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“Bullshit,” I sniped. “You seem to think she’s a problem of mine that needs fixing. The only thing that needs fixing is her ass on a seat next to me for the next forty years.”
Finn chuckled. “You got it all wrong, Conor. You don’t want her on a chair next to you; that’s what your lap is for.”
My lips quirked up in a grin when I thought about our time on the jet and how I’d teased her about being better equipped for her comfort than a La-Z-Boy. “I wouldn’t be against that.”
“What’s the plan, Kid?” Declan asked, speaking up for the first time.
A knock sounded behind me. “Perfect timing,” I said happily, dragging open the door and automatically sliding my fingers between hers, then tugging her into the room.
Both of us were dressed down in comparison to the others, more relaxed and less formal. Star didn’t appear to care though. I figured that had everything to do with her past. She knew that you didn’t have to wear Prada to own a room. It only took presence, and she had that in spades.
At the center of my brothers’ attention, she ignored them to peer around the den, stating, “The first time I knocked heads with the Five Points, I never imagined I’d step inside one of the O’Donnelly boys’ man caves years down the road.” She arched a brow. “I’m Star Sullivan.”
“He’s Aidan,” I said, pointing to him. “That dick is Brennan, you know Eoghan already, and he’s Declan. The one grinning like he’s crazy is Finn.”
Her gaze darted over each of them even though I knew she could put faces to names without any help from me.
“Why are you a dick, Brennan?” she inquired, tone amused.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Because I don’t trust you.”
“Clearly smart but not wise.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means you don’t need to trust me to be wary of me. Whatever you’ve done, Brennan O’Donnelly, it’s child’s play to me.” She bared her teeth and then bit them noisily, snorting when Brennan glowered at her.
“Mad bitch,” he rasped.
Seeing that I was on the brink of decking Brennan, Aidan surged to his feet, asking, “Would you like a whiskey?”
“Please.” Gently squeezing my hand, she released my fingers and strolled over to him. Leaning against Finn’s desk, her tone cordial, she imparted, “Conor once told me you’re a whiskey connoisseur.”
“I’m more of a collector than an expert.” He poured her a finger from the bottle he brought along with him every week. Finn was getting quite the whiskey collection of his own from the remnants of our Saturday night discussions. “Tell me what you think of this one.”
It was only then I noticed he’d turned the bottle around so the label wasn’t visible.
“What makes you think I’d know the difference between a good whiskey and a bad one?”
“I think you’ll have made it your business to know how to speak with each of us.”
Annoyance on her behalf filtered through me—were they trying to think the worst of her?—but she didn’t deny it, just accepted the glass, swirled it around the tumbler, then inhaled deeply.
“Notes of burnt heather, cedar…” She closed her eyes. “Chocolate and oak. Vintage oak at that.” She lifted the glass to the light and stared at the undertones. “Bronze. Unusual.Old.”
He took a sip. “Very old.”
“Expensive.” Not a question.
“Incredibly so. Rare too.”
“You bring that around for dinner with the fam?”
Aidan just smiled. “Who else would I share the bounty of wealth with if not my brothers?”
“You’re a kinder sibling than Camden was. He’d sooner put expired creamer in Savannah’s coffee than bring her something like this…” Her brow furrowed as she took a deeper sniff of the liquor. “Glenfiddich?”
He raised a brow. “You know your whiskies.”
