Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
RONAN
I lean back in my chair and rub my throbbing temples as I stare blankly at the screen in front of me.
There was no way in hell I was going to attempt to go back to sleep after the way I went off at Ciara.
I’ve been sitting at my desk for hours, trying to undo what she did to the accounts system, but the longer I look at it, the harder it is to deny the truth staring me in the face.
Her changes are way more efficient and secure, with less risk and more reward. Every rational part of me knows that adopting her setup would be the smartest move for the business. But knowing it and accepting it are two very different things.
This was never about the damn payment system. It was about what it represented.
My father’s legacy.
He oversaw every detail and perfected it brick by brick, just like he built the rest of our empire. But now he’s gone, and the system he left behind, the legacy he trusted me to protect, is being rewritten right in front of my goddamn eyes.
By a McCarthy, no less.
I rub my jaw and exhale a long breath as the image of Ciara’s face as I yelled at her floods my mind.
I didn’t mean to go off at her like some unhinged maniac in the middle of the night. She didn't deserve that.
But grief is a tricky fucking thing, and it seems to be creeping up on me when I least expect it.
After my father died, I promised myself that I’d put this empire first and not let emotions cloud my judgment. Right now, I’m failing at both.
The right thing to do is to adopt Ciara’s system, even if it pains me to do so, and admit to her that I was wrong.
“Fuck.” I push back my chair and get to my feet.
I’ve spent my entire life being the one who’s right. I can’t remember the last time I uttered the words I’m sorry, but if I don’t extend a hand to Ciara after what I said to her last night, if I don’t show her I’m capable of being something better than some asshole, I’m going to lose her.
Maybe not today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But it’ll happen.
And for reasons I don’t even want to admit to myself yet, the idea of losing her fucking guts me.
I stalk from the room and head back upstairs, knowing that if I don’t apologize now, I’m going to lose my nerve. But when I get to the top of the stairs and see the door to Ciara’s room is wide open, I frown.
“Ciara?”
Only silence answers.
I frown as I peer into the room.
The bed is freshly made, and the door to the bathroom is open, but she’s not here.
I head back out into the hall, and just to be safe, I decide to check my own room. I wouldn’t put it past Ciara to make a point by climbing back into my bed, but to my disappointment, she’s not in there either.
I eye the rumpled sheets and swallow a groan.
If my father were here, he’d call me a fecking eejit for digging my heels in so deep that I was willing to kick a naked woman out of my bed just because I didn’t want to admit she was right.
Running a hand through my hair, I shut the door to my bedroom and descend the stairs two at a time before crossing the foyer and entering the kitchen.
Immediately, my eyes flick to the table, and I notice the plates of food have been cleared away. I curse under my breath at the sight of the burnt-out candle and the wilting flowers, which serve as yet another reminder of how much of an ass I am.
She went to all the effort of making me dinner in order to get to know me, and how did I repay her? By taking her to bed, then subsequently kicking her out of it.
I decide to make myself an espresso in the hopes that Ciara will appear from wherever she is soon. A quick glance out of the French doors tells me she’s not outside, but she could also be hiding in the pool house.
As the beans grind, I pull my phone out of my pocket and open up my tracking app to see where she is.
According to my app, her phone is upstairs, but she isn’t…
“What the hell?”
My body instantly tenses as every worst-case scenario plays through my mind.
“Ciara?” I yell, my voice echoing through the kitchen.
Abandoning my coffee, I leave the kitchen and do a full sweep through the house on the off chance she’s locked herself away in the media room or something, but I still come up empty.
She’s not here.
“Where the hell are you, Tine Bhaeg?”
A sense of panic builds in my chest as I head back into the kitchen and out into the garage to check that she hasn’t gone all Grand Theft Auto on me, but every one of my vehicles is still present, which means wherever she went, she went on foot.
It seems I have no choice but to wait her out.
I sit at the kitchen table, drumming my fingers against the surface as I glance yet again at the clock on the wall. Though with each minute that passes with still no sign from Ciara, my sense of panic grows.
I keep trying to tell myself that she just needs some time to cool off and clear her head, but as the morning wears on, the more unease tugs at my chest.
What if something has happened to her?
I’m unlocking my phone and opening up my call list to dial Callum’s number to see if she’s gone home when the front door creaks open.
The relief that hits me is damn near overwhelming, but I force myself to remain seated at the table with a blank expression, trying my hardest not to look like a man who was two seconds away from losing his shit.
The sounds of her footsteps crossing the foyer quicken my pulse. When she finally appears, dressed in leggings and a tank top with her cheeks flushed and her hair pulled back into a high ponytail, I dig my nails into my palms as I fight the urge to go to her and wrap her in my arms.
Her green eyes find mine, and I swallow a curse at how wary she is of me. Like I’m a bomb that could go off at any moment. Not that I can blame her for thinking such things after my little performance this morning.
I jerk my chin toward the kitchen table. "Sit."
She hesitates briefly before crossing over to the table and slowly dropping into the chair across from me. She immediately folds her arms over her chest like armor, as if bracing herself for an explosion.
I guess I deserve that.
When I’m sure she’s not going anywhere, I get to my feet and walk to the coffee machine, where a fresh pot has just finished brewing.
Her eyes burn into my back as I pull out a fresh mug and pour her a cup, adding some vanilla creamer that I had the housekeeper pick up from the store. But the moment I turn around, her gaze is locked on the table.
“Here.” I place the cup of coffee in front of her.
Her eyebrows immediately shoot up as she stares at the mug. "You’ve never made me a coffee before. You don’t even know how I like it."
I smirk as I sit back down. "Take a sip."
She narrows her eyes at me, but she uncrosses her arms from around herself and lifts the cup to her lips and tastes it.
Surprise flashes across her face for a brief moment before she can stop the reaction, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
"You look like a vanilla latte kind of girl,” I shrug.
She doesn’t respond, and silence settles between us.
I have to be the one to break it, but the apology tastes like poison on my tongue.
I force the words out anyway. "I may have...overreacted."
She sets her mug on the table, keeping her fingers interlaced around it as she lifts her gaze to meet mine. Then she lowers her eyes to the cup in her hands.
I let out a long sigh as I lean back in my chair. "In hindsight, I could have waited until morning."
She shrugs like she doesn’t really care what I have to say.
I rub the back of my neck as I grow frustrated—not at her, but at myself. If I had only kept a lid on my temper, I wouldn’t have wasted my entire morning sitting around, waiting for my wife to stop avoiding me.
“Where did you go?”
“Out.”
“Ciara…”
She rolls her eyes. “I went for a run.”
“You run?” I blurt, and Ciara scowls at me.
“Only away from you.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “You left your phone.”
“So?”
“So… What if something happened to you?”
“Then you wouldn’t have to worry about me messing anything else around here.”
“Can you be serious?”
“I am.”
Fuck, she is not making this easy for me.
“Can I just say that you weren’t entirely innocent? You had no right to change things without clearing it with me first."
She stays quiet.
I take the opportunity to lean forward, bracing my elbows on the table, and I don’t miss the way her eyes flick over me as if she’s remembering what happened the last time we sat across from one another.
And as much as I liked it, I cannot cross that line again. At least not until I’ve made it very clear that what she did was wrong.
"It’s not just about the system, Ciara. It’s about what it represented."
Finally, her expression softens, and her shoulders slump, and for some reason, the defeat in her eyes hits me harder than any argument ever could.
"You’re right. I’m sorry. When you lose someone you love, every little thing connected to them feels sacred. I had no idea the system was his, but still, it was insensitive of me to change your father’s system without permission.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly, but I swallow past it.
Her voice is barely a whisper. "If you change something, it feels like you’re erasing them. It’s why I couldn’t bear to redecorate my father’s office. It just felt…wrong.”
I nod once because that’s exactly it, and hearing her say it out loud forms a crack in my chest.
For a minute, neither of us says anything, but this time the silence doesn’t feel heavy. If anything, it feels…comforting.
Ciara’s eyes go to her mug again. "Can we call a truce?"
I allow a small smile to tug at the corners of my mouth. "We can call a truce."
I have to swallow a laugh at the look of determination on her face as she reaches her hand across the table. I do the same and envelope her fingers in mine, loving how small they feel but also strong.
I squeeze her fingers before letting go. "Next time, let’s try communicating with each other before you go hacking into my shit."
"And next time…" She has a mischievous glint in her eye. "Maybe don’t wake me up in the middle of the night by screaming at me like a lunatic."
I chuckle under my breath. "Can I wake you up in other ways?"
“And we’re back.”