Page 39 of Arranged Control
He gives me a tight frown. “It’s your wife.”
I glare at him before turning to the steps. What the hell is Alina doing here? And how did she know where I was?
Finn, that bastard.
I gave him one simple job. Keep an eye on my wife until I can assign a more permanent guard duty.
It should’ve been simple. Beneath him, really. But Finn’s usually eager to help out however he can.
Only the bastard sent her here to my personal bar and home base instead.
Which is like the opposite of keeping her safe.
I storm up the steps. Neal stays below with our friend. Saint Stephen’s is quiet this early. Regulars are stacked at the bar watching European soccer and drinking Guinnesses. My bartender Cathy’s chatting them up and passing around baskets of salty fries. Nobody pays me any mind, much less says anything about the blood on my fists and on my shirt. They know better than to notice things they shouldn’t.
My wife is sitting behind the desk in my office. She’s squinting at my computer, one finger tapping lightly at her pouty lower lip while the other’s clicking around through my files.
“Who the hell organized your receipts?” she asks, shaking her head with disgust. “Don’t tell me you’re doing this yourself.”
I take a breath. God, if she weren’t so fucking pretty right now, I might actually be angry. “Believe it or not, this bar’s been open for twenty years, and it’ll be open for twenty more.”
“Not if you keep this up. My god, the accounting in here is a total mess. Seriously, who keeps your books?”
“There are a few of us.” Which is partially true. It’s mostly me, but Cathy helps out sometimes. “I take it things with Finn didn’t go well.”
She leans back in the chair and glares at me. “He’s ruining my day.”
I can’t help but laugh. What an absurd way to put it. First, the girl comes in here and starts criticizing my organizational skills, which is fair because I’m shit at it, but now she’s complaining abouther day.
“Your day would be much worse if whoever’s been killing people decides to put a bullet in your head.”
“I don’t know. After seeing this—” She waves a hand at my computer. “A bullet to the skull might be nice.”
“You really are uptight and obsessive, aren’t you?”
“And you’re a flighty pain in my butt. You really can’t communicate, can you?”
“I have no problem communicating. It’s just that my wife is unreasonable and I don’t enjoy wasting my time.”
She snorts and shakes her head. Her anger’s kind of cute. Except I’m annoyed too and past the point of thinking this is adorable.
“I want Finn out of my store. He’s scaring away my customers.”
“I have a feeling your store will survive. I’m sure daddy’s money will keep it afloat.”
Her expression instantly hardens. I realize I just crossed a line, but I’m not sure why.
“Sistine isn’t some joke to me. I work hard to keep that place open.”
“I never said you didn’t.”
“No, you’re just acting like my boutique is some stupid distraction. I already know you think it, you made that clear before. It didn’t bother me, because who cares what you think, but now your brother’s making trouble. I need him gone, Seamus.”
“He’s there to keep you safe until I can come up with a more permanent solution.”
“I’m fine. Sistine’s in a safe neighborhood.”
“You’re fine because Finn’s there making sure nobody walks in and cuts your throat open. I get it, he’s making the bougie ladies uncomfortable, but you’ll survive. Finn stays.”
