As they hit the ground floor, it became apparent that hell on earth was no simple saying— they were prophetic words, a phrase saved for a priest’s dramatic Christmas Mass meant to scare parishioners into making better choices the next year— words to describe the nightmare facing them, and currently staring in horror, at Raven and her sisters.
They froze like deer in headlights on the stairs. No sudden movement, folks... disaster will pass by.
Oh God, no. No, no, no, no, NO! Bran O’Faolain was standing by Raven’s desk,
mouth ajar. Could it get worse? Yes.
Raven recognized the men who accompanied Bran. Oh, Jesus Lord, have mercy and angels surround them in this time of need...greatneed, Lord.
The eldest son brought no lower-level employees to witness this humiliation. It was none other than Bran’s younger brotherPatrick and theirfather, Hugh. The head of the whole damn O’Faolain dynasty. Dreams— crushed.
Shock keptall six people in the room immobile. Bran couldn’t speak for his dad and brother, but it wasn’t the mortifying conversation they’d just been privy to, nor was it the campfire aroma of the office space. It was the three women staring at them with varying degrees of horror.
Stunning. They were all stunning. The first wore a pale yellow dress, and Bran could only surmise... no panties. Yellow had dimples, only noticeable because her mouth was wide in shock and horror. The last woman to step off was lovely in a black pencil skirt and navy silk button-up. Blue was the only one of the trio with cat eyes, accentuated with dark liner. Bran imagined she might be the ferocious one.
However, his attention was riveted to the middle one. The smallest of the trio, or rather the shortest, as they all seemed to be of a size. That one. She wore a fitted black blazer paired with yellowish-green slacks. Stunning. Bran was having a hard time remembering why they were even there. He was thirty years old, for fuck’s sake, and couldn’t think of a single charming thing to say. Blazer had the type of pouty porn star lips women usually paid for— ones he would dream about.
Pat’s whispered, “Holy shit,” seemed to fracture the stasis the three men found themselves in. Time had stopped, and now, thankfully, it was ticking again.
Dad, the great orator of the 21st century, stated the obvious with, “Perhaps we need to reschedule.”
With those five words, a bomb seemed to detonate around the women. Hands were flailing and gesticulating about. Branheard a whispered ‘No,’ then an equally quiet ‘Oh God,’ followed by a ‘We’re fucked.’ Attempting to shake off the shock of seeing Triskelion’s designers, especially Blazer, he found his voice.
“My apologies, ladies, we had a change of plans for later today and decided to get an early start. I should have... called,” he finished lamely.
Raven would lie downand cry— later— but not right now. Damage Control. It would be like trying to stop the flow of arterial bleeding from a severed limb— using butterfly bandages. Impossible. Ridiculous. But damn it, it was her burnt cookies that had started this nightmare.
Forcing herself to look each man in the eye before addressing Bran, Raven began with, “The only apology necessary here, Mr. O’Faolain, will be issued from my sisters and me.” One of her hands surreptitiously moved behind her back, and with relief, Raven felt her sisters’ small hands grasp her own.
“Forgive us for our absolute lack of professionalism this morning. There is no excuse, so I will not make one.” Raven attempted to keep eye contact with the eldest son, but his dark eyes were intense. He and his younger brother were similar in looks, much like Raven and her sisters, but where the youngest O’Faolain appeared carefree, chin length, shaggy white hair parted on the side, showing off his shaved sides, the oldest, Bran, took after his father. Reserved and serious. Though he had the same white hair as his brother, Bran styled his in a French crop with a high fade. A shiver shot straight up her spine. Gorgeous. Distracting.
“Well,” River began, and Raven immediately stiffened beside her, “I will offer up an excuse. We cleared our calendars foryour,” and here she tipped her head in the three men’s direction, “mid-morningappointment.”
If Raven didn’t feel her sister’s hand shaking like a leaf,shemight even have believed her bravado.
Raven held in a groan as River finished up with, “So, you see, gentlemen, we did have reason to believe we were quitealone, unlocked door notwithstanding.”
Raven was about to attempt introductions when Rowan’s quiet, steady voice stopped her.
“Would you consider a do-over?” Rowan let go of her sisters and took a step forward, right hand extended. Beginning with Patrick, then Bran, then finally shaking hands with Hugh. “I’m Rowan Byrne. Nice to meet you.”
Raven stepped forward, with River right behind her and said, “Raven Byrne.” Followed by the shaking of hands attached to slightly bewildered men. Echoed by “River Byrne.”
“How about my sisters and I take you to the local café for breakfast while our office finishes airing out and then come back here for the meeting.”
Before Bran or his family could respond, Raven added, “We won’t take much of your time. Once we’ve heard your plans for the pub, we’ll ask our questions. We have already compiled some of our own questions as well as a list of vendors in your area that we think will handle the quality you’re after in the desired time frame.” Raven finally forced herself to stop. Begging would commence if she kept rambling.
To Raven’s shock, Bran simply replied, “Breakfast sounds good.”
Breakfastwasgood but served with a heaping side of awkward. Patrick, usually the most vocal, had clammed up. Bran heard him mumble something to Blue, she snorted in amusement, then they both kept eating. No help there.
Dad said— absolutely fucking nothing. He didn’t even say his order aloud, only pointing at the pink flyer with Today’s Special in bold print. Biscuits and gravy, bacon, hashbrowns, and toast.
Yellow looked at his dad once in silent question, for what he wasn’t sure, before blinking once, twice, a lift of eyebrows, then back to her bowl of oatmeal. Bran could feel the uncomfortable beginnings of sweat forming under his light jacket and wanted nothing more than to strip the damn thing off, but it was as though normal behavior had deserted him— he would just sweat and suffer. Lifting his arms to take his jacket off seemed like it would draw way too much attention his way.
Finally, his eyes found Blazer. She was moving her fruit and side of sausage links around her plate. Her fork had yet to make a trip to those gorgeous lips. She looked painfully uncomfortable. He hated that they were so embarrassed. Honestly, he and his brother could come to blows over the television remote. So no, none of them were horrified by the bickering banter. It began and ended with the shockingly lovely appearance of the sisters. Definitely not middle-aged women looking to switch career gears.
Bran had unknowingly built a false narrative around the Byrnes. When a person expects middle-aged ladies, done with raising their families, who perhaps decided to create a business together, and instead sees three young, gorgeous, and obviously talented women standing before them... of course, the O’Faolains were stunned. His father, uncommunicative in public at the best of times, even appeared flustered behind his beard.
