Liam isn’t wearing a suit, which has thrown me totally off my game. I wandered into the meeting, half-awake, and stopped short when I saw him standing there in a long-sleeved tee and jeans. Why isn’t he wearing a suit, I keep asking myself. Why does he actually look like he fits into this location rather than standing out like a sore thumb?

These thoughts swirling through my head mean I didn’t listen particularly well when he started talking about going over the plans. So, I tried to save face by being snarky, which almost backfired even worse. I figured that if I distracted him with my overwhelming disdain for him that he wouldn’t notice the way my eyes were glued to his impossibly-large biceps. Or his abs. Under the tighter and thinner material of his shirt rather than his suit, it’s impossible not to see just how ripped his entire body is.

The guy clearly works out.

“Okay, right.” Liam clears his throat and flips open a folder stuffed to the brim with papers, outlines, and photographs relating to Hell Cat. I blink, glancing from the papers back to Liam. It’s packed full, and notes are scribbled in the margins, brainstorming various ideas for improving the place. I have to admit, I’m surprised. I hadn’t pegged Liam as the type to get so involved in his properties, and I certainly hadn’t expected so much prep work on his part. I figured he bought a place, tossed it into someone else’s lap, and then moved on to the next project without a single serious thought directed at anything.

“This is…in-depth,” I say, flipping through the papers. I can’t help but notice there’s an entire section devoted to a new jukebox. Either he already had that in mind or he really did listen to what I said yesterday. Which would mean he spent hours last night putting some of this together. “You had the time to do all this?”

He gives me a patronizing smile, one I try to ignore as difficult as it is. “I make my own time. To be successful in life, you can’t just hope for it.”

“Oh okay,” I say with an eye-roll. “So, you have a time machine. I’ll have to be sure to get one of those myself, so I can make my own time as well.”

He opens his mouth to snap back, and a part of me feels on the edge of my seat waiting to hear what he’ll say. Sure, I just said I’ll be civil, and I kind of meant it, at the time. I can’t help it if he makes me want to lob snarky comments at him all day. And I can’t help but like it when he does it right back at me, almost like it’s a game we’re playing.

“Some of it I’ve been working on for awhile. And some I worked on last night after our…discussion.” He leans forward, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows and revealing an intricate tattoo. I hear my throat catch. My eyes widen. And my heart pounds a little too hard. Because I not only spot the tattoo, but I can see the palms of his hands as he shuffles through the papers. They aren’t smooth and pristine like I thought they would be. They’re calloused, rough, strong. Liam Landon is a man. One, I can’t help but notice, gets closer and closer to my dream man with every moment we spend together.

Of course, that doesn’t change the fact he irritates the hell out of me. And the fact he bought this bar. I don't care how sexy the man is, I won’t forgive him for buying Hell Cat, Alex’s pride and joy.

My pride and joy.

“What’s the tattoo of?” I can’t help but ask.

“Oh, this?” His face goes hard, and he pushes down his sleeves. “It’s not really for people to see.”

I reach out, instinctively, and lift the material just enough to get a glimpse of what he’s trying to hide. It’s a flower, but done in such a way that it still comes across masculine, with an intricate design spreading out from it in dark blues and reds. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a flower guy.”

“I’m not a flower guy.” His voice is harsh and angry, and he jerks his arm out from under my fingers. “And I said it’s not for people to see.”

“Why did you get a flower on your arm if it’s not your thing and not for people to see?”

He blinks, glancing away. “You sure are nosy.”

“You’re right. I am.” I turn back to the folder, trying to drag my focus away from his tattoo. It’s impossible not to be curious after his reaction. What could cause him to pull away like that? And to want to hide something he very clearly wanted to put into his skin? “It’s nice though. Beautiful artwork.”

“That’s because it’s my mother’s artwork,” he says, voice deep and gruff.

I raise my eyes, surprised. Out of all the things I’d imagined he might say, that was definitely not one of them. “She’s a tattoo artist?”

“No. She was an artist,” he says quietly. “She painted this for me the month before she died. On canvas, not on my arm. I decided to make it more permanent, so to speak, the same day as her funeral. It seemed like the kind of thing she’d appreciate.”

His voice cracks a little on the end before he swallows hard. With a timid smile, I reach out and put my hand against his arm. I don’t know why I’m doing that. A few moments ago, I couldn’t stand to be near the man, but what else can you do when someone tells you something like that? Besides, it cuts through so much of what I thought of him that it’s hard to remember why I hated him in the first place. There’s something much softer about this man than what he wants the world to see, something vulnerable hiding behind the steely, no-nonsense expressions. Here and now, in his normal clothes, sporting a tattoo to honor his mother, well…he almost comes across as…

Amazing.

No. No, no, no. I can’t think that word because it’s so far from the truth. Liam Landon is not amazing. He is not kind. He’s ruthless and only cares about the money. I can’t forget that, no matter what he says to try to make me forget.

His eyes land on where my hand still rests against his arm. I snatch my fingers away, feeling a heat flood my cheeks. I hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea. It would be mortifying if he thought I wanted him. Because that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

I don’t want him.

Nope. Not at all.

Okay, maybe just a little.