Tomorrow's going to be interesting. He's going to learn that I don't break.
Not for him. Not for anyone.
6
KEIRA
Ihear a vibrating followed by a ding, or at least I think I do. I rub my eyes and stretch. Morning already.
I hear the sound again and turn to reach for my phone.
My eyes are blurry as I swipe up, unlocking it.
A text:
See you at 8 for coffee.
It's from Delores Bennington.
Shit.
I thought that was tomorrow.
I roll onto my back and rub my eyes as I groan. Delores is one of those women who gives to charity just so she can hear her own name repeated at black-tie dinners. But she writes seven-figure checks to the Killaney Trust, and with that comes her demands for face time. Flattery. The whole nine.
I'm not too much of a fan of this, but her money funds real things: after-school programs, scholarships, shelter expansions. Things that matter.
I sit up and brush my hair out of my face. I scroll through my calendar, and there it is:
Coffee with Delores at Bistro Marque.
And underneath it, a reminder I added a few days ago:Asshole starts today.
My jaw tightens.
Perfect.
I toss my phone onto the bed and head for the shower, letting the hot water beat against my shoulders. As I go over the day, my dad pops into my head.
He's been in Ireland for weeks now, recovering. The doctors say he's doing well, that his color's coming back, that he's strong.
But there's some fear clawing at me anyway.
Because what if he's not?
What if they're just saying that to keep us calm?
I sigh.
Either way, he told me to keep going. To keep the foundation running, to keep showing up, to keep being the face of the Killaney name in public.
So that's what I'm doing.
Even if it feels a little like I'm holding my breath underwater.
I finish showering, dry off, and pull open my closet. Something elegant. Sharp. Delores expects it.
I settle on a black tailored dress, a fitted blazer, and red bottoms. Minimalist jewelry, and I think I'll tame my red hair into a sleek ponytail.
