Page 25 of All Bets Are Off

“I do handle myself with class,” I point out, reeling from his verbal battering. It all feels so unfair, but suddenly I can’t find the words to defend myself.

“Yeah, because having your bachelorette party in Vegas is classy. And that dress?” He scoffs and takes another chug of his beer.

I glance down at my long dress as my chest aches. I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress with a hem that sat above the knee or a blouse with a plunging neckline. “You told me I looked incredible,” I say quietly, recalling the moment earlier tonight when he first laid eyes on me and pulled me into a hug. He even told me he liked my veil. Subconsciously, I reach out to touch it, questioning whether he hates it too.

“Why is it so form-fitting? I already have every curve of your body memorized, Addy, so who are you showing off for?”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I will myself to maintain a steady expression as I ignore his irrational insecurities, staring straight down at his shirt and keeping myself busy. “What would you have preferred I do to celebrate?” I ask, and I know I’m really pushing it now. There’s only so many times I can answer back before I cross a line.

“I don’t know. A spa day or a pottery class or something.”

Steam puffs from the iron as I glance up at him in disbelief. “A pottery class? While you’re allowed to jet off to Mexico and get wasted in Cancun?”

“I can handle myself,” he says pointedly.

You’re such an asshole, I think, shocking myself with the heat in those four words.

There are always different rules for me than there are for him, and it’s so fucking unfair. Liam is far from perfect, yet there isn’t the same pressure on him to be so, because he’s the Hartmans’ golden boy, their one and only son, destined to take over Hartman & Sinclair Realty.

Just like I am destined to take over the Sinclair half of the firm, yet I’m less of a fledging realtor and more of a glorified personal-assistant-slash-receptionist at this point. Liam won’t quite let me establish my role in the business yet, says I need more time to learn the ins and outs, which supposedly means handling all of his paperwork while he celebrates closing another sale by popping champagne in the office with his father. The glass ceiling feels very real at Hartman & Sinclair these days, but I can’t blame Liam entirely for that. For generations, the firm has been passed from son to son, kept in family hands.

My father retired early over a decade ago, but held his share in the firm, expecting Theodore to be the child of his to step up and continue the legacy. But obviously, as first-born, I craved the praise that always came with doing things just right, and at the age of sixteen, I sat my father down and very politely asked if I could be the next Sinclair in line to join the firm. He was ecstatic, because how great would it all be? His partner, Richard Hartman, already had his son onboard too—a son who was best friends with the guy I was dating, a son I already knew well. Hartman & Sinclair Realty would live on for another generation, with the baton eventually passing to Liam and me.

We were only really friends because of Connor, and it wasn’t until after graduation that Liam and I finally discussed the elephant in the room—that it was looking very likely that we would one day end up owning a real estate agency together, and that we both needed to be on the same page if it were to work. Luckily, we shared the same dreams and ambitions, and I felt reassured that the two of us would make a great team.

Connor left for basic training a couple weeks after graduation, and Liam was there to pick up the pieces of my broken heart. He missed Connor, too, but together we navigated those feelings and focused instead on our future. We left for college together that fall, and something changed between us. Maybe it was all of the times he came by my dorm to help me study for finals, or the passionate way he voiced his plans for the future of Hartman & Sinclair Realty with a sparkle in his blue eyes, or the natural way he instantly bonded with my parents . . . We quickly realized we wanted to build more than just careers together. This was more than just a business partnership.

It was perfect, really. Everything fell into place. We graduated from college, blissfully in love, and stepped into the world of realty side-by-side. I knew success wouldn’t happen overnight. I knew we both had a lot to learn before the reins were handed over to us entirely, but I realized very quickly that something was wrong.

Liam immediately prospered, while I’ve spent the past few years fighting to earn my place in the hierarchy. It was too Hartman heavy. There was Liam, and his father Richard, and his uncle Paul. I was the only Sinclair and the first woman to ever join the business, and it took me until only recently to realize that I was not viewed as equal. Liam would be given big-name clients to deal with and he’d disappear off to host open houses, while I was tackling the stack of paperwork he’d conveniently forgotten to complete himself. All three of the Hartman men would tell me they wouldn’t survive without me keeping a handle on everything. Now it’s four years later and I have barely left the reception desk, but I keep thinking . . . One day . . . One day I’ll step up and close my own deals. I just need to let Liam shine first.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You mean we, right?”

Liam casts me an agitated look. “Huh?”

“We will take over the firm one day. We will buy our dream home. We will split the childcare,” I clarify, but the more I press, the more the tremor in my hands worsens. “We’re equals, aren’t we? I’m more than just eye candy at the front desk whose only job is to be your personal assistant, right?”

“Addy,” Liam says coyly, “of course we are. Why do you think I work us so hard? So that we can have our own empire. Is that shirt ready yet?”

I nod and hesitantly cross the room toward him, offering out his shirt. He sets his beer down on the side table and stands from the armchair, rising up in front of me to bring us eye-level. When he takes his shirt from me and sets it down on the chair rather than slipping it on, I feel my stomach curdle.

“You’re sorry for spilling your drink on me?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Liam steps forward, closing the small space I’d maintained between us, and reaches out to cup my jaw in his hand. “Then show me,” he challenges in a low voice. He rests his forehead against mine, his blue eyes gazing deep into my own, and brushes his thumb over my lips. “Show me how sorry you are, Adelaide.”

As he brings his mouth to mine, I snap my head to the side and his kiss finds my cheek instead. “Not right now, Liam,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut as I brace myself.

A silence settles between us. My chest is pressed to his; his hand remains on the edge of my jaw. All I want to do is unravel from his touch, but I’m frozen in place as his mouth lingers over my shoulder and I feel the heat of his breath against the skin of my neck.

“Adelaide?” he says, confused. “I’m giving you a chance to make me forget all about that ruined shirt of mine. You understand, right?”

I understand. I always understand the warning signs, but my body entwined with Liam’s is the last thing on earth I want in this moment, and I can’t possibly force myself to endure his touch after all of the awful things he has just said.

“Later, I promise,” I say, swallowing hard. “Let’s go back to the club. Everyone’s waiting for us.”

Liam finally lifts his head from my shoulder and there’s a fire blazing in his eyes. “But I want you right now,” he says, and what Liam wants, Liam gets. Jaw twitching, he retreats and sinks back into the armchair. He’s still shirtless, and he stares straight into my eyes as he undoes his belt, then the zipper of his jeans. He slouches back, making himself comfortable. “You’ll get on your knees for me, won’t you? If you were truly sorry?”