37. Aoife
Aoife
Eamon had been up early, leaving with nothing more than a quiet, “There’s something I need to take care of. Be safe today.” There was no lecture, no overprotective warnings, just a simple acknowledgment that I could handle myself.
I attempt to get a little more sleep, but the sunlight streaming through the penthouse window feels relentless.
Giving up, I decide to get moving. It’s a new day, and I’m ready to play my part.
I slip into tight black leather pants that hug my curves and a silky, low-cut white blouse that’s just provocative enough to keep eyes on me for all the wrong reasons.
My black ankle boots add a slight edge to the outfit—sexy, but not trying too hard.
I pull my hair back into a long, sleek ponytail and check my reflection in the mirror. Perfect.
When I step into the lobby, I spot Cian leaning against a pillar, scrolling on his phone. Casual confidence oozes from every pore. His gaze snaps to me the moment I approach.
“You look incredible,” he says, his eyes lingering just a little too long.
I let a small, shy smile cross my lips. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
He offers me his arm. “Ready?”
“Always,” I reply, my voice light and playful.
The drive is quiet at first, the air thick with anticipation. I focus on the scenery outside, but Cian’s occasional sideways glances don’t go unnoticed. He thinks I’m here because I’m infatuated with him. That’s fine. Let him believe what he wants, for now.
The meeting place is a warehouse on the outskirts of the city, blending seamlessly with its industrial surroundings.
From the outside, it looks ordinary, like all the rest. It’s the kind of place you wouldn’t think twice about, just another cog in the city’s bustling trade.
A sleek black car is parked near the entrance, its polished exterior standing out in the otherwise utilitarian setting.
Inside, the air smells faintly of sawdust and grease. Along one wall, there’s a table and a few metal chairs—a makeshift meeting area that’s just out of the main flow of work but still in plain sight.
Two men stand off to the side, their sharp suits a stark contrast to the gritty, industrial backdrop of the warehouse. They exude a cold authority, their postures rigid, arms loosely crossed as they wait assumingly for Cian. He approaches them with the ease of old acquaintances.
“Boys,” he says, his tone warm but calculated. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
His words are smooth, almost disarming, but there’s a sharpness beneath the charm that suggests he’s playing his own game.
“Who’s the girl?” one of them asks, his eyes rake over me like I’m something to be bought and sold.
“Her name doesn’t matter,” Cian says, his hand pressing lightly against my lower back. “She’s with me.”
The way they watch me makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, but I don’t give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Cian jerks his chin toward a seat off to the side, but I’m not here to be sidelined, and I don’t take orders.
Instead, I cross the room with slow, deliberate steps, swaying my hips, and slide onto the edge of the table, ignoring the chairs completely.
The cold metal seeps through the leather of my pants, but I don’t show a hint of discomfort.
Leaning back on my palms, I cross one leg over the other, the motion tugging my blouse just enough to keep their attention locked on me.
Their expressions are a mix of curiosity and calculation as if they’re trying to decide what role I play in all this. I flash them a small, confident smile as if I’m completely oblivious to their scrutiny.
“Take a seat,” Cian says, his tone firm but laced with amusement. “In a chair.”
Offering a casual shrug, I slide off the table and move to one of the chairs. The men eventually turn their attention back to Cian, though I know I’ve made an impression.
They speak with ease, their tones confident, their body language relaxed. No tension, no unnecessary caution.
With a disinterested expression, I cross my legs and lean back as if the discussion is nothing more than background noise. Let them think I’m just a pretty face here to kill time. It makes it easier to listen without drawing attention.
While they talk and share details about the shipment, timing, and security, I pretend to scroll on my phone, all the while absorbing everything. They don’t so much as glance my way. Which is exactly why they don’t notice when I snap a few discreet photos, angling my screen just right.
Ruairi might’ve set this in motion, but after I bring this information to Eamon, he’ll stop it before my brother can do anything about it.
The deal wraps up, and Cian leads me back to the car, his hand lingering on the small of my back as we walk. Once we’re inside, he starts the engine, but instead of pulling away, he turns to me.
“That little show you put on in there,” he says, his voice low. “Every man in that room was watching you, and not one of them was thinking about the deal.”
“Oh?”
“They wanted you,” he continues, his gaze dragging over me like I’m something he owns. “Fergus even asked if I’d share you. Said a woman like you shouldn’t be wasted on just one man.”
My stomach churns, but I keep my voice calm. “I didn’t notice,” I say, then add, “and for the record, I’m not yours to offer. Or anyone’s.”
Cian’s lips twitch in amusement. “You’ve got this ability to wrap men around your finger without even trying.”
Leaning in just enough to close the space between us, my voice drips with sweetness. “Wrap men around my finger? That’s quite the compliment.”
His gaze darkens. “You’ll have us all on our knees begging for a taste.”
I let my fingers trail idly along the edge of my seat as if I’m considering his words. “You think so?” I ask, my tone teasing. “Maybe you’re just easy to impress.”
Cian lets out a dark, humorless laugh. “It’s not about being impressed. It’s all you. There’s something about you that gets under a man’s skin and makes him desperate. Makes him want to risk it all to have you.”
I bite my lip just enough to make it look innocent. “Well, maybe I like a little danger, too.”
Cian’s grin widens, sharp and predatory. “Oh, Aoife, you don’t just like danger—you are danger. And that’s what makes you irresistible.”
His eyes linger on my lips, and for a moment, the tension in the car feels suffocating. He thinks he’s in control, that he’s playing me.
“You’ve got men like me ready to burn everything down just to keep you,” he adds, his voice low and possessive, the words dripping with intent.
“Careful, Cian. Playing with fire might get you burned.”
“Maybe I want to get burned.”
I keep my expression playful, teasing, while inside, I’m counting how many ways I’ll use his desperation against him.
A slow breath leaves him, his grin spreading with quiet satisfaction like he’s already won. I keep my gaze steady, my smile soft and inviting. Let him believe that. The more power he thinks I have, the easier he’ll be to manipulate.
As we pull away from the warehouse, Cian’s grip on the steering wheel is loose, relaxed. He’s in a good mood, smug even. He’s confident today went exactly as he planned.
After a few minutes of driving in comfortable silence, I glance at him. “So, where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he replies, his eyes never leaving the road.
“That’s not an answer.”
He glances my way. “Just trust me. Consider it a celebration.”
“A celebration?” I ask, playing along.
“Of our future,” he says. “And whatever else might come of it.”
I let out a small laugh. “That’s vague.”
“You’ll like it.”
I lean back against the seat, watching the sights blur past the window as I pretend to let myself be charmed. Eventually, he slows the car, parking along a quiet street, and turns to me with a glint in his eye.
“Come on,” he says, pushing open his door.
After stepping out of the car, I take in my surroundings, following him through the winding streets.
We turn down a narrow alley—Love Lane. It’s tucked away and bursting with vibrant murals, hand-painted tiles, and scribbled love notes left behind by strangers.
The colors pop even in the gray Dublin light, bright splashes of red and blue standing out against the damp brick.
Cian watches me as I trail my fingers along the artwork, pretending to be lost in the charm of it all.
“Fitting, don’t you think?” he says, stepping closer.
I glance at him with a playful smile. “You think bringing me to a place called Love Lane is subtle?”
“Nothing about me is subtle. I thought you would’ve figured that out by now,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets.
As we walk, Cian watches me more than the walls. “You know, they say if you leave a note here, it seals your love forever,” he muses, voice laced with amusement.
I glance at him over my shoulder. “Is this where you tell me you believe in that kind of thing?”
“I believe in making memories.” Before I can respond, he pulls out his phone. “Come on, we need a picture. Something to remember the day by.”
“Didn’t peg you for the selfie type.”
He just smiles. “There’s a first time for everything.”
I let him position us in front of the wall and make sure my smile is bright. He holds his cell phone in front of us, capturing the moment—the illusion of something real. Cian tucks his phone away, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “We’re not done yet,” he says.
Taking my hand in his, Cian leads me over cobblestone streets that are alive with music, laughter, and the low hum of conversations in different accents to Temple Bar. A place that always pulses with energy.
“Now this,” he says, gesturing around, “is what Dublin is all about.”
I glance at him, amused by the pride in his voice. “And here I thought Dublin was only business to you.”
“Not always. Sometimes, you have to enjoy the finer things in life.”