“You’re right. I’ll talk to him.”
She shakes her head. “No. I want someone new.”
It’s not an unreasonable request. If Carpenter’s lost her trust, pushing to keep him on the account is just delaying the inevitable.
I pulled the guy out of Winter Reckoning. I know he has the necessary computer skills, but competing in the game doesn’t guarantee he can meet all of a client’s legitimate expectations.
“I’ll get you someone new,” I say. “Can it wait until next week? I’m busy the next few days, planning a wedding.”
She laughs. “I bet you aren’t planning a thing. Just handing over your credit card.”
I shrug. “Guilty as charged.”
“This is where I’m supposed to rant about pig-headed arrogant alphahole men who expect their women to do all the heavy lifting with regard to anything approaching the emotional work required to maintain a relationship. But why don’t we just skip that part. Get me someone new next week. And let me beat your ass on McLaren’s Formula 1 simulator downstairs.”
“It’s a deal,” I say.
I’m doomed. But I follow Fiona out the door.
22
KATE
Breagha crowds into the fitting room with me. I feel like a cow, looking at both of us in the mirror. She’s six inches shorter than I am and almost fifty pounds lighter. Instead of my tangled red hair, she has soft blonde waves. We’ve both got green eyes, but mine are rimmed with scarlet. I haven’t slept more than five hours a night since Da handed me off to Wolf.
I’m willing to bet every cent I’ve ever stolen that I’m the only one in this high-end clothing boutique who’s ever shaved her pubes.
“Smile,” Breagha says. “This is supposed to be the most exciting time of your life.”
Exciting was going on my first Red Cap raid.
Exciting was killing my first ice ghoul in Winter Reckoning.
Exciting was slapping Cole Wolf with every ounce of my strength.
And yes. Exciting was him slapping me back. Him tying mywrists and ankles together. Him wrapping his belt around his fist and measuring out ten perfect?—
“There!” Breagha says, hugging me from the side. “That’s the smile I was looking for.”
I immediately start to scowl in the mirror.
“Ka-ate!” Breagha turns my name into a scolding taunt as she laces her fingers between mine. She squeezes, and I’m immediately carried back eighteen years.
I’m eight and Breagha’s five, and she’s holding my hand so tight I can’t feel my fingers. We’re pressed together in the trunk of a car, us and our nanny, Larissa. But Larissa hasn’t said a word since the Bad Men dragged us away from the playground. Larissa took out her phone when the Bad Men came out of the woods. She called Da. I heard her saying, “Mr. Lynch—” But one of the Bad Men hit her on the side of her head, just above her ear. He had a stick in his hand; it looked like a miniature baseball bat. Larissa fell like all her bones melted, and one of the men had to carry her to the car. Now Breagha starts to cry, her fingers clutching mine. I tell her everything will be all right, all we have to do is?—
Breagha drops my hand so she can pluck at my hoodie. “I know you’d be perfectly happy getting married in your sweatpants and this disgusting thing.”
Shaking off the bad memory, I give her the grin she wants. “Now that you mention it…”
“Mommy and Daddy woulddiebefore they let you stand up like that, in front of all the crew. I know you don’t care, but this is really important to them.”
I hate the way she talks about our parents, like she’s still five years old. I hate that she’s so easy to win over—a plane trip to New York and a limo ride to Fifth Avenue, and shopping at this chichi store, Gallagher Something. Mam heard about it from one of the other clan wives.
I hate that Breagha’s right.
I was born into the Lynch family. Our clan stretches all the way back to the sack of Drogheda. Generations of proudwomen have stood beside our men. We’ve done our duty. Paid our dues. Granny did it. Mam too.
I can’t fail at somethingMammanaged to do.
