29. Aoife
Aoife
The lobby of the Emerald Briar hums with late afternoon activity.
Guests filter in through the revolving doors, the quiet click of polished shoes echoing against marble floors.
The soft whir of suitcase wheels trail behind them, blending with low conversation and the occasional chime of the elevator.
Sunlight slants in through the tall windows, casting warm streaks across the glossy check-in counter where I stand.
I finish processing a reservation for a couple from Spain, sliding them their room keys with a practiced smile. Their gratitude is polite yet distant. They’re already eager to disappear into the elevator and begin whatever version of their escape brought them here.
I’ve never held a job before this. Not because I wasn’t capable but because I wasn’t allowed.
Da’s priority was keeping me hidden, sheltered from the public eye like a secret too dangerous to share.
For years, I told myself it was for my own protection.
Now, as I stand beneath a chandelier of cut glass and gold trim, I’m anything but hidden.
Working the front desk at the hotel isn’t glamorous, but there’s something grounding about it—something real. Surprisingly, I like it more than I expected. There’s comfort in the structure, the repetition. Here, I’m not a Quigley. I’m just Aoife, and that feels like power in its own right.
Eamon told me he conducts a lot of his Syndicate business here—that behind the elegant facade, this hotel is as much a stronghold as it is a sanctuary. But so far, I’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary. Just business people, tourists, and whispered conversations in the bar. Everything feels normal.
At least, it does until I sense the shift.
From the corner of my eye, movement draws my attention—deliberate, confident.
I glance up just as Eamon strides across the lobby, every step precise, purposeful.
His dark suit fits him too well. His mere presence turns heads.
Including mine. My stomach flips in that infuriating way it always does when he’s near.
“Ms. Quigley,” he says as he stops in front of the desk, his tone smooth and teasing. His gaze locks onto mine, his smile lazy but deliberate, like he knows exactly how much attention he’s drawing.
“Mr. O’Sullivan,” I reply, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. “Is this a professional visit, or are you here to cause trouble?”
His smile deepens as he leans casually against the counter, his eyes never leaving mine. “Can’t it be both?”
From the corner of my eye, I catch the two women working beside me freeze in place. They’re watching us, their wide-eyed stares bouncing between Eamon and me like they can’t believe what they’re seeing.
Eamon doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. His full attention stays locked on me. The air between us hums with something that feels far too private despite the public setting.
I arch a brow, playing along. “You’d better be careful. Trouble has a way of backfiring when you least expect it.”
“Backfiring, huh?” he says, his tone laced with amusement. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
“You always do,” I shoot back, my voice light but pointed.
He chuckles a low sound that draws even more attention from the women. I can feel their stares and practically hear what they’re whispering to each other.
“I was actually here to check on you,” he says, leaning in, his voice dropping just enough to make the moment feel private despite the public setting. “How’s the shift going?”
“Fine,” I say, shrugging as I glance at the line of guests waiting to check in. “Busy.”
He studies me for a long minute. “And here I thought I hired you to keep things under control. Surely you can handle it?”
I smile, folding my arms. “Oh, I can handle it. Question is, can you handle not micromanaging for once?”
His grin sharpens, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “Fair point. But I’m not here to micromanage. I’m here to tell you you’re not working late tonight.”
I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he says, his confidence maddening. “You’re not working late. I’m taking you out tonight.”
“Some of us have responsibilities,” I counter, lifting my chin. “One of the girls called off. I’m covering for her.”
“There are plenty of people here who can take over,” he replies smoothly. “And besides, I’m the boss. That means you have to listen to me.”
I narrow my eyes, fighting the urge to laugh. “Pulling rank, are we?”
“Absolutely,” he says, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “Wrap things up. I’ll expect you upstairs shortly.”
I shake my head, biting back a smile. “Fine, but only because I don’t want to hear you whine about it later.”
Behind me, my coworkers whisper in clipped, hushed voices. It’s the unmistakable sound of scandal being shaped. Of women deciding I didn’t earn this job, I fucked my way into it.
“Of course she’s sleeping with him,” one of them mutters. “She wouldn’t have gotten the job otherwise.”
“She probably thinks she’s untouchable now,” the other adds, her voice dripping with venom.
I turn slowly, my lips curving into a sweet, yet dangerous smile. “If you’ve got something to say, ladies, go ahead and spit it out. I’d hate to think you didn’t have the backbone to say it to my face.” My tone is calm, almost pleasant, but the edge beneath it is unmistakable.
They both blanch, stammering some excuse about getting back to work. I turn back to the desk, spine straight, their words falling off me like rain on glass.
After making sure the last guests are checked in and that my coworkers aren’t left juggling a line, I finally step away from the desk. The polished professionalism I wore all afternoon slips the moment I’m alone in the elevator.
The ride feels slower than usual, each floor crawling by, the soft hum of the machinery too quiet to distract me from the echo of their voices. Whispered judgment. Thinly veiled insinuations. Words not meant for me to hear but designed to cut just the same.
I know I handled it. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t snap. I stood tall and let their silence say more than any defense I could have offered. And still, it stings.
Because no matter how capable I prove myself to be, there will always be someone waiting to tear me down. To reduce me to gossip. To pretend power was something I was handed, not something I seized.
I’m not fragile. I know that. But tonight, their words burrow deeper than I want to admit.
Eamon is waiting when I step inside, his jacket off, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up.
He looks up, and the moment his eyes land on me, his demeanor changes. “What’s
wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head as I kick off my heels.
“Try again,” he says, stepping closer.
I sigh, crossing my arms. “It’s nothing worth worrying about.”
His brow lifts. “Aoife.”
I relent, knowing he won’t let it go. “The girls at the desk made some comments after you left.”
“What kind of comments?”
“Implying I only got the job because I’m sleeping with you.”
“They’re fired.” His tone is cold, final.
“That’ll only make it worse. I handled it, and I’ll keep handling it,” I say firmly.
“No one disrespects you and gets away with it.”
“You will not be fighting my battles for me,” I say, meeting his gaze with determination. “I’m not weak.”
“No, you’re not,” he says and lifts me onto the kitchen counter. “You’re incredible.” His mouth captures mine in a kiss that steals my breath. “And you’re mine,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Yours,” I whisper back, my fingers tangling in his hair.
The tension from the day dissolves as the fire between us takes over, raw and consuming. Nothing else matters. Not the whispers, not the world outside. Just this.
His hands grip my thighs, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter as his lips trail fire down my neck.
The roughness of his stubble against my skin sends desire straight to my core.
His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my hips, and I gasp as he pushes my skirt up, the cool air brushing against my bare skin.
“God, Aoife,” he breathes, his voice low and ragged. His hands slide higher, expecting lace but finding bare skin. “No knickers?” he murmurs, his eyes dark with hunger drag over me like a slow caress. “Jesus, you’re trying to kill me.”
The shift in him is immediate—need rising, sharp and consuming, and all of it aimed at me.
His hand slides between my thighs, his finger stroking me with a confidence that leaves me trembling.
My back arches, a moan slipping from my lips as his mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation.
“You’re so wet for me.” His voice is rough and sends a shiver through me.
His touch is unrelenting as he circles my clit, pressing and teasing until my hips instinctively move toward him, desperate for more. He slides two fingers inside me and curls them just right, hitting a spot that makes me cry out.
His lips graze my ear. “You’re fucking perfect, Aoife,” he says, his breath hot against my skin. “I could spend all night driving you to the edge just to hear those sounds you make when you fall apart for me.”
I can only nod, my hands clutching his shoulders as he increases his pace, his thumb brushing over my clit, making my legs shake and my mind blur with pleasure. My body burns with a need only he can satisfy.
When I can’t take it anymore, I tug at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons in my desperation.
He pulls back just long enough to shrug out of it.
My hands roam over him, tracing the ridges of his defined abs and the lines of his tattoos, my nails scraping lightly over his chest. He shoves his slacks down in one swift motion, his movements precise and brimming with raw, controlled power.
When he’s free, he positions himself between my thighs, his hard cock pressing against me, teasing. “I need you,” I say as I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
“Say it again,” he demands, his hands gripping my waist. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to fuck me, Eamon,” I moan, my head falling back as he fills me completely.
He doesn’t hold back, his thrusts are hard and deep. His grip on my hips tightens, his fingers digging into my skin as he drives me higher.
“You’re mine, Aoife,” he growls, his voice low and commanding. “Every inch of you.”
I meet him thrust for thrust, my nails raking down his back as the pleasure builds, spiraling out of control. His mouth finds mine again, his kiss all-consuming, as if he’s trying to claim me in every possible way.
When I shatter, it’s like a dam breaking, the pleasure crashing over me in waves. I cry out his name, my body trembling against his as he continues to drive into me, pushing me through the high.
Moments later, he follows, his rhythm faltering as he groans my name, his release spilling into me as his grip on my hips holds me firmly in place.
We stay like that for a moment, both of us breathing heavily. His forehead rests against mine, his hands softening their grip but still holding me close.
“No one disrespects what’s mine, Aoife. Not ever.”
The raw promise in his tone sends a shiver down my spine, and as his lips brush mine again, I know he means every word.
“I can handle myself,” I whisper, my fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest, trying to hold on to some semblance of control.
“I know,” he murmurs, his hand cupping my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t fight for you. Always.”
There’s no arguing with the certainty in his eyes, so I don’t try.
He presses one last kiss to my lips before easing me down from the counter. “You should get ready. We have reservations for dinner.”
“I think we should stay in,” I murmur, the words soft but suggestive, more invitation than suggestion.
His gaze darkens as his lips curve into a knowing smile. “Tempting, but no.”
“No?” I ask, feigning disappointment.
“We’re meeting someone,” he says firmly.
“Someone more important than me?”
His lips brush against my ear. “Not possible. But it’s important we make a public appearance this evening.”
That gets my attention, though I don’t let it show. Instead, I step back, giving him a mock pout. “Fine,” I say, my tone velvet-soft. “But you owe me for every second I’m not on my knees, showing you exactly how good staying in could’ve been.”
“Whatever you want,” he says, his tone laced with promise before slapping my ass lightly. “Now go. Don’t keep me waiting.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as I head toward the bedroom. His gaze lingers on me the entire way.
As I close the door behind me, the smile slips from my face, replaced by unease. Eamon doesn’t do anything without a purpose, and whatever tonight is about, it’s clear it’s not just a simple dinner.
Still, I don’t push him. Not yet. He’ll tell me when he’s ready, or he won’t. Either way, the truth will come out soon enough.