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A Very Irish Scandal

Page 4

by Anya London

What was his T-shirt stained with? Coffee? Orange juice? Did the man ever do laundry or shower? How could someone this disheveled look this good?

No one had said he’d regained his sight. It hadn’t been in any of the articles, either. The last she’d heard through the media, he’d had multiple surgeries to fix the bones that had shattered in his face from the accident.

Where old photos had shown him to have sharp, angular features, his face looked softer now—wider. The contours, flatter. His right eye was distinctly droopier than the other. The beard—speckled with a few strands of silver—couldn’t hide the one corner of his mouth that sagged sharply downward.

A small scar split his eyebrow—the marking distinct across his thick, dark brow hairs. The long mane of tangled hair around his face gave him a bedraggled appearance, but she couldn’t make herself stop looking. He was handsome. Not the GQ model handsome he’d been before, but she’d look at him twice if he walked past her on the street. Especially if he showered and cleaned up.

The accident had left its marks. But it had been an accident. One Oliver refused to move past.

Addy pressed a fist to her churning stomach. She could still taste him on her tongue—a tantalizing mix of chocolate and caramel. She wished she’d never kissed him—never known how good a kiss between them could be.

She dragged her gaze back to his angry one. “Look. I know you hate my brother, but Kyle has a daughter. He dropped her off to my parents six months ago, and we haven’t seen him since. Her mother is about to file for custody modification from prison. She’ll be released soon, and there’s a good chance she could win. I can’t let Netta go to that woman, even if it’s only a day a week with her. Netta had almost died the last time she had her. But with Kyle abandoning his child like this, her mother actually might have a chance. And she only wants Netta to spite my brother. I have to find him. Or get his signature to grant temporary guardianship to my parents if he doesn’t want to come back.”

Oliver’s scarred brow lifted. “You’re here to ask me for a favor?”

As CFO of an asset management company, Addy was used to condescending comments from the men around her—men whose bonuses she determined. But she wouldn’t tolerate the patronization from Oliver. “I’m here to ask you to help an innocent, five-year-old child.”

“Who’s better off without her criminal father.”

“Kyle was found innocent.”

“By a corrupt investigator!”

Wow, he blamed just about anyone but himself. Denial. The scene of the accident had been dark, with no witnesses or unobstructed CCTV footage, but the investigation had been thorough. Oliver had darted out onto that park road in Dublin in the middle of the night—Kyle couldn’t stop in time.

Facts were facts. If Kyle had been responsible, he would have never gotten away with an accident of that magnitude.

At least, not again.

Chapter 3

“It was a horrible accident, but Kyle is innocent.”

Even as the redhead said the words, her eyes darted away. A tell. Consciously or subconsciously, she didn’t believe an ounce of that statement herself.

“Oliver, I know my brother is a messed-up person. But”—she licked her full, chapped lips—“you’ve been looking for him for longer than I have. Can you at least point me in the right direction?”

“How’d you find me?” he asked, realizing she’d have had to learn his location from someone.

Her eyes shifted away again. “I have my ways.”

No one besides his family knew he was here, and they wouldn’t divulge his location to the Yarrow woman. Who else would know of his whereabouts?

Did her brother send her?

Squaring her shoulders, she faced him across the white-tiled foyer floor. “You’re in Ireland because Kyle is here. Right?”

Addison Yarrow had balls, but he wasn’t about to do her any favors. Her prick brother had gone underground as soon as Oliver landed. Worse, Oliver hadn’t anticipated his own inability to leave this damn house. His older brother Hayes had the clandestine connections to sniff Kyle out, but Oliver couldn’t involve him. Not in this.

“Why I’m in Ireland is none of your business.”

Yarrow arched a brow at his tone. “Fine. Then I’ll find him myself.”

How did she intend to do that? Her cab had driven off, and this house was much too remote for rideshares. “Good luck with that.”

This time, she tried a different approach. “Netta’s mother is in prison for assault and child endangerment. Her on-again, off-again boyfriend is a convicted sex offender. I won’t let Netta be around her. The last time she had her, she starved and beat her, all to punish Kyle. When we finally got her back, Netta was underweight, bruised, and scared of sudden movements. One day when I had her, Harley forced her way into my apartment waving a gun, looking for Kyle, and it went off—almost shot Netta.”

Why did she think he cared? The wellbeing of Yarrow spawn had nothing to do with him. “Not my problem, lady.”