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“Can’t.” I tap my mouth. “These lips are hungry for food. See ya.”
I sling my purse over my shoulder and sashay out the office, counting the steps until I reach the front door.
With every shuffle of my high heels, I wait to be mowed down and yanked back inside.
When the door clicks behind me, I sigh.
Idiot.
Me. Not him. I tried to play his game and lost.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Eoghan
It shredded my insides to say no to Jillian. She didn’t read between the lines.
No, I don’t want drinks with you after you’ve had dinner with another man.
It’s a dinner I plan to fuck up. She’s mine.
Only, there’s no record of this so-called dinner with a colleague, or where, so I have to follow her.
I sit on the main road in front of her apartment building waiting for the tracker I put in her car to fucking move.
Waiting, waiting, I get a text:
Kieran: Your stalker ass will be home tomorrow.
I crack up, because it’s not a question. But I bend the knee to the king, even if he is my brother.
A new O’Rourke wee-one means amendments to lots of legal documents. Trusts. Scholarship funds. Wills, something every brother was against, until I reminded them what happens in New York state when you die without a will.
I’ll add Priscilla and Riordan’s child once they pick a damn name. They didn’t find out the sex because they want to be surprised.
Not Lachlan, I laugh to myself. He wanted to know, and I thought he’d be pissed finding out he was having a girl. No, he’s fucking over the moon.
When Jillian’s Honda pops out of her building’s parking lot, I wait a few beats and follow her about half a mile. She pulls up to a swanky restaurant and waits in line for valet service.
The idea of another man in her car, touching her steering wheel, the gear shift, and then her placing her hands there, too, sparks a rage I’ve never known.
I plan to make this woman completely mine as soon as she gets stranger-fucking out of her system. It’s okay, so long as that stranger stays me.
Damn, this is twisted.
Spotting a lot across the street, I park and jog back to the restaurant across six lanes of traffic.
It puts into focus the risks I’m taking for Jillian. My family counts on me in ways no one else can replace or cover. I’m almost as important as Kieran, although anyone can be crowned. It’s a ceremonial role, with Riordan as his back-up. Any killer can technically replace Lachlan, it’s the loyalty part that makes him unique.
I know where the bodies are buried. Where all the money is. Where all the legal documents are stored.
When Jillian enters the restaurant, and I see her waiting in the vestibule alone, I tap on my phone to find her car. Getting a hit, I waltz into the restaurant’s parking lot. My height, my expensive suit, my bravado has no one approaching me as I melt into the sea of cars. Finding hers, I open the door and get inside.
From my pocket, I yank out a wipe from a small antibacterial pack I keep tucked on me at all times for emergencies. I start to wipe down any place those slimy valet attendants may have touched.
I snoop further, but there’s nothing of interest in the center console or the glovebox. There’s no trunk, just rear cargo, which I saw was empty the other night.
Smiling, I lick my fingers and touch every surface she’ll touch. The steering wheel, gear shift, door handle, mirror, radio, center console, glovebox, and sunroof gauge. My eyes drift back to the center console where I see her pink yeti for coffee with a plastic straw.
