Page 42 of Arranged Addiction
“Not yet.”
“You will be soon. Go ahead and cry. I’ll stay here.”
I take him up on the offer.
It doesn’t take much to set me off these days.
True to his word, Declan doesn’t run off. I release some of my pent-up emotions while he continues to rub my feet. When I calm down again, I eat my sandwich and we stare at the TV together. I can tell this isn’t what he wants to do, but he’s still here with me anyway.
That counts for something.
Chapter 13
Declan
The conference room table is covered in files, folders, and books. The fan in my laptop works double time as I scroll through my endless feed of emails and memos. My head vaguely aches and my legs are tired from sitting.
I want to get out of this place.
Sometimes I think working behind a desk is killing me.
But this is my role in the family. Someone has to be the responsible one. Cormac, Seamus, and Finn are all good men, but they’d never be able to handle this job. I know it’s entirely up to me.
That pressure doesn’t make it easier.
There’s a knock at the door and Casey pokes her head inside. “Mr. Doyle is here to see you.”
I rub my temples and wave at her. “Bring him in.”
She returns a moment later followed by an older man. He’s wearing a suit and looks uncomfortable. His hair is streakedwhite at the temples and he’s frowning deeply as he fidgets at the edge of the table.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Whelan.”
“It’s part of the job. Please, sit down.” I nod at Casey. She quickly exits, leaving me alone with Patrick Doyle.
I’ve known him and his family a long time. They own a string of small dry cleaners scattered throughout New York. They’re clustered in my family’s sphere of influence, and they’ve been dues-paying members of our clan since before I was born. He’s not powerful and he isn’t particularly important, but men like him form the spine of what it means to be a Whelan.
Doyle awkwardly takes a chair and sits across from me. I can tell this is difficult. Years ago, he would’ve held this meeting with my father back at the house, but those days are over. Now when I speak with men like him, I bring them into the office so they can see what the Whelan Clan is these days.
We’re not a bunch of thugs on the street. Although that’s part of what we are. We’re not old-school pubs and bars, although we own plenty of those.
But now we’re also glass high-rises, cubicles with legit employees, and a fleet of legitimate shipping vessels all across the East Coast.
“I didn’t want to take up too much of your time, Mr. Whelan, but I had to come in.” He opens a briefcase and takes out what looks like old-school photographs. “Two days ago, one of my locations was vandalized.”
“Did you report this to my brother?”
“Seamus assigned a few men to look into it for me, but they haven’t come back with much.”
“Did they help you clean up?”
“Oh, they were great. This isn’t about that.” He clears his throat and tries to smile. “You know, for all the years I’ve known you and your family, I’ve never had to do this before.”
“I know. You’ve been very loyal. Let us help if we can.”
He nods, cringing as he turns the pictures toward me. “You should see what they painted all over my walls.”
The image shows a basic dry cleaner. It was clearly taken from the front and shows the counter and the long row of clothing hanging from the moving hooks. But my eye’s drawn to the walls.
