Chapter 4
four
CIAR
Ciar was pissed. Furious that he hadn’t insisted to his boss that he needed to cancel tonight’s dinner. He might have touted the evening to Gray as a business meeting, but the spoiled princess from Saudi Arabia on his arm would call it something else.
Anders, the sonofabitch, had ordered him weeks ago to make sure Daria Khan enjoyed the evening.
Her father was a wealthy royal who made his money in technology.
He planned on buying up as much of Old Oak & Park Royal in West London as possible.
Old Oak & Park Royal was one of three of London’s largest industrial boroughs.
If his boss landed that account, the entire firm could retire filthy rich in a few years.
So, he understood why the “date” was important.
Usually, he wouldn’t even blink at the ask, but sitting next to a woman in a romantically lit dining room when that woman wasn’t Gray was incredibly distasteful and felt like cheating even though he and Gray weren’t dating. Not exactly.
He was only required to chat her up, feed her ego, ply her with drinks, and make her believe he worshiped every insipid word that puked from her mouth.
He didn’t have to touch her, but she seemed eager and willing to touch him. From the moment his car had picked her up from the Fitzwilliam, she had treated him like a paid escort instead of the highly sought-after real estate mogul he was.
At least he’d made her fly to Dublin instead of taking her out in London, which is what she’d wanted. He’d done his research on her socials. She would have tried to drag him to one of London’s notorious after-hours clubs, where drugs and public sex were encouraged.
He didn’t do drugs, and though he’d been relatively open to sexual encounters where maybe a few wandering eyes might have watched, he was not interested in exploring any kink with the self-absorbed woman doing her damnedest to get her long-nailed, spindly fingers as close to his flaccid dick as possible.
He’d been sick for two days over tonight, and every time he’d texted Gray about his “boring” dinner meeting, he felt worse. He’d dreamed of her for two years, and to suddenly have the chance of having her for himself—he didn’t want to screw it up.
While Daria was ordering another disgustingly sweet mixed drink, he slipped his phone from his pocket and quickly texted Anders. Never again. Then he texted Gray.
Ciar: How’s dinner going? I can’t wait for you to call me later.
While he watched the waving dots for her response, Daria slid her hand once again over his thigh. Her hand felt like a crab’s pincer.
“I need to take some pics for IG. Here and in the back of the car. My assistant will meet us after dinner. She’s much better at getting the lighting right.”
He was about to tell her he wasn’t interested while watching the waving dots still wave on Gray’s end.
When he pulled his eyes from the screen to ask Daria to fuck off in as PG a way as he could manage, he instead watched in frozen horror as a smiling Josephine MacGregor and her scowling husband stopped beside his table.
The married couple parted…Gray. Oh Christ, Gray. She was holding her phone, her eyes riveted to Daria’s hand, practically molesting his crotch with a look of utter devastation on her beautiful face.
“Ciar, what a surprise. Gray was just telling her dad and me about your Colorado trip. How fun for everyone.” And then, because Josephine unfortunately had manners, she turned to Daria, whose fake nails were still in ball tickling distance, stuck her hand out, and said, “I’m Josephine O’Connor,” then looked at MacGregor, “this is my husband, Thomas, and my daughter Gray,” she added, tugging Gray forward.
Daria, true to her nature, said, “A pleasure, but I’m sure I’ve never heard of you.”
MacGregor was not a man to take someone insulting his wife and daughter lightly. The look he was throwing at Ciar was brutal and promised consequences. He couldn’t even care, so sick about Gray witnessing the travesty at his table, he couldn’t think.
He finally blurted out, “It’s very good to see you. Josephine. MacGregor.” He nodded to them both before meeting the steely gray eyes of Gray. “Gray.”
Where her face, a moment ago, had exposed her hurt, it was now blank. No emotion. No anything.
MacGregor glanced at his wife’s confused face and then at his daughter, who had yet to respond. The giant Scotsman’s body stiffened further if that was even possible.
“We’ll take our leave, Murphy.” Gathering his women, he gave Daria a cursory glance, barely containing an impressive sneer of dislike, before leading them away.
Finally pulling his head from his ass, Ciar pulled Daria’s claw from his thigh and placed it on her own. “No pictures. I can suggest a few places you and your assistant might like to check out later that are sure to get you thousands of likes.”
Her unintelligent eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, all the awkwardness of the past three minutes forgotten with the promise of gaining new IG followers.
Seventy-two minutes had passed since he’d quite possibly screwed up every chance he’d had with Gray.
He kicked Daria to the curb, literally, at Fitzwilliam’s posh entrance and had the driver take him directly home.
He’d been tight fisting his phone since the moment Gray had stood over his table. The situation was bad, dire, absolutely catastrophic. He wasn’t an ignorant man. He lied. She caught him. Even though he had no plans further than dinner, she would never believe him after what she saw.
He realized he was sawing in breaths, the closest he’d ever come to what must be a panic attack.
He ripped the front door open and stormed through the living room where Daniel and Jonathan were watching a rugby match on television.
He ignored their questions and went straight to his bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him in case his two roommates decided they wanted to come in for a chat.
Shedding his dinner jacket and unbuttoning his dress shirt at the neck so he could breathe, he sat on his bed and stared at his phone.
She wouldn’t answer. He knew she wouldn’t.
He’d never felt frantic over a woman. Panicked. But Jesus, the look in her eyes flayed him. She had the ability to hurt him, physically and mentally. She just didn’t know it.
His hands shook as he brought up their text thread.
Ciar: I know it looked bad, Gray. Meet me. Let me come over. Let me explain. I promise what you saw isn’t what it really was. Please.
He watched his screen until the sun brightened the sky. Silence, the most damning of replies, met his plea.