Chapter 119
Chapter 119:
Liam narrowed his eyes behind the mask. The cadence. The rhythm of the speech. It was irritatingly familiar, scratching at the back of his mind.
“We need to talk,” Liam said. “Privately p>
“Lead the way,” Skye replied.
They moved to a private alcove, shielded by heavy velvet curtains. The music was muffled here.
Liam ripped off his mask, letting it hang by his side. He wanted Morgan to see his anger.
“Why are you targeting me?” Liam demanded. “The Port Authority. The logistics. You’re systematically attacking my interests p>
Skye didn’t remove her mask. She walked to a leather armchair and sat down. She spread her legs wide—the manspreading posture she had rehearsed for hours in front of a mirror. It was aggressive, masculine, claiming space.
“It’s not personal, Liam,” Skye said, using his first name deliberately. “It’s natural selection. Your company is bleeding. Your leadership is… emotional. I’m just putting a wounded animal out of its misery p>
“Emotional?” Liam bristled. He stepped closer, invading her personal space. “My personal life is none of your business p>
Skye laughed that dry, modulated laugh again. “In business, Mr. Kensington, everything is relevant. A man who can’t control his wife—or his mistress—can’t control a conglomerate p>
Just then, a waiter squeezed past the curtain with a tray of drinks. He stumbled, the tray tipping.
Skye flinched.
It wasn’t a masculine flinch. It wasn’t a brace for impact. It was a graceful, fluid movement—her arm coming up in a perfect arc, her body twisting away with the elegance of a dancer. It was a move Skye Sterling had perfected in ballet classes since she was six.
Liam froze. He caught the movement. His eyes locked onto her wrist, the curve of her neck as she turned. Suspicion spiked in his chest like a heart attack.
T𝘩𝗼𝗎𝘀𝘢ո𝗱𝗌 𝘰𝗳 𝗇𝗈𝘃𝘦𝘭𝗌 оո 𝖻е.𝘤𝗼m
He stepped forward, grabbing the arm of the chair, trapping her.
“Have we met before, Morgan?” Liam whispered. He leaned in close. He smelled the smoky cologne, but underneath it… was there something else? A hint of vanilla?
Skye’s heart slammed against her ribs. She held his gaze through the mask. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t risk the modulator picking up her ragged breathing.
“Who are you?” Liam reached for her mask.
Suddenly, a glass of red wine splashed onto Liam’s shoe.
“Apologies,” a deep voice growled.
Liam jumped back, swearing. Alistair Thorne stood there, holding an empty glass, looking utterly unapologetic.
“Clumsy of me,” Alistair said, his eyes hard as flint.
Skye seized the moment. She stood, checking her watch.
“I have a board meeting in Tokyo to prepare for,” she said, her voice steady. “Good evening, Mr. Kensington. Try to clean up your mess p>
She walked away. She forced herself not to run.
Liam stared at his stained shoe, then at Alistair, then at the retreating back of Mr. Morgan.