Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“I’m happy you’re here.”
She squints at me. “Why? I’m definitely not. How do you work this thing?” She jabs at the remote.
I help her get it working. Better she’s alive and bitching at me than dead and happy. Once the TV lulls her back to quiet, I notice a figure standing in the doorway, watching us.
Connor gestures at me with his chin. Come talk.
I’m tempted to tell him off. But the memory of my hands wrapped around his cock—his adorable and desperate attempt at making me feel better this morning—makes it hard to keep hating him. Even when I want to.
“Everything to your mother’s liking?” he asks when we’re alone outside her door.
“She needs, uh… her smokes.” I smile sheepishly. “She’s a hopeless weed addict.”
His nose wrinkles. “I’m tempted to say no.”
“You can deal with her then. She’ll be a nightmare.”
“I’ll have Colm bring her what she needs. Anything else, angel?”
I cross my arms, studying him. “Why are you being so nice?”
“I’m not.”
“You almost are, though.”
“I don’t do nice, angel.” He touches my hip like he’s not thinking about it. “That’s not in my nature.”
I lean into his touch, not sure why. I should put space between us. It’s dangerous, playing this game. Getting close, drawing back, picturing him between my legs—
“Thank you anyway. For bringing my mother here.”
“Anything.” He hesitates, lingering, breathing me in. A shiver runs down my spine with excitement, and I think he might kiss me before he pulls back.
“Connor?”
He pauses, half looking back. “Yes, angel?”
“Are you going to be in bed with me tonight?”
He nods, eyes half-lidded. “Tonight and as many nights after as I can.”
“Okay. Uh, sounds good.”
He leaves and I watch him go, feeling like an idiot.
Are you going to be in bed with me tonight? Really, Angie?!
I don’t think I’ve ever sounded so desperate before in my life.
I’m about to melt into the carpet when I hear my mother call my name in the other room, asking about her damn smokes again, and it’s back to reality.
17
CONNOR
Ipour another bourbon and top off Marcus’s glass. He puts an arm over the back of his chair, my old friend swirling his drink and shaking his head.
“It’s bad out there, Connor. I’m getting calls all the time.”
“I’m aware.”
“No, I don’t think you are. This is the clean side of the business, and it’s not good. Partners pulling out. Deals falling through. Straight up salvage calls are down twenty percent already—“
“I’m aware, Marcus,” I repeat, getting up and prowling across the room.
“Pacing isn’t going to help. Sit down and calm yourself.”
I slam a fist into the bookshelf. An old volume of poetry tumbles out and hits the floor. “Two of my men are dead and they’re only the first. All because I couldn’t do as I was told.”
Marcus lets out a breath and drinks. “How is she doing anyway?”
“Angie’s fine. Bored, but fine.”
“That’s good. I know you’re carrying a lot of weight right now. I don’t want to be up your ass either, but we have to talk.”
I take a moment. It has been a long, stressful day. Getting Angie’s mother settled was only one tiny fraction of the shit I’ve been shoveling. A brawl in one of my restaurant properties, a drive-by shooting that mercifully didn’t come to blood, dozens of calls and angry texts from various important people across the city.
“The Gallaghers are going scorched earth,” I say, getting myself together. I think about Angie’s body pressed against mine in the shower. The warmth of her, the gentle way her hands moved over my skin, cleaning me, going lower—
“No kidding. They’re livid. Can you blame them?”
“Sinead never needed me. She could marry anyone else in the Whelan family and be just as happy.”
“Probably, but you left her at the altar. Maybe if it had happened a few days earlier, you could’ve saved face. But now?”
“Now it’s blood.” I breathe in through my nose and blow it back out. “Tell me who to call. I’ll handle them.”
Marcus taps out a message and sends it to me. “Check your phone later. You know most of those names. I don’t think it’ll take much more than some promises that things will go back to normal soon.” He hesitates, drinks, and looks at me. “It will go back to normal soon, right?”
I sink back into my chair behind my desk. “How do you think this ends?”
He considers, turning toward the window. I’ve known him for a very long time, and I’m positive he’s worried, even if he’s trying to bury it under bravado. He probably thinks I’ve lost my fucking mind.
Marcus is slick. He’s all about deals, investments, and properties. Thanks to his advice, I’ve grown the legitimate side of our family in equal measure to the illegal half.
But he knows what really drives the Maguires. It’s not his dealmaking.