like lifting your cat.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless you'd rather look stupid when we go there next week. We need to do some magic on the women’s line. They have this crazy idea we don’t get their customer.”

Her mouth fell open. “Next week?”

He rolled his eyes as though he were bored. “Lie down. I've only got a minute.”

“You always say that.”

“I didn’t last night—you did,” he said, and she flushed. He tapped the bar. “We have the chance to place more orders for a single delivery with one customer than we pulled in over all of last year. Want to hear more?”

“Fine.” She threw a leg over the bench and lay on her back, conscious of her breasts jiggling sideways under her thin knit blouse. She grabbed the bar and shoved it upwards.