I know about tax havens. I know about Georgia. I’ve donemyresearch, because that’s my responsibility as a billionaire.
But I don’t get the chance to share that knowledge with Lynch, because his office door suddenly crashes back on its hinges. Kate barges into the room, hurtling across the well-worn carpet and planting both palms on her father’s desk.
Her hair whirls around her face as if she’s wreathed in fire. The sleeves of her hoodie are pushed up like she’s ready to take on a heavy bag in a boxing gym. Leaning into her father’s space, she shouts, “When the fuck were you going to tell me?”
18
KATE
Fan-fucking-tastic. Wolf is squirreled away here in Da’s office, the two of them thick as thieves. I wonder what they’re negotiating now—maybe how much extra Da will pay if Wolf puts a baby in me within a month. A boy. Da wouldn’t spring for the disappointment of a girl.
Wolf stands when I enter, looking as calm and calculating as ever. For just one moment, I wonder what it would take to devastate that serenity. Maybe shoving a finger up his arsehole when he’s least prepared.
Before I can get too distracted, Lochlann trundles into the office. “Sorry, boss,” he says. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
I hope Lochlann O’Brian is better with a gun than he is at facing down an angry woman—otherwise, Da’s life is in serious danger. All I had to do was howl when the eejit grabbed my arm, and he backed off.
Da sighs, and I almost choke on the reek of cigar smoke. “What’s the problem now, Kaitlín?”
One glance at his computer screen, and I can see he’s going over the Cayman accounts with Wolf. He’s probably been going on about his net worth, too. I honestly don’t think Da understands the difference between a million and a billion. He just thinks they’re both large numbers.
If I slapped my da a million times and each blow took one second, I’d get the job done in eleven and a half days. If I slapped him a billion times, it would take almost thirty-twoyears.
And I’m thinking about starting a countdown now. “You told Mam she could have my bedroom.”
“You’ll be living with your husband after the wedding,” he says, like he’s teaching ABCs to a toddler.
“She and her shitehawk designer are up there taking measurements. She’s turning it into a closet forshoes.”
He shrugs. “She has a lot of shoes.”
“She’s moving me to the feckin’ cellar so they can start building out tomorrow!”
“You spend all your time staring at a computer. Who cares where your room is?”
“The wifi signal is shite in the cellar!”
“Orla!” Da calls, because he’s a dickless wonder, and he doesn’t have a clue what to do with me when I’m raging.
“Sweetheart,” Mam says, gliding into the room so fast, I know she was lurking right outside. I’m not sure if the endearment is meant for Da or me. It depends on which of us she wants to manipulate most.
Da just waves his hand, like he’s used up all his words for today. Wolf is still standing, watching the three of us like we’re putting on a play for his sole enjoyment.
Mam croons, like she’s talking to an injured bird. “Katie.A stór.”
Me. I’m the one she wants to jerk around. But I amabsolutely not her treasure. And I haven’t answered to that hated nickname since I was eight.
She makes her voice shake, like she’s on the verge of tears. “Katie, I never imagined you’d feel this way. I only considered the remodel in the first place because the thought of walking by that room every day…of knowing that my little girl…that the baby whomademe a mother is all grown up now and living in her own home… A Lynch woman offers up her pain to the clan, but that might be more than I can bear.”
This is what Mam always does—crank the volume to eleven and turn the spotlight straight on her. We aren’t talking about me anymore, about my bedroom, about the wi-fi. We’re only talking about all the ways poor Orla Lynch will suffer.
The scar above her lip looks like a trail of snot running from her nose.
“There,” Da says, like he’s negotiated peace in the Middle East. “You have to understand that, Kaitlín.”
Mam sniffs and taps her fingertips beneath her eyes, so we can all understand she’s crying. “If I thought for one second that you’d be upset... Katie, darling, itdestroysme that you feel this way. That I’ve added even one ounce of stress, when this should be the happiest time of your life.”
“Happy, my arse! I’m being bulldozed into an arranged marriage with a man I hate!”
