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Seamus glares at me, but his fingers release Michael’s collar.
“We’ll be doing a full review of security protocols, but Michael copped on to it immediately and made sure that the only thing we lost was two hours of earnings, isn’t that right?”
I arch a brow at Michael and Anthony, who both nod frantically. Seamus says nothing, but he offers one last glare at both programmers before stalking out. The tires of his SUV squeal as he leaves, the room around us silent.
Michael stumbles outside while Anthony and I watch him go.
“We’re getting big enough to need a full-time security consultant,” I tell Anthony. “Do you know anyone who’d be down for it and can keep their mouth shut?”
Anthony blinks and nods. “I’ll get you a list by tomorrow.”
“Good. We’ll need you to stick around until Michael’s back.”
Anthony glances over at the door that Michael shoved through and nods again. I stalk outside to make sure the lad is alright.
ANDIE
I’m not sure what happened in the little mafia business cottage this morning, but something did. Connor disappeared out there after breakfast like he always does, and after about an hour, there was a squealing of tires.
I ran to the windows as some skinny young man with his T-shirt on inside out, his glasses askew, wearing cotton boxer shorts and no shoes, threw himself out of the battered Honda that tore up the drive and rushed in.
About ten minutes later, an SUV like Connor’s squealed up, and a seriously good-looking but furious brunette man stalked into the cottage. I have no idea what it was about that guy, but he gave me the heebie-jeebies.
It is about another hour while I meticulously fold laundry, keeping an eye on the cottage door, until the good-looking brunette walks out, still looking furious. He slings himself into his SUV, the tires squealing as he drives off. Definite heebie-jeebies.
The cottage door opens again. I shrink back, but they can’t see me. I’m standing in the laundry, watching through the cute little stained glass window as I stretch out the folding. I may have folded this fitted sheet five times. To get it perfect.
A different young man stumbles out. This one is sandy blonde, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt. He leans against the side of the cottage with his hands on his knees, keeping his head down. Should I go out and offer him a glass of water? He looks wicked pale.
Before I can move from my sentinel position, Connor emerges, rubbing a weary hand over his eyes as he claps his hand on the young man’s back, saying something to him.
The young man nods, and Connor says something else, striding across the small space and up into the house.
“Andie? Lass?” he calls out when he’s in the kitchen. Oops. Shit, and I hurry out to where he is standing in the middle of the kitchen, his hands shoved into the pockets of his suit pants.
When he sees I’m coming out of the laundry, his eyes dip to my hands, which are still holding the pillow case I was in the process of folding.
“Is everything all right?” I ask quietly. “I heard all the cars?”
He sighs, rubbing his eyes again. “Aye, lass. Everything’s grand. Can you make some coffee and get something sweet to eat together? Two coffees?”
“O-of course.” I turn to drop the pillowcase on the countertop in the laundry, hurrying across the room to turn on the coffee maker.
I made chocolate chip muffins earlier, so I carefully and quickly place them in a cute basket I found in the pantry, handing them to Connor. He watches me silently as I hurry back to the coffee maker, snatching the jug up as it beeps, pouring two coffees and adding cream.
He takes the coffee mugs and the basket of muffins, disappearing back through the door out to the driveway and the cottage.
I move back into the laundry, surreptitiously watching as he disappears into the cottage. He’s only in there for a few minutes before he emerges again.
When he comes back and into the house, he doesn’t call out again, walking straight into the laundry, perching against the countertop, watching as I fold the rest of the sheets.
“Is the young blonde man going to be okay?”
I glance over, swallowing as his eyebrows raise. Tipping my head to the small stained glass window, I give him an apologetic shrug. Thankfully, Connor doesn’t look angry. He actually chuckles.
“He’ll be fine. He was excited about the muffins. How’d you get so good at baking anyway?”
“There was this lady in our building, Mrs. Dawkins….” I start to explain, cutting off when Connor frowns at me.
