I glance back as I leave Miller at the bar with Tony, both men blatantly waiting for me to be out of earshot before they speak. Miller is impassive and Tony is thoughtful. I take all of the awkward vibes from Tony and conclude that they’re either talking business and it’s not for my ears, or they’re talking about me. A funny feeling, plus Tony’s discomfort, makes me conclude it’s the latter, and when I reach the other side of the club and turn to round the corner, I see Tony waving his hands at Miller, which only confirms my thoughts. I stop and watch through the glass of the stairwell, seeing Tony drop to his arse and put his round face in his palms. It’s a sign of despair. Then Miller shows a rare display of aggravation, flashing that temper I’ve been warned about, throwing his hands up and cursing as he storms off in my direction. I hurry down the stairs quickly, weaving my way through the corridors aimlessly, until I spot the metal keypad that I vaguely remember Miller punching some numbers into.
It’s mere seconds before he rounds the corner, clearly pissed off and running his hand through his waves, pulling back the loose curl that’s fallen onto his forehead. Striding towards me with purpose, the aggravation is still so very obvious, even more so when he punches the code in aggressively and pushes the door open a little too hard, making it hit the plaster behind it.
I jump at the loud crash, and Miller drops his head. ‘Shit,’ he curses quietly, making no attempt to enter his office.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask, keeping my distance. I’m constantly willing emotion from him, but not if it’s going to be like this.
‘I apologise,’ he murmurs, keeping his eyes to the ground, defying his own rule of looking at someone when you’re speaking to them. I don’t remind him, though. The words that have just been exchanged between Miller and his bar manager were about me, I have no doubt. And now he’s mad. ‘Livy?’
I feel my spine stretch out, making me stand up straight. ‘Yes?’
His shoulders rise and fall on a heavy sigh. ‘Give me my thing,’ he says, turning pleading blue eyes onto me. ‘Please.’
My shoulders drop, seeing a side of Miller Hart that I never have. He wants comfort. I reach up over his broad shoulders, lifting on my tiptoes to get my face in his neck.
‘Thank you,’ he mumbles, wrapping his arms around my waist and lifting me from my feet. The force of his hold compresses my ribcage, making it a little tricky to breathe, but I’m not about to stop him. I wrap my legs around his waist as he shuts the door and walks us to his empty desk. He rests his arse on the edge which allows us to maintain our hold, and he shows no sign of letting up. I’m surprised. His suit will be a crumpled mess and he has an interview.
‘I’m creasing you,’ I say quietly.
‘I have an iron.’ He squeezes harder.
‘Of course you do.’ I pull away from him so we’re staring into each other’s eyes. He doesn’t give me anything. His annoyance seems to have faded, his face as expressionless as ever. ‘What has upset you?’
‘Life.’ He doesn’t hesitate. ‘People overthinking things and interfering.’
‘Interfering with what?’ I ask, but I suspect I already know.
‘Everything,’ he breathes.
‘Who’s Cassie?’ I also know the answer to this question.
He stands, lowers me to my feet, and grabs my cheeks. ‘The woman you thought was my girlfriend.’ He hits me with a long, moist kiss, sending me dizzy.
‘Why is she coming here?’ I ask around his lips.
He doesn’t break our kiss. ‘Because she’s a pain in the arse.’ He pecks up my cheek to my ear. ‘And because she thinks that holding shares in my club gives her a right to dictate what happens here.’
I gasp and pull away. ‘So she really is a business associate?’
He almost scowls before yanking me back to his chest. ‘Yes. How many times do I need to tell you? I said trust me.’
This knowledge doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m not completely stupid and I’ve seen the way she looks at him. And me, for that matter.
‘I’ve had a terrible day.’ Miller kisses my cheek softly, distracting me with those soft lips. ‘But you’re going to de-stress me when I get you home.’
I let him take my hand and lead me around his desk. ‘What are we doing?’
He sits me in his chair and turns me to face his desk, and then takes a remote control from the top drawer and crouches beside me, resting his elbow on the arm of the chair. ‘I want to show you something.’
‘What?’ I ask, noting Miller’s desk is as empty as the last time I saw it, the phone its only adornment.
‘This.’ He presses a button and I jump back in my chair on a gasp when his desk starts to shift in front of me.
‘What the . . .’ I’m open-mouthed and gawking like an idiot as five flat screens start to rise from the back section. ‘Bloody hell!’
‘Impressed?’
I might be a little stunned, but there is no denying the proud edge to his tone. ‘So you just watch TV in here?’
‘No, Livy,’ he sighs, pressing another button which prompts the screens to jump to life, revealing image after image of his club.
‘It’s CCTV?’ I ask, letting my eyes travel over the screens, each one sectioned into six images, except the middle screen. That screen is just one large image.