Chapter 33
Kellin
This dinner may go down in history as one of the most excruciating of all time. I bet plenty of inmates on death row enjoy their last meal more than I’m enjoying this one.
Though Declan’s wife can surely cook. Unsurprisingly, she’s a wonderful host and displays all the qualities a mob boss like him would seek in a woman.
She anticipates his every move, smiles at his comments, and nods on cue. Fills his glass before the last drop of red has drained.
Her tagliatelle al ragù and eggplant parmesan are the best I’ve ever tasted. But even that and the Van Winkle Reserve Rye aged thirteen years can’t remove the sick flavor from my mouth.
Maeve refuses to acknowledge my existence.
Her failure to so much as glance my way shoots my blood pressure through the roof. Any higher, and I might just stroke out.
I feel like such a fucking prick. I wish I could pull her into the other room, press my mouth to hers, and devour her rage toward me and that jackass of a father.
I want to swallow her heartache and help her forget all about this twisted mess.
I was wrong to suspect Maeve of manipulating me. She’s not involved in Declan’s shit show, not really.
But now she realizes I played her.
Her composure impresses me. Talk about cool under pressure. No wonder she can operate a pricey establishment like the Cypress as easily as some women paint their nails.
The woman continues to spellbind me.
When the eye contact finally occurs, my lungs flatten like a mule kicked me right in the ribs.
Holy fuck.
If looks could kill, I’d be bleeding out in my pasta. But I prefer her daggers over her not connecting with me at all.
In between laughing at Declan’s stupid and generally sexist comments, I keep trying to convey a nonverbal apology.
Unfortunately, she ignores my every attempt to relay my message.
The rejection busts me up inside.
Fortunately for me, Maeve directs most of her hate-fueled glare at her father.
I’m feeling eight kinds of aggression toward Declan Gallagher too. I’d like to lance him with his own steak knife.
Though I do find the whole dynamic fascinating.
Connor Gallagher eats like an automaton. His perfect posture and old school manners don’t align with my mental image of Declan’s heir, though I suppose the behavior fits. According to rumors, he’s the brain behind the whole Port Kings operation.
Despite his aloof, detached demeanor, his gaze volleys between Maeve and me with far too much interest. Tone it down, buddy, or you might sprain an ocular muscle.
Meanwhile, Brody Gallagher practically vibrates with tension. He trades off between scowling at me and examining Maeve with apparent concern. He hoards any conclusions he draws, drowning them in his IPA.
No one speaks out of turn. No one chats about their day or relationships or a movie they just saw or a book they just read. The conversation revolves around whatever spews from Declan’s mouth.
Declan Fucking Gallagher.
The cat who got the cream.
He set me up. He set us both up and now reclines in his chair like a king on his throne, enjoying the havoc he wrought.
His constant needling, especially of Maeve, really grinds my gears.
I’ve got to hand it to her though. Maeve doggedly asks questions about The Cypress. She’s trying to optimize a bad situation, even as her father continually shuts her down.
Mission-wise, I’m right where I need to be, yet, this is the worst I’ve felt since the salty Pacific air greeted me the day of my arrival.
She’s convinced herself that I only slept with her to get to her father. Nothing else adequately explains why I circumvented her after we shared such a great business rapport…along with everything else.
There’s no excuse for my behavior. No new, believable lie I can conjure up to recover Nolan Doyle, more dirt on Declan and the Port Kings, repair my relationship with Finn, and somehow, cling to Maeve for as long as possible.
I want my cake, cookies, candy, and ice cream too.
Greedy, greedy, greedy.
Finally, Declan shifts toward Maeve and gloats that he and I engaged in a good conversation about the hotel’s future.
Without her.
The anger percolating in my gut threatens to explode.
I spear a noodle with excessive force, wishing I could do the same to Declan’s face.
“It was just casual conversation. Obviously, we’re waiting until the wedding’s over so you’re free to schedule a meeting where we can all sit down and talk strategy and timeframes. ”
Declan cocks his head and flashes a stab-worthy grin. “Maeve, sweetheart, Kellin and I both agree you’ve done a decent job with the place.”
“Outstanding, you mean.” I see and raise your smile, you smug bastard.
Come on, Maeve, smile back. Or growl at me. Rip me a new one. I don’t care. I’ll accept any sign of life at this point.
Declan chuckles. “But we don’t actually need you at the business meeting when we discuss Zenith acquiring the Cypress. I mean, we won’t be replacing you. Kellin thinks you’re a hard worker. You get the job done.”
A hard worker? Get the job done? He’s acting like she’s the latest Dyson to drop on .
Maeve might fly across the table at that comment. And not at her father. At me. She thinks I said those things. That I agree with his bullshit.
Her neck flames a vivid red. Similar to her flush after I’ve railed her so hard that—
I squirm in the chair and check that the napkin covers my lap. Definitely not the time for that type of trip down memory lane.
“More wine, Maeve?” Sophia pops up beside her to pour. “I hope you’ve saved some room for tiramisu, Mr. Brennan.” She tops off Declan’s glass, too, before disappearing into the kitchen.
“As I was saying, don’t worry, sweetheart. You can still play house. We won’t replace you. But leave the real business to the men.”
The red in Maeve’s face bleeds into a mottled white.
She shifts to the right, her voice a hiss.
“How could you do this, Dad? The Cypress is mine. If you keep taking over, keep adding more of your ‘goons’ to the halls and ‘assets’ to the penthouse, you’re going to chase all our guests away, and then there won’t be any business to sell. ”
I sip my rye while triumph blooms inside me.
Assets in the penthouse, confirmed.
“The Cypress is ours, Maeve. Although, my patience with your little charade at running it may end if you keep this up.”
Connor stares at his father. When Maeve beseeches him with her eyes, he just shakes his head. “Let it go, sis.”
When her shoulders droop in defeat, I fight the urge to punch her older brother in the face.
Does no man in this family have her back?
Brody clears his throat. “Dad, don’t you think…” He stops short at Declan’s sharp glance, his gaze dropping to his beer.
Coward, I want to yell. Though at least he tried…in the wimpiest way possible.
Maeve finishes her wine, turns on me, and stares me down for the first time all night. “You should be cautious about who you go into business with, Kellin. I’m just looking out for you.”
Fuck.
How much farther south can this dinner go before we’re at hell’s doorstep?
Declan chuckles and pins her hand under one of his scarred palms, thwarting her struggle to extricate herself. My fantasy of shoving that steak knife through his flesh intensifies.
“Sweetheart, surely Kellin knew exactly what type of family the Gallaghers were long before he approached you.”
He finally releases her, and she hides her hand in her lap, out of sight.
Declan waves in a dismissive gesture. “You know, you can always find a new hobby if this doesn’t fall your way. You’re a resourceful girl.”
That’s it.
I pivot my body, along with my chair, in Declan’s direction. The wood scrapes the terracotta tiles with a high-pitched squeak.
Declan and I are eye to eye now. His sons fall away. Sophia, who’s just waltzed in with the tiramisu, is a blur at the edges of my vision.
Even Maeve—beautiful, seductive, smartly dressed, big-hearted Maeve—leaves the forefront of my consciousness as I narrow in on the pariah before me.
“Declan.” I keep my voice calm. Calculated. Pleasant. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. My firm’s not interested in the building. We’re interested in the brand, the vision. That’s all Maeve.”
I pause to sip my drink so I can sneak a glance at her and allow my words to sink in. Then I set the whiskey down and resume glowering at her father.
“She’s what all the hype’s about. Without her, the Cypress is just brick and mortar, steel and wood, glass and stone, and a few nice-looking plants.
” I have to acknowledge the stunning palms that flank the lobby entrance.
She loves those things. “It’s lifeless. Nothing.
The deal is with her. As far as Zenith’s concerned, she’s the asset here, Declan. Without her, there is no deal.”
Brody exhales an “uh-oh” under his breath while Declan Gallagher grows scarlet before my very eyes. I think the man might kill me with his bare hands. He’s sure glaring at me like he might.
Maeve says nothing. From the corner of my eye, though, I glimpse her shoulders relaxing. She exhales, frustration bleeding out of her limbs.
I’m not fool enough to believe my fleeting endorsement compensates for my actions, but I meant every damn word.