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“I swear, now that I’ve worked out what makes him tick, it is fine, but good God, is he infuriating. And stubborn. It’s like he’s never heard the word no! Take this fundraiser, for example—he’s insisting I haveto attend even though there is literally zero reason or need for me to do so.” I huff, throwing my arms up in defeat.

“Oh, honey, that’snothing. He made Brenda, his old EA, attend my wedding as his plus one when I threatened to set him up with a friend of mine.” She laughs, shaking her head fondly as she tells me countless stories about Jonathan. It’s clear she’s trying to help make me see him as more than just the scary CEO, but little does she know, I view him as something a hundred times worse: someone capable of blowing my whole cover story if only he dug a little deeper. Every time his attention lingers a little too long, I get cold sweats just thinking about what would happen if I was found out. What would happen to Freya, to me, to everything I’ve worked for. Everything I’m working towards. It’s a risk I can’t afford to ever take.

Chapter 12

Icould list a hundred things I’d rather be doing than attending this fundraiser and a thousand more that Ishouldbe doing. Yes, it’s for a good cause, but my time is stretched thin as it is without wasting precious hours there. Hours I won’t get back. Yet, here I am, waiting in Helen’s office, looking at the time on my watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. She’s late. Of course she is.

I’m in the middle of straightening my cuff links when the sound of heels on the tiled floor draws my eye. Over her two month-long tenure here, I thought I’d seen every version of Helen Montgomery there is to see. I’ve seen her with her curls flying wild and I’ve seen them tamed. In skirts and dresses that drive me wild. With and without makeup. All fired up and ready to rip me a new one or cool, calm, and collected. But the woman striding through the door like she owns it is one I’ve never seen before. She’s fucking stunning, and what she’s wearing… My gaze should not be roaming everywhere at once, but I can’t fucking help it.

If I wasn’t going to hell already, I’m going there now. That’s wherethey send sinners who lust over their employees, isn’t it? But fuck me. The way the maroon dress clings to her every curve, a deep vee between her breasts, is testing my strength by the second. She’s done something different with her makeup as well. It’s darker, edgier. It makes the blue of her eyes shine in a way I haven’t seen before. She looks like a succubus ready to claim her next victim, and it’s all I can do not to throw myself at her feet in offering.

This isn’t my whip smart and sassy assistant I’ve come to tolerate and begrudgingly respect. No, this is a woman used to the finer things, who should be dripping in jewels. Anyone lucky enough to have her on their arm should be thanking a God they don’t believe in that she deigns them worth her time. Visions of draping jewels around her delicate throat only to later give her a different kind of pearl necklace have me clenching my fists to stop myself from tearing that dress off her and showing her all the filthy things I want to do to her.

“Cat got your tongue?” Her red lips tip up in a knowing smirk as she sweeps her eyes over me. Entering the room, she plucks her clutch from her desk and wedges it between her arm and chest before advancing on me. I stop breathing when she reaches up to straighten my tie with narrowed precision. Her close proximity has my cock impossibly harder.

“You scrub up nice,” I mutter gruffly, stepping back to put some much-needed distance between us. There’s only so much a man can handle, and with all the blood rushing to my other head, being able to see the delicate curve of her breasts down her dress while inhaling her perfume is above my limit. Clearing my throat, I point to the door. “Shall we?”

We make our way to the hotel across the road, an easy, if heated, silence between us. I’ve never been so glad to see a room full of people demanding my attention as I am when we step foot in the function room. It’s a welcome distraction from my tease of an assistant. I need to shift gears before I do something I shouldn’t. The room is filled with a mix of good Samaritans, businessmen looking to cut a deal,and socialites looking to be on the front page.

Flagging down a waiter, I take the offered champagne, downing it and taking a second before glancing at Helen. Mirth dances in her eyes as she tries to keep her laugh to herself. Thoughts of leaning down, claiming her laughter for myself, and stealing her breath flood in. What I wouldn’t give to taste her, to hold her, but I can’t. She might drive me insane in a way that makes me want to make her mine, but that doesn't mean she deserves to be brought into the firing line of my life.

“Thirsty there, boss?” Her teasing tone would normally be something I try to snuff out, but when it comes from her…I find myself encouraging it, egging her on. Our battle of wills and sarcasm is my favourite thing about coming into the office these days.

“Something like that,” I murmur, looking at her and watching her eyes droop to half-mast. Her eyes flicking between mine and my mouth, her want is clear. It’s dripping from her every pore, but before I can forget myself and dip down to claim her mouth, she jerks back with a sharp inhale.

“Well. Now that you’re hydrated, it’s time to mingle.” With that, she strides further into the room, confident I’m following, and for once in my life, the thought of following doesn’t grate on my last nerve. How could it, when the view is as good as this one? I’d be a fool not to admire the gentle sway of her hips as she leads us across the room, everyone parting for her like the red sea. That dress is doing sinful things to her ass, and it’s clear I’m not the only one to notice. Something hot simmers in my veins, but before I can act on it, she’s linking her arm through mine. Whether she knows it or not, she’s essentially branded herself as mine for the night. I should warn her what her actions imply to this room full of vultures, but instead, I embrace the feeling of her pressed against me like the selfish bastard I am.

The night passes in a blur of faceless handshakes and meaningless conversation, and before I know it, she’s shoving me towards the larger than life cheque that’s here purely for the photo op. The real thing has long since been cashed. Before she can dash away, I wrap my armaround her waist and tug her beside me, ignoring her gasp and the way heat rushes through me at the contact.

“If I have to suffer through this, so do you,” I rasp in her ear, ignoring the shiver that races through her and her soft protest. Realising there’s no easy way out, she poses beside me with a hand pressed to my chest, the sharp tips of her nails digging into my flesh as she hisses at me through gritted teeth, “You’ll pay for this one, boss.”

“Bring it on, sweetheart,” I croon, just to watch her shiver once again as the cameras flash all around us. Da’s advice echoes in my mind, and, as I look down at the top of her head, I can’t help but wonder if it would be worth the risk. As she glares up at me, heedless of the cameras documenting our every expression, I shake that thought off.

Before the night is over, I leave Donna a message to get a copy of the pictures from the photographer.

Da prepared me for a lot of things in life. How to effectively run the Four Points while also running multiple businesses and understanding why the hell we bother doing so. The importance of knowing when to get your hands bloody versus when to delegate. Hell, he even taught me how to knot a tie ten different ways, and which is suitable for what occasion. But what he didn’t teach me, what he could never have prepared me for, is this: watching him fade away before my eyes, knowing there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Sprinkle in the fact he’s sworn me to secrecy, despite the glaringly obvious signs something’s wrong, and you have a clusterfuck waiting to happen.

It’s with that thought ringing in my head, I make my way up the stairs to visit him. Sharon and Dr Hawkins have been getting increasingly concerned about his lack of improvement. He’s not responding to the medication the way he should be. The problem is, short of overruling him and exposing our lies, there’s not much I can do. Call me a fool, but I want to honour his wishes for as long as I can. I knowit might not be long before that option is taken out of my hands, but for now, I’ll cling to it.

Pushing his door open, I pause to take him in. He’s lost more weight, and his breathing still isn’t right, but there’s a dash of colour in his cheeks today. That’s got to be progress, right? A sign we’re doing something right. I hate seeing him like this. Jonathan O’Neill Sr should not be lying in his bed, struggling to breathe, pumped full of meds and hooked up to a dozen machines to monitor his health. He’s supposed to be unstoppable, untouchable, but…here we are.

“Hey Da, how are we feeling today?” I greet him, making my way over to his bedside and reaching over to squeeze his hand.

“Same shit, different day. Have you given any thought to what I said?” he wheezes, referring to our daily battle of wills. Ever since the photo of Helen and me made the papers over a week ago, he’s been like a dog with a bone.

“Depends. Have you given any thought to my counter?” At his nonanswer, I probe him. “Because the offer still stands. One hospital appointment in exchange for one date.”

For once, he doesn’t shoot me down immediately. Instead, he ponders it for a bit. A coughing fit later, he finally gives in. “Fine, but I want to meet this girl. Humour an old man, will you?”

“That can be arranged, but Da, keep it clean, yeah? She doesn’t know about the Four Points,” I remind him, only for him to wave me off like I’m an idiot for reminding him about something he drilled into me from I was no age: We take our secrets to the grave, or they’ll take us. It’s the Four Points way.

“How’s business been?” I ask Seamus, dropping into a seat beside him in the VIP area of one of our more lucrative clubs, Alibi, hours later. They’ve been shifting around the tasks I assigned them. Right now, Seamus is leaning into the party-boy persona, keeping an eye onour clubs and the girls in them with Jack’s help. Meanwhile, Brennan is busy digging into Angus’ finances. As for the other two, there’s no chance in hell of pulling them away from the Pit.

“Busy as hell. Apparently, no matter the economy, people want to party and look at pretty girls.” He watches the floor below us lit up with strobe lights.

“I hope, for your sake, you’re not looking; Fiona would have your balls,” I quip.

“Fuck. Don’t remind me. I came home the other night after helping Diamond into her car, and she swore she could smell perfume on me. She was this damn close to kicking me out. I had to ring Diamond to get her to confirm my story, and even then, she wanted to see the tapes to be sure. She’s a feisty one, but you know I love that shit.” He smirks, adjusting himself.