Chapter 4
Kellin
When Maeve Gallagher unlocks my door on the seventh floor, my gaze traces the long sweep of her chestnut hair down to the perfect curve of her ass.
The woman’s a stunner. On the taller side, maybe five-eight, with lithe, sun-kissed legs peeking out of a tight pencil skirt. My fingers itch to trail up her thighs and slip beneath that hem so that I can see how far that tan goes.
I’m only a man, after all, and I’m not blind. Maeve is sexy as hell, from her body to her mind.
Seduction on this job is fair game, and if fucking Maeve gets me the results I need, let’s just say I won’t be complaining.
She glances over her shoulder at me with that sweet sultry expression.
The freckles dusting her cheeks soften her sharp jawline, smoothing the edges of her business-only smile.
If not for the steel in those chocolate brown eyes, I might be fooled into believing this job would prove much easier than predicted.
We know so little about the Port Kings. My research indicates that these LA Gallaghers operate more in the shadows than their East Coast counterparts.
It’s public record that Declan Gallagher purchased the Cypress, but he keeps his run-ins with authorities minimal.
The general population doesn’t seem to connect him with organized crime the same way New Yorkers do—or did—with Shane.
Even though they’re an offshoot of the same family.
Decades ago, his and Shane’s grandfathers—brothers—fell out with each other.
Declan’s grandfather, Nevan Gallagher, a known hothead, allegedly shot the heir to a powerful Italian crime family during a negotiation.
To avoid a full-blown war, Shane’s grandfather, Aidan, agreed to pay the Italians an enormous sum of money, cut all ties to Nevan, and exile him from the city.
I guess Declan spent his entire life nursing a grudge.
Declan is shrewd. Careful. I expected the same from his daughter.
And both of those traits do fit Maeve. But they also don’t.
Unless she missed her calling in Hollywood, Maeve lacks the jaded aura I anticipated. Even Riley’s and Harper’s eyes show more shadows, which I partially attribute to growing up with an alcoholic mother and Thomas as a father.
Maeve acts shockingly normal for an LA native, let alone the daughter of a major crime boss. She’s not as strong as Declan’s daughter should be.
I hate that she doesn’t compute. In my line of work, surprises can end up costing us more than we’re willing to pay. Both in terms of money…and lives.
The Cypress is clearly her passion. I observed no obvious signs of shady family dealings during our short tour, and she struck me as a regular business owner, determined to cut a deal with an investor.
She struts in those heels like she was born in them, dripping confidence and poise, while also exuding a faint air of vulnerability.
The woman blushed like a schoolgirl when I complimented her taste in decor. She gasped when I crowded her personal space in the hall.
I make her nervous, at least physically. And she couldn’t conceal her reactions.
Or she’s choosing not to, possibly even playing them up.
I rub my knuckles over my jaw. Maybe this really is all an act designed to reel me in.
She could be impersonating a vulnerable, flustered woman to lower my guard and garner herself a better deal.
A pity such tactics won’t work on me in the long run. If she’s trying to manipulate me, she’s in for a rude awakening. I’m no stranger to mind games, and I’ll happily turn the tables on her.
Regardless, I won’t let my uncle’s betrayal continue to stain my reputation or family name.
I’ll exploit every weakness I can find to get what I need. Including the one Maeve and her assistant revealed during their exchange after I entered the lobby.
The acoustics in that place are impressive. Plus, I’ve always had a knack for lipreading.
I swallow a chuckle. If Maeve had any idea I overheard Lenora razzing her about drool and cobwebs, I bet she’d faint from embarrassment.
“Here we are.” Maeve twirls back around to face me, blissfully unaware of the trajectory of my thoughts. “Your suite.”
She hands me an electronic key card folder and shuffles aside so I can enter.
My suitcase sits in the foyer near the door as I inspect the accommodations.
Plush blue carpeting, an elegant living area with a gray sofa and glass coffee table, original watercolor paintings of the shoreline and city, and sweeping, floor-to-ceiling views of Santa Monica, with the Pacific stretching into the distance.
Classy without being pretentious. Kind of like the owner. But I’m not actually here to review the amenities.
Maeve watches closely for my response, a flicker of anxious energy sparking in her eyes. “Everything to your liking, Mr. Jameson?”
“It’s perfect. But please, call me Kellin.”
Her shoulders drop a centimeter, though she doesn’t relax completely.
Smart. Maeve knows to keep her guard up.
Too bad that won’t be enough.
“Okay, Kellin. And please call me Maeve.” She gestures to the hall. “I’ll leave you to settle in.”
“It’s a shame the top-level penthouse wasn’t available.” I interrupt her attempted retreat. “I was really hoping for the full Cypress experience. I wonder, is there a way I could get a tour of the—”
Her shoulders stiffen again, along with her spine. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. The penthouse was booked by a VIP client. Sadly, a tour is out of the question.”
If the instant reply isn’t enough to tip me off, her rigid posture is.
I wonder what aspect of that suite is causing Maeve stress. A particularly demanding guest? Or maybe she’s lying. Perhaps the accommodations require an extensive repair.
I raise my palms in surrender. “I understand. Sorry I asked.”
Some of the tension bleeds out of her face. “I’ll see you at dinner, Kellin.”
She offers her hand. The skin-on-skin contact widens her eyes and causes her body to jolt, just like in the lobby earlier. I feel the spark, too, oddly enough, and I’m not sure what to think about it. When she beats a hasty retreat, I shake off the tingle in my fingers and lock the door.
I have work to do.
I grab my bag and pull out my tablet, plopping down on the cushy loveseat to hook up to the portable network Rory O’Connor gave me before I left.
He may be the Kings’ technology wiz, responsible for IT and electronics, but I’m the one with an actual degree in cybersecurity.
He shares the tech, and I handle the rest.
I click open our encrypted Port Kings’ files.
We don’t have much. Just basic demographics on Declan and his three children, some names of other higher-ups, and real estate and business holdings that Declan has stakes in.
Nothing all that useful.
As Declan’s biggest non-warehouse property, with countless people flowing in and out weekly, the Cypress is the perfect place to conduct business.
The best location to hide a secret is in plain sight. No one would suspect such a public place to be full of criminal undertakings.
Maeve’s face floats across my mind.
She doesn’t act like a mafia daughter, but how peripheral is she really? Managing an expensive hotel on Daddy’s dime? She’s definitely involved. Has to be. Declan co-owns the Cypress, which means Maeve’s in the family fold one way or another.
And I’ll find out exactly how. Maybe at dinner I can get her to loosen up and spill any Port Kings-related secrets she has tucked away in her brain.
But that’s a secondary objective.
My primary mission is to gain access to Maeve’s office. It’s the nerve center of the hotel and, by extension, probably serves as a hub for Declan’s dealings. I need her files, her calendar, any info I can get on hotel finances. Her computer.
Hopefully, my search will lead me to Nolan Doyle and his encrypted files.
After Declan stole our accountant, he called Finn and issued an ultimatum.
If the New York Kings don’t add him as co-owner on a whole slew of businesses, including their three nightclubs and drug trade, he’ll force Doyle to release the records. Declan issued a two-week deadline.
In addition, Declan demanded that Finn’s branch of the Kings restore his side of the family’s prestige.
Finn shared enough info with me to convince me that, if the Port Kings released those files into the wild, we’d be in deep shit. Not only does Doyle possess records showing him cooking our books…he could also screw over our business partners.
Luckily, he’s a paranoid little twerp. If he weren’t, Declan probably would have the files already and Doyle would be dead. But since he encrypts everything, the documents are worthless without him to decipher them.
There must be a record regarding the stolen accountant somewhere, and Maeve is my treasure map.
Maeve has direct access to the entire hotel. I spent most of the flight to LA pondering how to gain her trust.
With so little information to go on, a plan never quite solidified. But I’m adaptable. I can work with what I’m given and switch strategies on a dime.
And the moment I first spotted the long-legged vision in her sexy pencil skirt and severe blazer, her expressive face at odds with her buckled-up posture, she captured one-hundred-percent of my attention. I immediately decided that seduction was the best course of action.
Partly because all the blood rushed to my dick the second those lush lips gasped and that pink tint crept down her neck. I wanted to know how far down her body that blush traveled. I burned with the sudden desire to trace the path with my tongue and see if the color matched her nipples.
Her assistant’s commentary about Maeve’s sex life—or lack thereof—cemented my plan.
The woman’s wound tighter than a fucking spring. She’s ripe for seduction, just waiting for someone to release all that pressure. I plan to be the one who provides that relief.
Then, once she’s exposed, inch by delicious inch, I’ll collect the information I require, reclaim Doyle, and disappear.
I approach the glass window and watch the waves roll in toward the shore. Between the view and Maeve’s hot little body, this job has the potential to become my favorite by a mile.
Let the games begin.