Chapter 12 #2
“Like he needs his ego inflated any more than it already is.” She scans her phone, then the street.
“Shit, that’s my ride. I’ll text you tonight to make sure you’re still alive.
Don’t believe him if he says the lights aren’t flickering.
Trust your truth!” she adds over her shoulder, as she hustles to a silver sedan idling by the road.
“Whatever that means!” I shout back.
“If you don’t call your watchdogs off, I’m going to drown them in the river,” I hiss into my phone as I stride through campus after lunch.
I really don’t have time for this, and I have even less time now that I’m stuck taking back routes to all my classes, so I don’t get caught by my friends or—God forbid—some wannabe influencer skulking around to capture my humiliation for the world to see.
O’Connor’s responding chuckle is melodic in my ear, and I practically jog to keep my distance from my shadows. “You know the rules, pet. You agreed to them, remember? I have the paperwork to prove it. They’re only there to keep you safe.”
“They aren’t keeping me safe if they keep drawing attention to me. Because if I spend one more day with them hovering over me in the library while I study, I may drown myself in the Mississippi instead. And don’t call me, pet.”
“And make me a widower? You wouldn’t dare. I’m far too young to wear black all the time.”
“You already wear black all the time,” I growl.
“We can always go back to negotiations. I’m not an unreasonable person. Take the separate bedrooms clause you forced me to add off the table and think about adding children in five years instead of ten, and I’ll consider only requiring one bodyguard instead of two.”
“Like hell,” I bark, drawing the attention of the only other person sharing the sidewalk. At the ferocity in my voice, they wisely veer off in another direction.
Bren and Tadhg keep the pace even though I’m practically running and they’re in suits in the middle of the Louisiana heat. They’re barely even sweating. What the hell do they feed them in Ireland? Are they part robot? Jesus.
“I said no kids, and I meant it. Not in ten years. Not never.”
“Up to you, pet. Seems a minor concession to me.”
“You would think that.”
“You’d like sharing a bed with me. I’m an excellent snuggler.”
I snort. “That, I highly doubt.”
“How would you know? You’ve never actually slept with me.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. Even if he’s right. “Please, Aiden. They’re driving me insane. I can’t concentrate with them following me around everywhere, and I’m behind enough as it is.”
That’s not to mention the fact that I can’t continue my search for information about my mother with two of Aiden’s henchmen glued to my ass.
They’d report my movements back to him in a heartbeat, and I don’t want to explain what I’m doing to him.
Or defend what I’m doing. He’d probably tell me it’s too dangerous or fruitless to continue, and I’ll be damned if I have him tell me what to do about this.
This is the one thing I won’t let him take from me. I wanted to do a more thorough search through the house, but the thought of them seeing me on security footage stops me. How am I supposed to meet with Mr. Broussard if they’re attached to my back?
“You have my answer, Catriona. Besides, you’re almost done for the day, and Mara will be waiting for you at the library to take you to try on clothes for the reception tomorrow.”
I nearly groan out loud as my feet practically skid to a stop. “Mara, right,” I repeat faintly. “Who exactly is Mara? Is this another assistant?”
His laughter fills my ear, and I resist a shiver. “Please call her my assistant to her face. Record it when you do. You can claim it as my birthday gift for the year.”
“I’m hanging up now,” I threaten, so I don’t hear more of his laughter, which is unsettling.
Keeping my distance is the only way I’ve found I can put up with him for any length of time.
I stay busy with classes and studying, spending most of my time on campus or in the library, so I don’t go back to his house, where space seems to be shrinking with each passing day.
I’ve learned far too much about him in a short span.
Like that he goes for a jog in the morning while listening to golden oldies.
That he calls his mother every few days.
He said he had a mother, but the evidence confirming it shakes me to my core.
The first time I heard him talking to her, I sped away as soon as I realized.
The last thing I want to do is make him seem more human.
“Mara is one of my closest friends. She was at the wedding,” he continues as if I haven’t said a word.
“You have friends?” I blurt.
There’s a pause. “Yes, Catriona, I have friends. Mara is obsessed with haute couture and has agreed to pick out a dress for you to wear tomorrow. Unless you’ve had time to pick something out yourself?
” He barely waits a second before continuing.
“That’s what I thought. Besides, I think you two will get along. ”
“What makes you think that?” I grumble in response.
“She also has an unwanted fiancé she wishes she could castrate.”
Well.
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I say, “Do I have to? I know how to dress myself.”
“Of course you do. We signed an agreement. However, if you want to renegotiate, I’m open to a discussion.”
I press a hand to my head. Between catching up on all my assignments and dodging O’Connor when he’s at the house, I haven’t had time to think about the reception. And if he mentions negotiation or concessions again, I may resort to mariticide. “Fine. I’ll let your friend play dress-up.”
“Please, call it that when you see her. And record that, too. Better yet, record the whole thing so my other friend Eamon and I can both watch.”
“Goodbye, O’Connor.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. O’Connor.”
I would chastise him for calling me that, but he’s already hung up the phone. The man always has to have the last word, and it’s infuriating.
By the time I’m finished with classes, I give up trying to hide and cross through campus to get to the library with my guards in tow.
I’ve attempted to speak to them, but they mostly grunt in response or don’t speak at all, so over the past week, I’ve learned to ignore them.
I’m hoping O’Connor will eventually give up the whole concept, and I’ll be free to walk around unencumbered.
There has to be something other than kids—God—or sharing a bed he’d consider.
I see Mara parked outside the Howard-Tilton Library and recognize her instantly.
Mostly because she’s leaning against a blood-red vintage Mustang Fastback.
Of course, one of O’Connor’s closest friends would be drop-dead gorgeous with a smile as sharp as a knife and hair that’s simply cut in a bob, but looks like it cost a thousand dollars.
Maybe if I’m nice to her, she’ll give me the name of her stylist. I can never seem to find one I can tolerate for more than a few sessions.
“Mara?” I ask when I get close enough. “I’m C—”
“Catriona.” She holds out a perfectly manicured hand. “Of course. So nice to finally officially meet you. I’m Mara. I’d say lovely wedding, but I’m against the institution as a whole,” she adds with a quirk of her black, slashing brows.
My cheeks go hot. “Glad you could make it?” I answer, but it ends up sounding like a question.
“Aiden tells me you need a dress for the reception party. I think I have just the thing.” She rounds the front of the Mustang to the driver’s side. “Well, come on, we don’t have all day.”
“What about my stalkers?” I say, jerking my thumb at the two men behind me. “They’re supposed to follow me everywhere.”
She sends them a sultry smirk. “They know where we’re going, but I don’t allow bloodshed in my house, so they’ll have to stay outside. You understand, don’t you, boys?”
Mara doesn’t give them enough time to respond, slamming the door and barely waiting for me to buckle my seat belt before she cranks the car, engine rumbling, and tears out of the parking lot at a speed that makes my heart jump into my throat.
I’d wondered what a woman like her—sleek, sophisticated, and obviously successful—would be doing with O’Connor, but the way she drives the car gives me an inkling.
She’s controlled, but there’s a spiteful aggression underneath that I recognize.
I don’t know her story, but I get the feeling she’s not the sort of woman to be trifled with.
“So how long have you and O’Con—Aiden been friends?”
“He and Eamon have been attached since birth. Grew up together in County Clare. I didn’t meet them until I was about, oh, thirteen, I guess. My family does business with the organization.”
I can tell that’s as much as she’s willing to share, so I don’t press for more. “Eamon?” I ask, realizing this is the perfect opportunity to learn more about my (not) husband.
Mara maneuvers confidently through the afternoon traffic, not a hair out of place or an inkling of frustration when we hit a bit of a gridlock.
She’s dressed in all black, skintight jeans with artful rips on the thighs, a thin, lacy black tank top and a black leather jacket that complements her skin tone, dark hair, and red lips.
She almost reminds me of a fifties model, and I’m envious of how put-together she is.
And it’s not like I’m dressed casually. The clothes I’m wearing are designer.
But after a long day of hoofing it around campus and a longer week avoiding O’Connor, I feel less than composed.
“You’ve probably seen him around. Curly dark hair.
Always looks like he wants to stab someone?
” she says with a sultry laugh. “If that doesn’t strike a bell, I can always give him a ring to join us.
One thing about Eamon is that he loves to cause trouble.
Seeing you without Aiden hovering around would be his idea of a good time. ”