Page 19 of Broken Blood Ties

I nod, then glance to where Summer fishes her lemon out of her drink. It’s clear and bubbly, so I’m assuming it’s club soda. For some reason, a weight lifts off my chest knowing she isn’t consuming any alcohol tonight. Not because I’d report her to the board or some asinine notion like she seems to think. No, it’s because of the frat-looking boys sitting down the bar from her that can’t seem to avoid repeated glances.

Does she normally avoid drinking? Or maybe since it’s a school night, she is opting to forgo the intoxicating beverage.

“Ye have a good night, Miss Smith,” I say as I stand from my seat and tuck my hands into my pockets. She avoids eye contact with me and nods subtly with the straw between her teeth.

Turning back toward Marco, I notice him studying her, and I gesture with my right hand back toward where my office is. “This way. We can speak privately.”

He lifts his chin and follows me back beyond the bar. I glance toward Cormac, and he steps in line with me as we make our way to my office.

“It’s not every day ye stop by,” I say, reaching for the handle then push open the door.

My office isn’t grand, in fact it’s rather bland. A desk stands proud front and center with a brown leather chair tucked in behind it. There’s never a time I don’t face the door. Here, in this office, or in my study back home.

Two tufted leather chairs match the one behind my desk and flank the left side, sitting against the wall. In the corner, a wilting fiddle leaf tree Lizzy thrusted into my life and has ignored sits desperate for water.

Like I said, rather bland.

In two strides I’m in front of my desk, and I flip the photo of Aoife and me on the yacht over, face down. The thought of Marco’s slimy eyes on her …

But I’m a businessman, so I round my desk, sit my arse in the chair, and watch as Cormac ushers Marco to a seat.

Cormac is usually handsy, and he shoves him down hard enough that the seat lets out a puff of air. Marco bats him away.

“Call off your dog, O’Donnell. I just want to talk.”

“Aye. I figured as much. What is it ye want then?”

He sniffs, pulling his suit jacket tight around his chest. “I’ve got a few men that want in.”

I smirk. “In what?”

“Shit. Don’t play games with me Kieran. They want in the fight rotation.”

I purse my lips, staring at the black mole sitting on his upper lip. When I don’t say anything, he continues on.

“Come on. More men, more bets, more money.”

“Ye going to put yerself in the ring with me?” I ask.

“Ha,” Marco blurts out at the same time Cormac snorts. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I get in the ring with you.”

“Aye. But it’d be grand,” I say.

“Fer God’s sakes, Kieran,” Cormac whispers under his breath.

The idea Marco might jump into the fights is exhilarating for me, not so much for him.

“All right. Ye can bring yer men to start next week. I’ll give yeforty percent of the pot if they win.”

Marco practically growls. “Fifty. They’re my men, Kieran.”

“Aye, but it’s me bar.”

“Forty-five,” he tries again.

“Done.” I stand, extending my hand from across my desk, and Marco rises from his own seat to meet me. We shake on our deal. Then Marco lingers, hovering over my desk and some nonsense paperwork regarding liquor purchases.

“Who’s the girl you were talking to at the bar?”

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