Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“I can’t make that promise.”
I laugh bitterly. “Of course you can’t. That’s the whole point, right? To keep torturing me?”
“No, it’s not.” His voice softens. For a second, he seems almost human. But I know better. He’s just a parrot wearing human skin and making people noises. “I’ll do my best to stay away. Just keep coming back. I don’t care if all you do is sauna and swim.”
“Why? I seriously don’t get it.”
“Because—” He seems to struggle with himself. He looks away. “I want a place where we can talk honestly with each other.”
I glare at him. I’m sick of the cryptic game. All I know is this guy knew we were getting married, but he didn’t tell me about it. Instead, he hired me to clean his apartment and then he fucked me without saying a damn thing.
“I’ll think about it.”
I slam the door shut behind me. Finn doesn’t follow, which is a relief. I lug my stuff back into the elevator and ride it down, not caring if my legs are still slightly damp and I forgot my stupid shoes in the pool dome.
Going back here would be a huge mistake. There’s no doubt in my mind Finn’s playing with me again.
But the prospect of having that gorgeous apartment all to myself one day…
I could swim whenever. Sauna whenever. I’d have that gourmet kitchen, that amazing living room with its incredible views.
I’d have a place of my own.
No family, no brothers, no father, nobody to tell me what to do.
I’m marrying Finn. Even if I hate him now too, that’s not going to change. He knows it and I know it. Now, this is about setting myself up and making the best of a bad situation.
I just wish that didn’t involve giving Finn something he wants.
6
FINN
My elbows ache from leaning on the bar for the last couple hours. A half-empty glass of beer’s going warm in front of me. The music is loud, but nobody bothers me. It’s my bar, after all, one of a dozen scattered throughout New York. This place is gaudy and Irish-themed, but the sort of Ireland tourists like to imagine, with lots of green and harps and vaguely rural shit like brooms and walking sticks.
Somebody takes the stool to my right. Liam asks for a whiskey when the bartender comes to check on him. She glances at me and I wave her off. “I figured you’d be busy tonight,” I say.
Liam raps a knuckle on the bar top. “I had a date with a gorgeous young thing named Malachy Flanagan, but it turns out he’s boring as fuck.”
“How’s good old Mal doing?”
The bartender returns with the drink. Liam takes a sip. “I’m almost resentful of you, you know that? Watching these pricks is exhausting.”
“I told you to gather a crew.”
“And I did, but still.” Liam takes another drink. “Mal works the closest with the old man. He spends most his days taking meetings with the union bigwigs. Sits around in that office they have on Market and makes phone calls. Picks his ass and jerks his little dick. He likes suits too much.”
“What about the others?”
“Shane’s more interesting. Drives around a lot. Likes to hit the pavement. I can relate to that. He’s a big bastard though. Short temper. I’d avoid getting in a scrap with him.”
“You getting into man scraps these days?”
“Only when I’m bored or horny, which is all the time.” He grins at me and waggles his eyebrows. “Speaking of boring, next is Dermot. I hate that stupid name.”
“He hates it too.”
Liam presses his lips together. “Now how would you know a thing like that?”
“It’s a lucky guess.” I knock back my beer and wiggle the glass to call for another. The bartender brings it right away. “What’s Dermot up to?”
“Works IT for the family interest, as far as I can tell. He’s their computer nerd. Clever bastard. That’s what people say, anyway.”
I nod and stare into my beer. Dermot always was the quietest. I made the mistake once of thinking that meant he was the weakest, but far from it. “And Redmond?”
“Red Flanagan’s the old man’s gopher, basically. Runs errands, drives cars, that sort of thing.”
“Makes sense. Red would’ve cut his own throat if his father asked him to do it.”
“Probably cut more than a few throats at his father’s request in his day. You know these boys, don’t you?”
“I did once. Not anymore.” I pull back half my beer. Talking about the Flanagan brothers makes me think of the old days, and I don’t like thinking about the old days. But maybe that’s better than thinking about Caroline on her knees scrubbing the floor of my bathroom, her perky little ass wiggling around in the air, or maybe Caroline swimming in my pool, water running off her beautiful, tight body.