Chapter 3
3
MICKEY
R ory doesn’t ask for much. I count on him, and when he talks I listen. So, when he tells me his little sister’s in town and could use a job to get back on her feet, I make it my business.
“You think she can wait tables?” I ask him.
“Probably. She’s been out in California, did her degree in accounting.”
“Oh, a math whiz,” I whistle. “Is she any good at counting cards?” I’m joking but Rory scowls. “I’m kidding, man,” I say.
“I don’t want her part of anything crooked,” he says, and there’s something like shame in his voice.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I just don’t want her mixed up in any of this. It’d tear me up if she got hurt. I know it’s shitty to ask for your help and then tell you how to help, but I don’t want her working on anything that’s not on the up and up, you know?”
“Makes sense to me,” I shrug. “No counting cards, no cooking the books, or running odds on shady shit. Got it.”
“Thanks,” Rory says.
“I’ll see if they need any help at the Oyster,” I say, naming my most successful legal gambling joint.
By that afternoon, I’ve got a job lined up for her. I have my secretary give her a call to have an interview with me. I haven’t seen this kid in years, and I get a kick out of the fact that I’m hiring Rory’s baby sister to do math for me. When she strolls into my office, she doesn’t look a thing like I remember and I’m momentarily at a loss for words.
If Edna hadn’t just buzzed my office to say Mary Kathryn Donahue was here to see me, I’d never have recognized her. She has the strawberry blonde hair I remember, but it’s in sleek waves past her shoulders, not in a messy ponytail.
“Katie Donahue,” I say and hold out my hand.
“It’s Kate now,” she says. “I gave up Katie when I went to college. Thanks for making time to see me. I have my resume here.” She holds out not a sheet of paper but an iPad.
This is a formality, but if she wants me to look at her resume, I will. I tap the screen and see her master’s degree in accounting, her grades and honors, her work experience. She’s done some part time work in the nonprofit sector and did freelance bookkeeping and budgeting for some small businesses.
“Have a seat,” I say. “Tell me how you’ve been.” I set the tablet on my desk.
Instead of returning to my chair behind the desk, I lean against the corner, keeping close to her as she takes a seat. Fuck me, she’s wearing a skirt. Katie Donahue is all long smooth legs and it makes my heart hammer everywhere at once. My pulse is jumping, and I watch her breathe in and out with more interest than I should.
She’s telling me about college, her time learning to communicate with a Ukrainian family displaced by war. I try to imagine her learning Ukrainian or Russian or whatever they speak, but all I can do is make my breath saw in and out, chest heaving like I’ve run a mile, because I can almost feel her legs around me.
Holy shit, this isn’t part of the plan. I try to shake it off. She’s my best friend’s baby sister. I can’t allow myself to imagine railing her against the wall, over my desk, right there with her back pressed against the window.
I’m supposed to be listening, not planning where I’ll take her to seduce her to get those long legs over my shoulders. My skin is overheated, and I rake a hand through my hair, making it a bit of a mess, but I’m trying to hold it together. Any second she’s going to notice I’m acting weird, looking at her too intently. I struggle to follow the story. It’s not Ukrainians anymore. It’s about finding and eliminating redundant expenses. I nod, able to appreciate the value of that.
She arches her back, rubs her neck once, not in complaint, but because I think she’s restless. “So, you always wear a suit now?” She asks.
I shrug in response. “When I took over, it made sense to dress the part. If I was in my old Levis and a Red Sox shirt, nobody would take me seriously. I couldn’t get a meeting with half these charities.”
“That’s what it is now? Charity?” She asks archly.
“I do what I can.”
“I bet,” she says.
“What about you? Did you run around LA in a skirt and heels?”
“No, but I did freelance work from home mostly. You don’t want to see me come in here in my pajamas do you? That won’t get me a job. It’s like you said. Nobody would take me seriously if I didn’t look the part.”
“Your skirt’s too short for an interview,” I say, and I sound like a grumpy old man. She grins.
“You think so? I guess by Boston standards you’re right. Sister Mary Agnes used to make me prove my hem was as long as my fingertips if I put my arms down to my sides.” She’s smiling and it’s like getting an arrow to the chest.
“I sound like a nun now?”
“Maybe a little,” she says. “You’re just not used to seeing me grown up. Besides, I’m not applying to be the accountant for a parochial school, Mickey. Or do I call you Mr. O’Halloran? I forgot you’re the head of the family now. Do I kiss your ring?” She teases.
The idea of her bending or kneeling to kiss anything of mine chokes off my air. I can’t begin to answer her for a second. I have to get a drink of water before I do.
“You’re thinking about the pope, love. I’m a sinner through and through.”
“Are you now? I thought when I was a kid that you were the good one and Rory was the troublemaker.”
“That’s not far off from the truth,” I admit. “But he’s grown up some since those days and I screwed up plenty on my own. The only thing that kept me out of real trouble I think I was always too aware that there were eyes on me. I was the heir apparent and if I acted a fool, if I didn’t stay in line, that could cost me. The territory, the respect and security from these people. It’s worth too much to take risks.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re the head of the Irish organization in Boston. You run a huge gaming industry both legitimate and otherwise, and you don’t like risks?” She looks at me in disbelief.
“You could say that,” I reply, uncomfortable. I’m trying to act normal in spite of my reaction to her, but I’m failing miserably. I’m about to sweat to death in this dumb suit. I take off my jacket and unfasten my cuffs. I’m rolling up my sleeves when she gets to her feet.
“I won’t take up any more of your time,” she says abruptly. “I appreciate you giving me a job. I know it’s a courtesy to Rory, and I’m going to be mindful of that. I’m excellent at what I do, and I’m not going to let you down. It was—good to see you again,” she finishes a little awkwardly.
Then, as I live and breathe, Mary Kathryn Donahue, grown up baby sister of my top lieutenant and best friend, steps way too close to me, lifts on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek.
For a second, electric current rips down my spine and my vision goes spotty at the edges. Even in her heels, I’m too tall for her, because she sways a little toward me, and I steady her. I don’t do it right, I don’t catch her elbow and set her on her feet nice and politely. Instead, I get her around the waist and hold her still, against me.
I’m about two seconds from crushing her to my chest, breathing her in. She shouldn’t have kissed my cheek, because I’m going to replay that moment tonight along with the soft pillowy lips, the cute swell of her ass in that skirt. I hold her against me for a moment, close enough that I can see the skittering pulse in her neck She looks up to meet my eyes. I can see her pupils blown wide, her nervous energy.
She’s so hot, the warmth of her skin, the flush on her cheeks that looks fevered, the way she steadies herself with a hand on my shoulder that is searing through my shirt to practically scorch the skin underneath. She sinks her teeth into her glossy bottom lip and steps back a little.
“So, thanks again for the job,” she says, straightening herself and smoothing her hair.
I want her in every way that a man wants a woman, and that’s impossible. I shouldn’t have had her come downtown for a meeting. I could’ve just texted her brother the address of her job. That’s what I’ll do from now on. I’ll just contact Rory about her work and they can handle it from there. Otherwise, I’ll push that skirt up and fuck her senseless before she has time to react.
“Yeah, no problem. Good to see you.”
With that, she practically runs from my office, and I let a ragged breath out of my chest. Fuck me, she is going to be the death of me if I don’t get it together.
As soon as she leaves, I notice the floral scent of her perfume, the way my palms remember touching her. All I know is everyone will be better off if I steer clear of Rory Donahue’s little sister.