Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
He narrows his eyes at me. “You hired them, then?”
“Yes. Four new girls, and I’m excited.”
He tilts his head and nods. “Good. It scared me when I walked in and saw you upset. I don’t like it when you’re unhappy. It doesn’t sit well with me.”
“You’re sweet.”
Connor laughs at that. “I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being sweet a day in my life, angel.”
“Then they’re wrong.” I kiss his cheek and breathe him in. “I’ll be late tonight. I’ll just crash at my place.”
“I’ll meet you there,” he replies.
“You don’t have to—”
“I’ll meet you there, bumble. No arguments.”
With a smile, I hug him back. “Okay, billionaire. No arguments.”
Chapter Fourteen
CONNOR
“Take me home, Miller,” I say as I exit the bookshop and get in the back seat of the SUV.
I have calls to make, work to do, and I need to pack a bag to take to Billie’s house this evening.
Speaking of that, Miller’s not going to like this news.
Not that it matters.
“I’ll be staying at Billie’s tonight,” I inform him as he pulls onto the road. I don’t miss the way he frowns at me in the rearview, and I raise an eyebrow at him. “Problem?”
“Her security is shit.”
He’s not telling me anything I don’t know.
“Doesn’t change anything about where I’ll be spending the night.”
Miller simply sighs and keeps his mouth shut, which is wise.
My goal is to get Billie moved in with me sooner rather than later. Not because there’s anything at all wrong with her home—aside from the security. I just want her in mine.
Permanently.
My phone rings, and I smile when I see the name of an old friend on the screen.
“Kane,” I say in greeting. “So nice of you to return my call. From four bleeding days ago.”
“I don’t answer the fecking phone,” he reminds me, sounding as cheerful as ever. “If my wife didn’t remind me to look at it once in a while, I wouldn’t even have it.”
“And how is Stasia?” I ask him. “Does she miss me? I bet she pines.”
“Go feck yourself,” he mutters, making me grin. “She can’t stand you, and you know it. Why are you bleedin’ calling me, boyo?”
“Are you on your island these days or in Galway?”
Kane and I grew up together as boys in Galway. He and his family moved to an island off the coast of Seattle before we were teenagers, but we stayed in touch. I went into the family business, but Kane became a world-renowned glass artist, with museums dedicated to his work in several major cities across the globe.
His pieces are owned by royalty, celebrities, and anyone willing to pay a lot of money for them.
“We’re on the island right now,” he says, “but we’ll be headed over to Galway in about a week. I have a show opening in the Galway gallery in two weeks.”
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t say. What might an old mate of yours have to do to get two tickets to that?”
“Buy one of my pieces that night, and we’ll call it even.”
“I can do that. I also want to talk to you about a commission.”
Miller pulls up in front of my house, and I walk inside and straight through to my office, where I put the call on speaker and set the phone on my desk.
“What do you want?” he asks. I can hear the scowl in his voice, and it makes me chuckle.
“You know, for someone who charges a feckton of money for his art, you sure complain about making it.”
“That’s part of the job,” he says easily. “What are you after then, mate?”
“I want a piece for my Montana home, but it’s a gift for my girl.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Say that again.”
“Shut up.”
“No, did you just say that you have a girl? Wait, this is Connor Gallagher, and I didn’t dial the wrong bleeding number, right?”
“You’re a prick,” I inform him, finally making him laugh. “I want blues and greens, inspired by the mountains. I can send you pictures of the scenery around here. Or you can swing through here on your way to Ireland if you have time.”
“It’s always better to see it in person,” he murmurs, and I can tell the wheels are turning. “But I don’t think I can make it work before Galway. I could do it on the way back.”
“I can make that work,” I confirm. “I’d like the piece here in a few weeks.”
There’s another heavy pause. “Are you an eejit? I don’t dance on command, and you know it. That timing is impossible.”
“Kane—”
“However,” he continues, “I have a few pieces already done that aren’t coming with me to Ireland, and I have one particular in mind that might work. I’ll send you a photo now.”
I pick up my phone, and when the image comes through, my eyebrows lift. “Aye, that’s beautiful, mate. I’ll take it.”