Page 5 of The Matchmaker
I lose that train of thought as what little energy is left in my brain zeroes in on a small group of people walking toward us.
Even with the hard hats adorning their heads, they immediately stand out from the rest of the workers. These people are dressed for the boardroom in expensive corporate clothing and shiny shoes. But it’s not the outfits that catch my attention, not the woman with the microphone, or the camera balanced on one of the men’s shoulders. It’s the man they’re both focused on, the one leading the pack as he comes to a halt nearby and starts to talk.
Young and handsome in that bland way all rich people are, I wouldn’t have given him a second glance if not for the fact that his face has been plastered all over the leaflets that arrive through our front door every week. Leaflets that many of my neighbors have started taping to the pub dartboards to practice their aim. Sure, the guy looks different without his eyes crossed out and a dart sticking out of his mouth, but I recognize him instantly.
And I know he’s the one in charge.
“Mind your step,” Callum calls. “It’s muddy here.” He glances over his shoulder when I don’t respond, stopping when he realizes I’m no longer following him. “Let’s go,” he prompts, a slight warning in his voice, but I don’t pay any attention to it or to him, too distracted by the newcomers.
“Do you thinkhecan help?” I ask, as they approach.
“No.” The word is firm, and yet I take a slow sidestep, testing my guard’s reflexes.
“Maybe I should ask him and check.”
“Maybe you should—hey!”
Callum’s shout draws the attention of several people around us, and I break into a short run as he lunges after me.
“You,” I say, as Blondie turns at the commotion. “Leaflet guy.”
“Leaflet— what?” The man steps back, as if being too close to me might give him some sort of disease. “Can I help you?”
“You can,” I say, as Callum comes to a stop behind me. “How about you start by getting out of my village?”
“Your village?” He doesn’t seem to have heard me, too busy staring at my pajama pants. “Callum?”
“I’m sorry, Jack,” Callum says, and the man’s name suddenly comes to me.Jack Doyle. A managing director of Glenmill. The one who’d bought the land for them in the first place. “She was just leaving.”
“No, she wasn’t,” I say, standing my ground despite the increasing number of people side-eyeing us as they go past. Jack notices them too, his bafflement smoothing into professionalism as he recovers like a pro.
“I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”
“Katie Collins. And I—”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Katie.” He grabs my hand and shakes it until I jerk away. “I’m going to guess you’re from Ennisbawn?”
“Yes. And I—”
“You know, the community here is one of the primary reasons we chose this area,” he continues, his voice rising as the cameraman angles the shot slightly, taking him in. “As well as the wealth of natural beauty, it’s really the people that make it so—”
“Are youhigh?”
Callum makes a pained noise from somewhere over my shoulder, as Jack’s gaze narrows on me.
“You don’t care about the community,” I say, jabbing a finger through the air. “You don’t want anything to do with us. You don’t even talk to us.”
“I have to disagree. We’re in constant communication with—”
“Dropping letters through our doors is not communication, it’s junk mail.” I step in front of him, vaguely aware of Callum trying to snatch me back as I move in view of the camera. “Glenmill doesn’t answer our emails or our calls, and the only thing you’re doing is taking away land until there’ll be nothing left. That’s all you want and that’s all you care about, and I’m not putting up with it anymore. A girl needs her sleep!”
“Her what?”
“She wants to talk to someone about the noise levels,” Callum explains. “Something about her bones.”
Jack stares at him, but my attention has shifted to the woman with the microphone, who’s watching us like a soap opera.
“I can give you an interview,” I say, focusing on her and her shiny black bob. “Lots of people can. We’ve been trying to get ahold of the press for months. If you just let me go back and get dressed, we can—”
