CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Declan
I’d had a fucking annoying day.
And now, standing in this little coffee shop, it wasn’t getting any better.
I’d been at The Capstone, in a meeting with a couple potential clients. I’d decided to have our conversation in the bar, despite the fact that the dining room was closed until dinner. Finn’s food service manager kept one cook on duty for lighter fare that patrons could order through the bartender, and it meant I might get a peek at Amelia at some point during the meeting. Two birds and all that.
Except for one, she hadn’t been there. I was able to tell the moment I arrived at the bar and sat in the plush leather chair that Amelia wasn’t anywhere around. I even asked the bartender if she was in the back somewhere, and the older woman told me she’d left about a half hour earlier. I called her but it went straight to voicemail, causing the hair to rise on my neck.
It was habit now, wanting to know she was safe, but also because I just enjoyed talking to her throughout my day when everything else around me was all numbers, profits, and damage mitigation.
But there had been no response on my phone.
Across the table, Brennan had stared at me. If his expression were a sentence said aloud, I was pretty sure it would be something like “focus, asshole.” The man never missed a thing.
I appreciated him for it, even if it got on my last nerve at times like this. Brennan never took his eyes off the prize — the prize I’d set. And normally, I didn’t either. I was as focused and driven as they came.
Except a little less focused on profits and loss lately and a little more focused on seeing where this thing with Amelia was going.
Forcing myself to play the role of real estate mogul, I put the mask of Declan Casey back on. The men here were interested in at least one of the spaces in the plaza that was already built, and I needed those remaining two spots filled. The more occupied and utilized a place appeared to be, the more occupied and utilized it actually became. And having two giant spaces sitting empty in there wasn’t helping the illusion of commerce and profit generation.
So we had been talking business.
“I like what you’re doing, I really do,” the investor, Eric, said. “I’m just worried that it’s too ambitious for that space. Upscale has never been synonymous with that side of town.”
The expression on my face, a half-smile, was so fake I felt like it would crack like dried out concrete with my effort not to put this guy in his place with his half-assed dig at the neighborhood. People just saw the working-class homes, the corner convenience stores that often attracted cigarette smokers and jokers to gather outside and watch people passing by. They only read the stories in the papers about the bad things that happened in the Southside, but didn’t bother to look at the hard workers, the business owners who dug in, helped their neighbors and tried to make the whole zip code a better place.
“If that’s how you feel, I understand,” I’d told him, keeping that damned easy expression on my face, though the tension in my words was obvious. I’d glanced at Brennan, who seemed worried that I was about to blow the whole damn thing to hell by beating this pompous prick into oblivion.
But he knew better. That wasn’t me. Never was.
“And it sounds like it’s probably not a fit for you two,” I continued, beginning the dismissal that I had a hunch would happen anyway. I’d warned Brennan on my way over here that I wasn’t completely sold on the boutique concept the two of them were going to try to work into a deal. I wasn’t a fashion expert, but after a little research into the brand they were hoping to franchise, I had misgivings about just who would be able to afford clothing like that.
They’d likely been thinking about selling to the guests at The Capstone, but that wasn’t the only people I wanted to get into the shops. I wanted a mix of tourists and locals, and I could guarantee that no locals wanted to spend a thousand bucks on a pair of shoes with an Italian label. There had to be more middle ground, and these two jokers just weren’t it.
The other man was the first to sputter at the thought of being dismissed. I could read from the way he approached this deal that he’d been hoping to exploit the fact that this side of Boston wasn’t the most upscale, wasn’t the highest priced of land values — and to get in on the ground floor on a property that would only grow in value and traffic. In short, the man had thought he was smarter than me and was going to take advantage.
“That’s not it,” he’d protested, adjusting his tie as he did. I leveled a stare at him and silently dared him to argue with me, to provide a valid counterpart of some sort. “Bellaire Junction would be a fantastic fit for the space you have open. We’re just not sure your space is priced to suit the conditions as they are now.”
My jaw tightened. He was basically calling the neighborhood a shithole and trying to get some massive discount so that his profit margin on “Italian” goods made in China was that much bigger.
Before I could speak, the man with the money, Eric, held his hands up and asked for a moment to talk to his partner. I gave an uninterested shrug, and they were gone, walking through the bar out into the lobby before I looked back up.
Across from me, Brennan snorted.
“Your head’s not in it,” he simply said. “You’re not interested in what’s going on so you’re being a prick about it.”
Damn if he wasn’t judging the hell out of me. Part of the problem, however, was that he was right. Normally, if it meant I would get my way and make a good profit, I’d overlook certain things like a little neighborhood prejudice or passive aggressive negotiation tactics. But not today.
“My head’s right here,” I grumbled, looking down at my phone as I fired away a message to Amelia.
“Fine, your dick’s somewhere else, and that’s what you’re thinking with,” Brennan said, his tone friendly so it took a moment for the words to catch up. My head snapped up, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Watch yourself, Drake.” I frowned. “You’re a brother to me, but I’ll kick your ass like I kick theirs when they get out of line.”
Brennan had the nerve to laugh. “You could try, Declan,” he said, stretching his arms high above his head as he yawned. “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve failed, either.”
I snorted. “I don’t like these two, I’ll be honest,” I said, steering the conversation away from the pissing contest that was brewing. “They’re smarmy and smug, and to be honest, they look like bullies if given the chance. No thanks.”
Brennan let out a long-suffering sigh and scrubbed his hand down his face. He was annoyed with me, that much was obvious. Trouble was, I didn’t care. That was the great thing about owning the whole company, about having the Casey last name in the company logo.
“I agree with you one-hundred-percent,” he said, but I knew he was still going to argue with me. “But they’re the first real bite we’ve had in weeks, and I don’t think they’d have trouble paying their rent each month.”
Again, the man had a point. Some of our tenants, especially the smaller businesses and family run shops, had a hard time making their payments each month and had to ask for extensions. We had a couple who were close to going under, and I’d turned the other way and ignored the fact that they should have been evicted months ago.
Rent and getting paid on time was a good thing.
But it wasn’t the only thing, especially if there was a chance that I’d end up in jail for punching a smug asshole in the face for taking cheap shots at my old neighborhood, even if he didn’t know my roots.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I’d grumbled. “I can’t stand either of them. I don’t want to do business with them.”
Brennan wasn’t happy, but after all our time together, he knew better than to fight me on this in a place like Finn’s bar.
Amelia’s response came back, and I opened the message. Random call from old friend Trevor Leonard. Wanted to catch up and ask abt the fight.
I frowned. I knew that name. Damn.
“Shit.”
Brennan’s swagger disappeared immediately, and he looked as concerned as I had sounded. “What?”
“Amelia just got herself caught up in a run-in with a prosecutor from the D.A.’s office,” I said, rereading the message. “Says he’s an old friend of hers. Trevor Leonard.”
Brennan frowned at the name. “Sounds familiar,” he said, pulling out his own phone. Just then, the men decided to rejoin the table. Brennan, however, saved me the odious task of politely sending them off, seeing how he was now worried that Amelia was in some sort of danger.
“Well, we’ve been—” Eric began, but Brennan waved him off and stood, towering over both men. I stayed in my chair, typing furiously to Amelia.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Brennan said, all but strong-arming them out of the bar. “We’re no longer interested. We’ll let you know if we change our minds.” Sputtering and confused, the two could do nothing but be removed from the bar before Brennan returned to the table. “Where is she?”
I waited for another message, and as the seconds ticked by, I grew more agitated. Finally, after nearly two minutes, a short, clipped message popped up. Philo’s for coffee. No big deal. See you in a couple hours!
Across from me, Brennan had made a phone call and was pacing. I heard Leonard mentioned as he waited for the information he was seeking. With a terse nod of his head, he ended the call and looked at me.
“Just about as far in Duffy’s back pocket as a prosecutor can get,” Brennan confirmed. “Leonard’s old man is a former defense attorney who took special care of old man Duffy back in the day. Seems like the apple didn’t far fall from the tree.”
Except this apple was in a position of minor authority and could be abusing it to further his friends’ connections.
I stood and threw a few bills on the table as Brennan and I strode for the exit.
Yeah, my day had sucked, and I had a feeling it was only going to get worse.
***
I wasn’t a jealous man, normally.
And, really, it wasn’t jealousy I felt as I watched the son of a bitch practically eye-fucking Amelia as she pressed back against her chair. It was rage. From her body language alone, Amelia wasn’t having a good time and was uncomfortable. And either the prick didn’t register the fact, or more likely, he did, and he didn’t give a damn.
Either way, I wanted to rip his throat out.
Neither heard me approach, and I picked up just a snippet of their conversation.
“Do you have to leave right now? I figured we could catch up,” he was saying as Amelia gathered her things and held them to her.
His look was dark, as if he was insulted that she wasn’t falling all over herself to stay at this shitty little coffee shop with him and discuss whatever bullshit he’d invented to lure her here. If I was a different man, if I was the man I’d been destined to be thanks to my last name, I would have pounded him into the floor right then and there.
Instead, I got my anger under control and took a deep breath before speaking.
“As a matter of fact, she is leaving right now.”
The man’s blue eyes shot straight to me, but Amelia didn’t turn around. I noticed her shoulders relax slightly, and later she might give me hell about showing up, but in that moment, I knew she was grateful that I’d arrived when I did. And it sent a surge of emotion through me that I had a hard time processing.
“And who the hell are you?” Trevor Leonard wasn’t exactly a small man, but he was a good three or four inches shorter than me, and he was soft. We both worked jobs that required a significant amount of office time, but I made staying in shape a priority and lived my life so that there was plenty of discipline and accountability.
Trevor Leonard lived “under the table,” feeding off the hands of a two-bit thug family and obviously didn’t take care of himself. The last time he’d seen the inside of a gym had to be a decade ago, I thought with a laugh. He had a bit of a belly pushing against his button-up shirt and the beginnings of a double chin. Probably not bad looking at this stage in life, but the man was heading for heart disease, obesity, and most likely at some point in time, prison.
One hell of a catch, right? And he had the nerve to look offended that someone as beautiful and smart as Amelia Byrne wasn’t interested in spending an afternoon with him over lukewarm coffee and stale pickup lines.
“I’m her boyfriend, Declan Casey,” I said with absolutely zero hesitation. Amelia snapped her head up and looked at me over her shoulder, those blue eyes going wide at the words.
I’d given it zero thought up until that moment, but the truth had flown from my lips with no trouble whatsoever. She was mine. I knew it. She knew it, even if she was still convinced she was headed out West soon.
“Is that so?” The guy still had a bit of attitude in him that I wanted to throttle, but I grinned at him.
“For the record, you don’t talk to her without her lawyer present, you understand?” I marched forward and pulled a business card from my wallet and tossed it on the table in front of him. It belonged to my lawyer, and I made sure to keep a few on hand so I didn’t have to deal with idiots like this. “Harass her again, and I’ll own your ass, Leonard.”
Amelia was on her feet now and turning toward me. I put my hand out, a crucial moment, and waited to see what she would do. In reality, she had every right to walk past me and storm out for intruding on her business.
But, just as I hoped she would, she shot me a look that promised me a few words later on but put her small hand in mind and allowed me to lead the way out to the car where Brennan waited. He’d driven us to lunch today and was going to give us a lift to my condo.
I felt her hand trembling in mine and swore I’d take a pound of flesh from that asshole for every worry he’d given her. Once she was situated in the back seat, I got in next to Brennan and nodded.
For his part, Brennan knew not to question her yet. We’d get back to my place, let her collect herself, and make our plan.
***
Two hours later, I was surveying the kitchen pantry and Brennan was getting ready to leave.
There wasn’t a whole lot more for Amelia to say. She’d been caught off guard and worried about what ignoring Leonard would mean for her family at a time like this. She’d believed him when he promised he would help her, give her advice.
“And it just seemed so strange, the way he worded everything,” she’d said, rubbing her temples with the pads of her fingertips. “It was like he was encouraging me to make nice with that family after what they had done to JJ. To me. And what does make nice even mean? He wanted us to give them money?”
Maybe. And from the look on Brennan’s face, he’d thought the same thing. They didn’t necessarily want whatever spare change Amelia and her family could come up with. They wanted favors they could cash in on when they needed it.
She let out a long sigh. “I need to call my father and let him know,” she said wearily. I knew it was the last thing she wanted to do, but Jack would want to know. “I just hope it doesn’t add even more to everything. He didn’t look so great this morning.”
Finn had mentioned something the day before about Jack Sr. moving a little slower, despite the forced smiles he kept on his face for his wife. I hated to think that maybe things were picking up speed with his sickness. Amelia mentioned he had another appointment coming up. No wonder she seemed so tired, even after sleeping a solid eight or nine hours in my bed.
After she’d padded down the hall to my bedroom with her cell in her hand, Brennan looked at me.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said grimly, obviously not liking the turn the entire thing had taken. It was one thing to mess with jobsites, bids, and contracts. Hell, they’d even stooped to arson at this point, but having a prosecutor in their back pocket and waving it around like some shiny new toy? Low, even for the Duffy brothers.
“Let me know,” I said, seeing him to the door and locking it behind him.
I’d planned to make dinner that evening, and as I heard talking coming from behind my closed door, I decided to get started a little early so we could relax the rest of the night.
Amelia, most likely, had eaten gourmet cuisine regularly for the past seven years. And me? I couldn’t cook anything fancy to save my life. But I did make a mean beef stew thanks to my Nana Casey, who packed away at least two of the cans of Guinness from the six-pack she had to buy whenever she made it.
I’d made sure to add some artisan bread to the grocery list I’d sent my assistant, and sure enough, a glorious round loaf was sitting on top of my counter. Clara deserved a raise.
The meal was simple, but it was also comforting and heavy. Just what she needed right now when her life was blowing her in twenty-five different directions at once. At one point, I had to run and grab my phone from the living room and heard her in the shower, giving me extra time to get the stew moving along.
By the time she came out wearing a pair of running shorts and a zip-up hoodie sweatshirt, the whole house smelled fantastic.
“I can’t wait to eat.” She looked adorable with a towel wrapped around her head. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
I handed her a spoon, and she grinned. With zero hesitation, she lifted the heavy lid from the Dutch oven and grabbed a spoonful before covering it again.
It was hot, and I watched in painful, erotic fascination as she blew on the steaming spoon. I was imagining a few other things those delectable lips could be doing.
“Oh my,” she breathed as she tasted the stew. “Seriously, Declan… you made this?”
She looked around the kitchen, like she was searching for packaging or a delivery bag hidden somewhere.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, giving the underside of her cute butt a pinch as I set her out of the way and tasted the stew for myself. It was just a pinch shy of enough salt, but I’d wait. The first couple of times I made it, I’d overdone the salt, and there wasn’t much you could do once that happened. If nothing else, I was a man who learned from his mistakes.
“That’s seriously really good,” she said as she wandered toward the living room, the disbelief clear in her voice.
I was starting to get offended.
“Why is that so surprising? You don’t think I can cook for myself?”
She smirked at me and cocked her hip out.
“Not that you can’t so much as you don’t need to.” She waved her hands around, motioning toward the grandeur of the penthouse.
I grinned. “What does this…” I mimicked her hand motions, “have to do with being able to feed myself?”
She gave me a sorry face and opened her mouth for what I thought might be an apology.
I held up a hand. “I’m kidding. I really don’t like cooking most of the time, and you’re right, it’s so much easier to order in.”
Twenty minutes later, we were eating. An hour after that, the dishes were done, and the kitchen was clean, and I had her head in my lap, playing with her hair as we settled in for the third episode in a row of her favorite British show. A strange concept revolving around paranormal creatures that end up as roommates. I’d given up trying to understand the different dialects and begun to amuse myself by running my fingers through her hair and seeing what sort of sighs and moans I could coax out of her.
Turns out, my girl was very sensitive.
And what’s more? The sighs and moans that came from her pretty lips had done a number on me. One that had become apparent with her head on my lap.