33. Aoife
Aoife
The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses greet me as I step into the hotel bar. The warm glow of pendant lights reflects off polished wood. The faint scent of whiskey and hops lingers in the air.
I spot Cian immediately. He’s nursing a whiskey at the far end of the mahogany bar. He looks effortlessly at ease, his dark suit crisp despite the late hour. A glass of whisky sits in front of him, half empty. My heels click against the floor as I make my way across the room.
He glances up as I approach. “Well, this is unexpected,” he says, a slow smile spreading across his lips as I slide onto the stool beside him.
“Is it?” I ask lightly, catching the bartender’s attention with a wave of my hand. “I figured you might be here.”
His brow arches, curiosity dancing in his expression. “What gave me away?”
I don’t answer immediately, instead ordering a Guinness. A choice that earns me an approving nod from the bartender and a chuckle from Cian.
“Aoife Quigley, drinking a Guinness,” he says, leaning back slightly, his eyes lingering on me. “I never would’ve guessed that’d be your drink of choice.”
I let a smile tug at my lips as I angle my body toward him. “And you? Whiskey, I assume? Neat because you like to keep things simple.”
His grin widens. “You already have me figured out.”
“Do I?” I ask, tilting my head slightly, feigning innocence.
“So, tell me, what brings you here?” he asks, his tone light. But the calculating intensity in his eyes tells me he’s assessing everything. “It’s a long way from the protective reach of your family.”
I shrug, taking a sip of my beer before answering. “I have some friends in the area, and honestly, I needed some breathing room from my brother’s overbearing drama.”
Cian lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Let me guess, Ruairi isn’t exactly thrilled with letting you make your own decisions.”
“He’s convinced he knows what’s best for everyone. It’s exhausting,” I say, rolling my eyes for effect. “I had to get away before he smothered me completely.”
“And you picked this hotel? Out of all the places you could’ve gone?”
“A friend invited me to a party here,” I say, crafting my lie with ease. “While I was here, I saw a hiring notice. Figured I’d take a chance and apply. I didn’t think I’d actually get the job, but they hired me right away. They even included my room as part of the package.”
Cian’s expression is thoughtful, but I can see the hint of skepticism in his eyes. He doesn’t trust coincidences, and neither do I.
“Interesting,” he says, his tone measured. “Sounds like you’ve landed on your feet.”
“Luck, I guess,” I reply with a slight shrug, taking another sip of my beer.
He studies me for a moment longer before setting his glass down. “Let me buy you dinner,” he says, his voice smooth. “I’m afraid we didn’t get off on the right foot last time we shared a meal.”
I pretend to hesitate, glancing toward the restaurant before nodding. “Sure, why not?”
As we stand, he places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the restaurant with a possessive ease that sets my nerves on edge. I let him, though, leaning into the act, playing my part. His touch is firm, deliberate, as if staking a claim.
Once we’re seated, the conversation flows easily. At least on the surface. Cian orders a bottle of wine without asking for my opinion, a bold move that feels in line with everything about him. I don’t comment. Instead, I pretend to study the menu as he shifts the topic back to the hotel.
“So,” he says, leaning back in his chair, his tone casual but his attention focused. “Do you know much about the owner of this place?”
I glance up, feigning mild curiosity. “The hiring manager mentioned it,” I lie smoothly. “éanna, Eirnin, or something like that. Why?”
His lips curl into a small, knowing smirk. “You’re working here, staying here, and you don’t know who signs the checks?”
I shrug, my eyes returning to the menu. “Not everyone’s as suspicious as you. Besides, everything’s direct deposit these days. I don’t even see a physical paycheck.”
Before he can respond, the server arrives with the wine, presenting the bottle with a flourish. Cian nods in approval, and they pour a small taste for him to try. He swirls it expertly before taking a sip, his expression shifting to one of satisfaction.
“This will do,” he says, gesturing for the server to pour.
The wine is rich and velvety, its warmth lingering on my tongue as I take a sip. The server lingers just long enough to take our orders before disappearing, leaving us alone once more.
Cian leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, his expression suddenly more serious. “You don’t find it strange that this hotel, with this particular owner, just happened to hire you? Seems like an odd coincidence, don’t you think?”
I raise a brow, pretending to fumble slightly. “I’m not sure I follow. What’s so strange about it?”
He watches me closely as if waiting for me to slip. “The owner,” he says slowly, as though revealing a secret. “Eamon O’Sullivan. Does that name ring any bells?”
I tilt my head as though trying to place it. “Eamon?” I echo, dragging out the name like I’m racking my brain. “That might be the name she said. Why does it matter?”
Cian chuckles, clearly enjoying my act of cluelessness. “Eamon O’Sullivan is your brother’s enemy. They’ve been at war for months now. You really didn’t know?”
I widen my eyes, putting on a perfect show of surprise. “Why would I,” I ask, shaking my head. “You worked for my father and now my brother. You know as well as I do that I’ve never been involved in that side of things.”
He leans back, clearly pleased with himself, and takes another sip of wine. “Well, now you know. And maybe now you’ll understand why I find it interesting that you’re working here. You can’t tell me it’s a coincidence, Aoife.”
I force a dry laugh, waving my hand dismissively.
“You’re overthinking this. My brother doesn’t tell me anything.
He thinks I’m too weak to handle any of it,” I say, letting frustration creep into my tone.
“I didn’t even know this guy existed until just now.
Honestly, I don’t care what Ruairi and Eamon are fighting about.
Let them sort it out. It’s not my problem. ”
My nonchalance seems to convince him, his shoulders relaxing as he nods. “Fair enough,” he says, lifting his glass in a toast. “To new beginnings and whatever trouble they bring.”
To new beginnings,” I echo, with the faintest smile, clinking my glass against his.
Throughout dinner, I put on a show, laughing at his jokes, leaning in just enough to keep his attention, and letting my gaze linger on him a moment too long.
By the time we finish, I can tell he’s hooked, convinced that I’m nothing more than a bored, sheltered woman trying to escape her brother’s shadow.
As we walk back toward the elevators, his hand once again finds the small of my back, his touch even more possessive this time. He leans in, his voice low. “Come to my room for a drink.”
I pause, letting just enough hesitation show to make it believable. Then I smile. “Sure. Why not?”
Even as I say it, I can already picture Eamon’s reaction when he finds out. He’s going to lose his mind. But I’ll deal with that later. Right now, I have a role to play, and I’m going to play it perfectly.