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The thought pissed me off.
I couldn’t see why she’d do such a thing. Not when I’d looked into her finances, had seen just how secure she was. But maybe that was why. Maybe the Senator was funneling money to her.
The only problem was that the lot Aoife owned—did I mention it was owned outright? Yeah, that was enough to chafe my suspicions, too, considering she was only twenty-fucking-five years old—was a teashop in a small building in a questionable area of HK.
I mean, come on. I loved Hell’s Kitchen. It was home. But fuck. Where she was? What kind of Senator would put his fancy piece inthat?
My jaw clenched as I studied the Senator’s and Aoife’s smiling faces as they left the hotel. Separately, of course. But whatever they’d been doing together, it sure put a Cheshire Cat grin on their chops–that was for fucking sure. Jimmy being a dumbass, hadn’t put the two together, had just remarked on the ‘coincidence,’ but I was no fool.
How did I know they were together in the hotel?
Jimmy had been trailing Aoife for four months—told you I was obsessive—and every third Tuesday, come rain or shine, this little routine had jumped out, and when Jimmy had picked up on the fact Davidson had been there each and every time, I’d gotten my hands dirty, bribed one of the hotel maids myself—and fuck, that had been hard. Turned out that place made even the maids sign NDA agreements, but everyone had a price—and I’d found out that my little obsession shared a suite with the old prick.
My fingers curled into fists as I stared at her. Butter wouldn’t fucking melt. She was the epitome of innocence. Like a redheaded angel. Could she really be lifting her skirts for that old fucker? Just so she could own a teashop?
Something didn’t make sense, and fuck, if that didn’t intrigue me all the more.
Aoife Keegan had snared one of the biggest, nastiest sharks in Manhattan.
She just didn’t know it yet.
***
Aoife
“We need morescones for tomorrow. I keep telling you four dozen isn’t enough.”
Lifting a hand at my waitress and friend, Jenny, I mumbled, “I know, I know.”
“If you know, then why the hell don’t you listen?” Jenny complained, making me grin.
“Because I’m the one who has to make them? Making half that again is just . . .” I sighed.
I loved my job.
I did.
I adored baking—my butt and hips attested to that fact—and making a career out of my passion was something every twenty-something hoped for. Especially in one of the most expensive cities in the world. But sheesh. There was only so much one person could do, and this was still, essentially, a one-woman-band.
With the threat of Acuig Corp looming over me, I didn’t feel safe hiring extra staff. I’d held them off for close to six months now. Six months of them trying to tempt me to leave, to sell up. They’d raised their prices to ten percent above market value, whereas with everyone else in the building, they’d just offered what the apartments were truly worth. Considering this place wasn’t the nicest in the block, that wasn’t much.
Most people hadn’t held out because, hell, why wouldn’t they want to live elsewhere?
Those who were landlords hadn’t felt any issue in tossing their tenants out on the street. The tenants grumbled, but when did they ever have any rights, anyway?
For myself, this was where my mom and I had worked to—
I brought that thought to a shuddering halt.
Mom was dead now.
I had to remember that. This was on me, not her.
My throat thickened with tears as I turned to Jenny and murmured, “I’ll try better tomorrow.”
The words had her frowning at me. “Babe, you know I’m not the boss here, right?”
Lips curving, I whispered, “I know. But you’re so scary.”
