Page 72 of Taming Irish

Chapter 20

Shane

Iwas alreadyin a shitty mood from having to be away from Makena for a few days, but the last twenty-four hours, dealing with accountants and financial advisors, has left me with a headache the size of Carrauntoohil. Because, despite not understanding half the jargon they spewed, one thing is certain, the label is in the red. We’re losingmoney.

“We need to sell. Now.” I may not be the smartest guy in the world, but I know a sinking ship when I’m standing onit.

“Give it another year.” Owen leans back in his chair, his brows furrowed and arms crossed. And I know he won’t budge. “We’ll recoup our losses as soon as Bree’s album comesout.”

If I didn’t think of Owen as a brother, I’d have half a mind to sell my half of the company tomorrow. But I’m not that much of an asshole. And the losses are nothing compared to the money our own albums are still bringingin.

After spending a few hours in one of the recording rooms messing around with a couple song ideas, I drive back to my Dublin apartment. The place feels cold and empty. A reminder of my life before I metMakena.

It’s only been a couple of weeks, but she’s turned my whole world upside down in that short amount of time. I wanted her here. Asked her to come. And I admit I was more than a little disappointed when sherefused.

Our time together is limited, and I don’t want to waste a day, especially not on bullshit financial reports, when I could be buried inside of her, tasting her lips, swallowing hermoans.

I try calling her again, but there’s no answer, which is starting to piss me off and worrying me at the same time. She said she wanted a few days to think about things. Whatever the hell that means. I’m not sure what she has to think about. Everything between us is good. Hell, it’s better than good. It’s been fucking perfect. And I’m worried she’s going to mess things up by overthinking this wholething.

It’s been two damn days since I’ve talked to her. How much space does sheneed?

I drag my fingers through my hair and curse under mybreath.

Jeezus, I’m turning into a damngirl.

She’s become anobsession.

I toss my keys on the kitchen counter and dial Emer. No answer. Damn it. I tryAiden.

“Yeah?” Aiden’s voice is groggy. I can hear Cadence crying in thebackground.

“I need to talk to Emer.” If Makena won’t answer my calls, maybe she’ll talk to mysister.

“She’s not here. She took Makena to the Shelbourne for a coupledays.”

“They’re in Dublin?” Ifrown.

“Went to a spa to get their toes painted, or whatever chicks do at thoseplaces.”

“Ye’ve got the kid all by yerself?” I chuckle, imagining Aiden juggling diapers andbottles.

“Yer mom’s been helping, but told her to leave a couple hoursago.”

“Already regrettingit?”

“Ye have noidea.”

I shake my head as I end the call, thinking about how much our lives have changed in the lastyear.

Except, right now, it’s not the music that I can’t stop thinking about. It’s Makena. And the fact that she’s here, in thecity.

She wants space. And I need to give it to her. She’s with Emer, which could either be a good thing, or a bad thing, depending what stories she’s told her. She has more than a dozen reasons to get even with me, and double the amount of exploits to embarrass me with for years tocome.

I pull a beer out of the fridge and uncap it. That’s when I notice an envelope on my kitchen table with my name scribbled onit.

Frowning, I pick it up. No one, other than my cleaning lady, has access to my apartment. And even before I open the letter, I have a sinking feeling I know who it’s from. Scanning the handwritten words, bile burns in mythroat.

…we can behappy…

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