Page 23 of Dublin Beast

Stay or go?

She turns slightly, like she’s about to pivot and walk right back out, but I stop her from needing to tuck tail. No point in making this awkward.

“No need to run off.” I push my chair back, the castors silent on the vinyl flooring. “I’ll go. I’m spinning my wheels here, anyway.”

Something shifts in her expression, and she shrugs. “That’s up to you. I’m sure we can both use the hotel office facilities without coming to blows.”

I smirk, rolling my jaw at the memory of theactualblow she landed. It’s still tender, though I’d never admit it.

I settle back into my chair as she walks to the far end of the long table and takes a seat across from me. When she sets her laptop down, she plugs in and pulls her mouse from the kangaroo pocket at the front of her hoodie.

Silence stretches between us for a beat before my curiosity takes hold. “Where’d you learn to throw a punch like that?”

A flicker of something crosses her face—amusement, maybe, or possibly pride. “I grew up with a single father and three brothers. My father didn’t have much of an instinct about raising a girl, so I was treated just like one of the boys. I learned to give as good as I got.”

I arch a brow.Thatexplains a lot.

She leans back slightly, arms crossing. “My dad figured if he was paying for martial arts, kickboxing, and hockey for my brothers, I might as well do it, too. I learned to hold my own at a young age.”

“Hence the right hook.”

She smirks. “Hence the right hook.”

I glance at the screen in front of me, but my focus is still half on her. “I never caught your name.”

There’s a pause, just long enough to tell me she debated giving it to me.

“Harper,” she finally says.

I nod. “Bryan.”

Her lips twitch slightly. “So not ‘fucknut’ then?”

I huff a quiet laugh and shake my head. “I’ve been called worse by better people than him.”

She looks at me like she wants to ask me something, but presses her lips shut and drops her attention back to her screen.

With the introductions out of the way, and her settling in to work, the charged energy between us dims to become oddly comfortable.

For a while, the only sounds are the occasional click of a keyboard, the low hum of the air conditioning, and the muted voices of people passing in the hallway.

Then my phone buzzes.

I glance at the screen.Tag.

Fuck. Finally.I push back from the table and stand, moving toward the door. “Excuse me a moment.”

Harper barely looks up, absorbed in whatever she’s doing. I step into the hallway, pressing the phone to my ear. “Tell me you’ve got something. What did Drake say?”

Tag exhales sharply. “I only just talked to the man. Drake says he’ll drop everything and work on it.”

My jaw tightens. Another delay.

“Tell him to work fast,” I mutter, pacing the short length of the hall. “I’m sick of this shit. I hate feeling like I’m wasting my time.”

Tag’s voice is grim. “If it makes you feel any better, Piper says the McGuires are frustrated with searching for Siobhan, too. They haven’t had any better luck.”

“That does not make me feel better. Fucking hell.” A low grumble rumbles in my chest, and I rake a hand through my hair.

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