My Obsession (Murphy Enterprises #1)

Chapter 1 Declan

I knock once on the solid door of my father’s office and turn the handle, not waiting for permission to enter. His office is full of heavy, dark furniture, and the scent of a cigar lingers in the air. It’s meant to be intimidating. Well, to everyone but our family.

My father raises a finger, signaling he will be a minute on his call.

My jaw ticks. I take a seat in one of the overstuffed leather chairs in the office’s sitting area.

There is no way in hell I’m sitting in the straight-backed chairs in front of his desk.

If you have the misfortune of being called into Donovan Murphy’s office, not only will your ego get bruised, but so will your ass.

My cell phone vibrates against my thigh, so I pull it out and check my messages. Several messages wait in the group chat with my cousins.

Liam: Anyone up for the club tonight?

Conor: I’m in.

Ronan: No.

Finn: **thumb up emoji**

Me: Yes.

My dad stands to his full six-foot-three height and walks over to the sitting area.

He sits on the leather couch across from me.

He rests his arm across the back, his ankle resting on his knee.

He looks relaxed, but the tight set of his jaw tells me he isn’t.

The smell of his cologne wafts by me, a mix of sandalwood and musk.

Just another hint at his power and presence.

“Would you like to explain to me why a woman is in with the head of HR, crying?”

I study Dad’s face. It’s a close reflection of my own.

“How the fuck would I know?” I ask. “And why would I care?”

“Well, since she is your latest assistant, I figured you could tell me.”

I shrug. “Maybe it’s because I told her she was an idiot the way she handled my schedule.”

“Maybe it was because you told her that in front of several other people in the office. Or maybe it was the fact that you told her—and I quote—“Stop trying to ride my dick.”

I catch the slight tilt to Dad’s mouth. After twenty-six years of him raising me, I know when he finds something amusing that he shouldn’t. He’s in business mode right now. And that means I need to pay attention.

“She deserved it. I told her the truth. She was more concerned with me taking her to the gala than doing her job. I refused to take her out to dinner several times. She would not fucking stop trying to get into my personal life. She wanted to matter to me outside of work. She doesn’t.”

No one outside of my family matters to me. No matter how much my cousins grate on my nerves, we’d all die for each other.

“While I don’t give a fuck about her or her feelings, I do care about public appearances. Need I remind you, Declan, that we do not need to give anyone any reason to investigate anything in our business or family? Now we have a woman claiming sexual harassment.”

“Fuck her. She can claim whatever.” I sit back in my chair. “Is that all?”

My dad doesn’t answer me right away. He cocks his head to the side. “This is a problem you directly caused. So watch your tone. I am letting the lawyers handle it from here. We need to contain the issue.”

“She’s nothing but a gold-digging whore, Dad.” I interrupt him. It’s an irritant that I don’t need. Liars have no place in my world, especially those who threaten what’s mine. “She needs to go.”

“The lawyers are handling it,” he stresses to me. “Expect a visit from HR and Legal. You will cooperate with them. This will need to be handled through the proper channels.”

I can only nod.

“Since this is your third assistant in as many months, the next one is your responsibility. You will interview and hire one. As long as they pass all background and drug tests and are qualified, hire someone you can actually work with.”

“Okay, how hard can that be?” I know I’m not the easiest to work with, I’m exacting, and I hate unnecessary chatter.

“Harder than you might think. You’ve had how many in the past year?”

“It’s not my fault that they have either been inept or after our money,” I say.

He stares at me and then stands, signaling the end of the conversation. I follow suit and head to the door, ready for my weekend to start.

“You’ll be at the house for dinner on Sunday.” It isn’t a question.

“I’ll be there.”

— ? ? ? —

I leave the office and make my way through traffic to my penthouse.

The glass and metal building comes into view.

I own the eighteen-floor apartment building.

It’s a good investment, though I don’t need the money.

Ownership allows me to control the environment that I live in.

Sometimes I’m tempted to cancel every lease, especially when social-climbing tenants want to talk to me.

When I open the door, I’m met with the clean smell of citrus.

I drop my keys in the bowl on the foyer table.

I appreciate the clean lines and minimal decor of my space.

I straighten the slightly off-center bowl before heading to my bedroom.

I quickly strip out of my suit. After a quick shower, I dress in black jeans and a black button-down.

Both are tailored to fit like a second skin.

I add a touch of cologne, and after one look in the floor-length mirror, I head out.

Slipping into my Porsche, I drive the short distance to the club.

I’m irritated by the mess with my former PA and need to relax.

Perfection is packed already. It’s a multilevel club that caters to the upper-class nepo babies and trust fund assholes of our fair city.

I scan the bar area on the lower level as I enter.

Behind it are mirrors so the entitled fucks can look at themselves while they get overpriced fruity-ass drinks.

I pass the dance floor, taking only a glance.

I’ll have a better view from the second-floor VIP section.

The area is reserved for the five of us.

From here, we can watch the crowds below. I’m the last to arrive.

“Does anyone know why Ronan didn’t come?” I ask. “This is the second time he flaked out.”

“No idea, except for the fact that he’s been wrapped up in Mom’s latest project,” Liam answers.

“I guess we will find out more on Sunday,” Finn adds. “Mom is target-fixating again.”

“Are you going to the fights tomorrow?” Conor asks me.

“I don’t know yet. I got a lecture from Dad last time.”

“Since when does that stop you. I hear that there is a new fighter. He may give you a run for your money.”

“Are you signing up? It’s been a while since you actually participated. Lately, you just critique me from outside the cage. Afraid you might draw my name again?” I smirk at him.

“Fuck you.”

Conor and I are pretty evenly matched in hand-to-hand. It’s usually luck that crowns the winner.

I take a sip of my bourbon and barely taste it.

The metal railing vibrates against my forearms, bass thudding up through it and into my chest. Lights flash across the dance floor — faces, hands in the air, bodies pressed together in shifting clusters.

The air is hot, heavy with sweat and perfume, the crowd below blurring into one restless pulse.

Then my attention is drawn to one person moving as if the music were theirs and theirs alone.

The rhythm runs through them. Their arms lift, and their shirt rides up—a brief line of skin my eyes follow before I realize I’m doing it.

They sink into the beat and rise again, perfectly timed.

What is it about their movements that draws me in?

Physically, this is not what I usually hone in on.

My glass hangs loose in my hand.

People usually glance up toward the balcony sooner or later. I wait for the look. Not this one. Head thrown back. No searching glances. No checking who’s watching. There is something about the form that calls to me. An internal acknowledgment that I can’t explain.

I shift my weight but don’t look away. I tell myself I’m just watching the floor, just killing time, yet my attention keeps returning to the same place. Only the one dancer. I can’t deny my attraction. My cock is rock hard and pressing into the zipper of my pants.

I push off the railing. My decision is made, I will have them. I keep my eyes on my prey, but before I can make my way to the stairs. The dancer turns with the sweep of the lights, their face finally clear — and the breath I took never leaves my lungs.

Not a woman.

A man.

I’m still watching. And I don’t want to stop.