Unveiled(73)

“Let… go… of… me.” Miller speaks slowly and concisely, his tone dripping in ferocity. “Now.”

Both men hold still for what seems like forever, until William curses again and shoves Miller back before plummeting to his arse and dropping his head back to look up to the ceiling. “You’ve really fucked up this time, Hart. Sit down, Olivia.”

My bum meets the chair fast, not prepared to cause further problems, and I look to Miller, watching as he straightens out his shirt and fiddles with the knot of his tie before taking a seat. I feel a stupid sense of relief when he reaches over and takes my hand, squeezing tightly, his way of telling me he’s fine. He’s in control. “I assume you’re referring to yesterday evening.”

A sarcastic laugh spills from William’s mouth, and his head drops, his eyes flicking between me and Miller. “You mean as opposed to you marking what you think is your territory in my office?”

“What I know.”

Oh good God! “Okay, stop!” I shout, swinging my exasperation onto Miller. “Just cut it out!” Both men retreat in their chairs, surprise evident on their annoyingly handsome faces. “Enough of the macho bullshit, please!” I yank my hand free from Miller’s, but he quickly reclaims it, bringing it to his mouth and resting his lips on the back, kissing it repeatedly.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.

I shake my head and take a deep breath, then direct my attention on William, who’s regarding Miller closely, thoughtfully. “I thought you’d accepted there’s no breaking us,” I say, noticing Miller halt with the continuous rains of kisses he’s applying to the back of my hand. After William helped us flee London, I was certain there would be no more interfering on his part.

He sighs, and I feel my hand being lowered into Miller’s lap. “I’m constantly having an argument with myself on this, Olivia. I can see love when it’s staring me in the face. But I can also see disaster when it’s staring me in the face. I haven’t got a fucking clue what to do for the best.” He clears his throat and looks at me all apologetically. “Excuse my language.”

I let out a sarcastic puff of air. Excuse his language?

“Where do we go from here?” William goes on, ignoring my bemusement and looking to Miller.

Yes, let’s get this done with. I look at Miller, too, making him shift uncomfortably in his chair. “I still want out,” Miller says, clearly uncomfortable under two sets of watchful eyes, yet his declaration is delivered with a load of determination. Determination is good. Although I’ve silently concluded that it isn’t enough.

“Yes, we’ve established that. But I’ll ask you again, do you think they’ll let you walk away?” It’s a rhetorical question. It requires no answer. And it doesn’t get one. So William continues. “Why did you take her there, Hart? Knowing how delicate things are, why?”

I seize up. Every guilty muscle in my body solidifies as a result of that question. I can’t let him take the flak for that one. “He didn’t take me,” I whisper, ashamed, feeling Miller’s hold of my hand tighten. “Miller was at Ice. I was at home. I had a call on my phone. Unknown number.”

William frowns. “Go on.”

I gulp down some courage and look at Miller out of the corner of my eye, catching a soft, loving expression. “I could hear a conversation, and I didn’t like what I heard.” I wait for the obvious question but gasp when William says something else instead.

“Sophia.” He closes his eyes and inhales warily. “Sophia-fucking-Reinhoff.” His eyes open and land on Miller with a bang. “So much for playing down your relationship with Olivia.”

“Miller did nothing,” I argue, leaning forward. “I was the one who caused this situation. I went to the club. I tipped Miller over the edge.”

“How?”

My mouth snaps shut, and I’m far back in my chair again. He won’t want to hear this any more than Miller wanted to see it. “I…” My face heats under William’s expectant look. “I…”

“She was recognized.” Miller steps in, and I know it’s because he’ll be blaming this part on William.

“Miller—”

“No, Olivia.” He cuts me off and leans forward a little. “She was recognized by one of your clients.”

The regret that invades William’s face fills me with guilt.

“I watched as some slimeball tried to claim her from me, offered to take care of her.” He’s beginning to tremble, the reminder restoking his anger. “Tell me, Mr. Anderson, what would you have done?”