Page 3 of An Angel's Share
He moves off as I watch him schmooze his way around the room, batting his super long lashes at everyone he comes in contact with. He’s so touchy-feely, it's a wonder he’s not been arrested yet. I smile. The man is outrageous.
Into the room walks a line of women, all around the same height, hair swept into elaborate coiffeurs, black-feathered fascinators covering the tops of their heads. Make up all the same, and crimson lips. Silk blouses, the same colour as the lipstick, cut open to their navels, a large motif of the club on the back in black. The silk flutters and sways around the room, hypnotising everyone. The blouses are tucked starkly into skin tight, white jodhpurs. Black leather riding boots complete the ensemble. These bear no resemblance to any of the jockeys I’ve ever seen at the races, but the effect is striking—sultry and elegant.
Carrying silver trays with electronic pin pads, all coded to the individual, the women approach each of us. I’m toldin breathy tones to use the handset to make my selection for the night, along with the maximum bet I’m prepared to place in case of any duplication or overlapping selections. I have no limit. Whatever or whoever I want, I will have. Tonight is not going to be a betting frenzy for me.
My favourite whiskey is handed to me, all very personal, all very expensive. Every nuance of the evening has been thought out. It’s time to make a bid for my mount for the night.
I grin and mentally shake my head. Jackson must be insane to leave this to someone else. Someone else to take the reins. My mind is full of all things horse related, all the proper terminology, my grin getting wider and wider as puns form in my head. I can’t wait to take the piss out of Jackson at home tomorrow.
The lights dim, and the room through the one way glass is lit so we’re able to see the Runners for the night. But I don’t see Jackson. He’s probably hiding, or changed his mind. Fell at the first hurdle, or an open ditch. I grin again, chalking down more comments to whip him with. I’m imaging a crop now, and my smile gets wider.
Until I spot her.
She stands out to me straight away. Sat with a female—possibly a friend, if the body language is anything to go by—she’s nervous. Back stiff, body tense. Talking to her friend, but her hand movements are jerky, all over the place. Raven black hair, brown eyes, porcelain skin. Tall, her body folded into the comfortable chair. Long legs crossed, slim ankles, and high heels. Supple. How fantastic that skin will look warmed with my hand prints, or maybe a whip.
I feel myself harden as my mind starts to calculate what I could do to her. How she’d look chained to a cross. What colour I could turn her complexion. If her eyes woulddarken to the colour of her hair with desire. What that full upper lip would look like stretched over my cock. The bright red lipstick leaving its mark on my balls.
Yep, she could do a lot for me, and I certainly could for her. Well, Black Beauty, it’s time to saddle up for the ride of your life.
1
Aoife
Ireland,Present Day
“It’s no good pulling at the dress, Aoife. It’s too tight. You should have planned for this and got a new one. I did tell you. How obvious do you want to make it?”
I sigh, take another drink of my water, and try to ignore my mother. She’s been picking at me since I landed back in Ireland from New York two months ago, my altered state causing her so much stress, she fainted at the airport gate.
It was just too much for her to have an unmarried thirty-year-old daughter. A pregnant, unmarried, thirty-year-old daughter. How could I bring so much shame on her?
I’ve endured every insult. My age is a thorn in her side. How could I be this old and still single? Why hadn’t I found a nice Irish boy in America? How had I managed to come home with a doctorate and a baby, but no husband?
At no point did it ever occur to her that I may not actually want a husband. She never even asked me what Iactually wanted at all. It was, and has always ever been, about what she wanted for me and why had I not delivered on her one and only request—a husband. Oh, no wait, two requests. A husband and a baby.
Well, she’s getting fifty percent of that in about four months. One out of two is not bad odds. She should be happy with that.
“I didn’t know I’d get so big so quickly, Mammy.” I’m stroking my growing stomach with love, grinning at her like a fool as I do.
“You’re five months pregnant, of course you’re going to get bigger. Maggie’s daughter looked like a beached whale at three months.” She makes an over-exaggerated hand gesture showing how big that was, and I stifle an eye roll at her theatrics. “I suppose I should be grateful you’ve not reached those proportions just yet.” She looks me over with a critical eye. “You can’t even tell you're pregnant from the back.” Wow, a compliment. I’m not a beached whale. “I’m just thankful Liam is looking past it all. He always liked you, but that boy needs a medal to take you on.” She just can’t help herself. Her head shakes in disgust at me.
What the hell? Have I entered the 1950s? Be thankful? I don’t think so. Take me on? Who are we kidding here?
I spin sharply around to face her, throwing her a dirty look. It just bounces off, don’t know why I bother. I go for sarcasm instead.
“Maybe the money Daddy is paying him will soften the blow. At least the fact I’m pregnant shows him I’m a good breeder. A prize heifer. Put me in the show ring with a red rosette and call me Daisy.”
“Don’t you dare speak of your father like that. He has not paid him, he has only increased his salary due to the extraworkload he will do when you go on maternity leave. I know you’ll change your mind and not come back after you’ve had this baby. Liam’s keen to get you pregnant again in no time with a real baby.”
The edge in her voice pushes me over the brink. I was happy to go for sarcastic banter—it’s her norm—but now she’s edged into nasty.
I slam down the glass, spinning on my heels. She baulks when she realises her mistake. Too late. I point my index finger at her. “One more word, Mammy, and I will pull out of this ridiculous farce. I don’t need a husband. I have the means and ability to do this on my own. If I wanted a husband, I would have got one. They’re queuing up to take on an heiress. Gold digging, for your information, is not solely a female pursuit, regardless of all the stereotypes.”
Still glaring at her, I stomp across the room to refill my water. “And I will be taking my place at the head of this family business. I have not slogged my guts out for my degrees and doctorate to sit back and let those boys ruin Grams’s legacy. It’s already a shit show.”
“Aoife, language,” she says faintly. She’s going to pass out again. Good. She may be quiet for a few minutes. I wouldn’t revive her.
“I blame your father. He was too lenient. Always filling your head with business strategy. This whiskey company will be the death of my family. Your father’s health is suffering due to its issues.” She’s flapping her hands at her face. “Then you come back from New York, pregnant by asperm donor.” She raises the back of her hand to her forehead in an overly dramatic move. “I had to look it up. Maggie and I had never heard of the term.”
