Chapter 41 The Audacity – Briar
THE AUDACITY
brIAR
Now
There’s a man named Mac sitting outside my door.
A large man named Mac.
I know this because, when I tried to leave for the studio about an hour ago, I almost fell running into him.
He winces. “Sorry lass, but you can’t be doing that now. Rí says you stay here.”
“Rí?” I ask. Surprised he’s using the name Koen gave me when we first met.
“Aye Rí. The boss, Koen,” he confirms, and my lips press tightly together.
The audacity.
“Okay, well, you can tell your boss to shove it. I need to get to the studio.”
My attempt to slide past him fails miserably.
“Now, now lass, we can do this the easy way—or the hard way.” The look of amusement on his face has me seeing red.
I grip the strap of my bag tighter. The man is built like a linebacker, with a ruggedness that feels as though he was ripped straight from the Highlands.
With messy copper curls and blue eyes, despite his size, there’s a teasing warmth about him.
A charming, playful, arrogance and a smile that I’m sure has all the ladies just falling at his feet.
“Fine. Fine. That’s—Fine,” I spit out, throwing up my hands in defeat before turning on my heel and slamming the door in Mac’s face.
Tossing my bag on the floor, I storm around the apartment feeling like the walls are closing in. The apartment is small, but now it feels suffocatingly so.
Pulling out my phone, I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the glass after realizing I don’t even have Koen’s number. For a moment, I contemplate calling the police, but quickly toss out the idea, considering the circumstances.
Instead, I shoot off a text to Melanie at the Conservatory, requesting to be taken off the schedule for lessons for the next couple of weeks, citing my need to prep for the showcase.
“No problem.”
Her response is immediate, and I’m left with an emptiness at the suddenly freed-up calendar and empty apartment. Nervous energy ripples through my body, and I can feel the anxiety creeping into my chest, my heart rate picking up.
Dropping my phone on the counter, I move quickly for the living room. Taking out my anger on the poor, unsuspecting couch when I shove it back hard against the wall. The coffee table gets it next, and I keep going until I’ve cleared as much space as I can and start to warm up.
Letting out a tethered breath, I sink into my stretch. Letting the familiar burn and pull of the movements relax my racing heart, my mind following suit.
Using the reflection in the window, I do what I can with the space for the next couple of hours. Cursing the fucking O’Rourke name as I go.
After a couple of hours, I stop when I hear my phone ringing from the island where I left it. I race over, hoping to not miss a call from Lily and Remi, but deflate slightly at the sight of Unknown Number flashing on the screen.
Sliding my thumb across the glass, I ignore the call. My stomach rumbles, so I open the fridge, only to stare at its emptiness instead. Lily does most of the shopping, and with her and Remi out the house, I’m in desperate need of a grocery trip.
Not less than thirty seconds later, there’s a knock at my door.
I sigh, letting the refrigerator slowly close in front of me before trudging over and dragging open the door, not bothering to check to see who it is, considering Mac’s been out there all day.
It is, indeed, Mac at the door, and he thrusts a cell phone in my face. I look up at him, confused.
“It’s for you.”
I arch a brow but take the phone from him, holding it up to my ear. “Uhm—hi?”
There’s no hello, no greeting, just a familiar, irritatingly deep voice cutting through the other end.
“Answer when I call you.”
I glare down at the device and then up at Mac, who gives me a knowing look. “I don’t have your number, how was I supposed to know it was you?” I move away from the door, leaving it open for Mac while wandering slowly back to the kitchen.
There’s silence on the other end. Haha, got you there, tough guy.
That look of amusement is back on Mac’s face as he makes himself at home on my couch while waiting to get his phone back.
“Did you need something, darling?” I say sweetly, into the phone.
“We’re going out. I’ll be by to pick you up in an hour. Be ready to go.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, bypassing the urge to hang up the phone on him, or give him a piece of my mind about locking me inside my apartment all day. And how the hell did he get my phone number?
“Out.”
I roll my eyes. “Clearly. But I need to know what to wear to said outing.”
“To a club.” He pauses before continuing, disdain dripping from his tone now, “One of your little stripper outfits would probably do nicely.”
My cheeks heat with the judgement I hear in his tone. “One hour. Save this number to your phone.” And he’s gone.
I‘m tempted to throw the device before remembering it’s not mine.
Straightening my shoulders, I waltz calmly over to Mac, who’s still watching with interest from my couch.
“Your boss will be here in an hour.” I hand the phone back to him without bothering to jot down the number. Koen can go fuck himself.
The living room is a mess, but the couch still faces the television, so I slide the remote over to Mac. “You can wait in here if you want.”
“Thanks.” He takes the remote, turning the TV on, and settling in after he finds a hockey game to watch.
Pretending the sight of a mafia guard stretched out on my tiny sofa is normal, I retreat into my bedroom, closing the door. Once inside, I take a few minutes to regroup before turning to face my dresser.
What does one wear as the newly minted property of a mob boss?
The selection is admittedly lacking. These days, I practically live in dance clothes. The Conservatory has a strict dress code for dancers, so—while I own plenty of black and pink leotards and tights—aside from a handful of shorts, sweats, and sports bras, there isn’t much else…
I have a couple of outfits I wear to bartend—tight jeans, corset tops—but somehow I don’t think that’s what Koen’s looking for.
My gaze slides to my bed, it’s unmade, a mess of tangled-up blankets, and it takes everything in me not to climb inside and hide from the rest of the world.
I’m in way over my head, and I know it.
There’s no room for mistakes. The same rules as Wonderland applies: I need to keep my head down, mouth shut, and eyes open.
And maybe I’ll survive this.
I hear the apartment’s front door open. Did I forget to lock it?
Quickly, I pop my head out to check.
Koen stands there. His eyes travel between me in my bedroom doorway and Mac on the couch.
“You’re supposed to be watching the door,” Koen growls at Mac, and I’m instantly defensive of my new… guard? Lookout? I don’t know…
“He’s fine where he is.”
Koen’s gaze ticks slowly back over to me, and I fight the urge to swallow the growing lump in my throat. Picking his battles, he decides to let this one go in favor of my outfit.
“You’re not ready.”
I follow his gaze down to my own body. “What? Yes I am.”
“You’re not wearing that.”
“What’s wrong with this?”
“I think she looks great,” Mac adds, unsolicited, and Koen’s glare is sharp enough to cut. Though, Mac’s answering smile shows he’s undeterred. I get the feeling Mac loves to bust Koen’s chops and it makes me smile. I think he and I are going to get along just fine.
“No,” he says, like that’s just the end of the discussion.
I put my hands on my hips, narrowing my eyes at him. “You said to wear one of my little ‘stripper outfits,’ remember? Well, here it is!” My hands travel the length of me, showcasing myself for him.
His face doesn’t change; cool ambivalence stares back at me.
“Put this on.” He hands over a black garment bag I hadn’t noticed he was holding.
He bought me an outfit?
“No.” There’s really no need to be a pain in the ass, but I’m still mad about being locked inside all day and this is where I’m choosing to draw the line.
“Briar Rose,” Koen warns, but I’m shaking my head and crossing my arms over my chest.
“No. I’m not wearing whatever that is,” I argue, gesturing to the bag. I haven’t set eyes on it yet but… No. Fuck that, and fuck him, too.
“Mac, could you give us a moment please?” I feel myself pale. Koen’s eyes don’t leave mine as I watch Mac leave. I have an overwhelming urge to go with him. Still, I hold my ground when the Irish King closes the space between us. My entire body going tense.
“You’re mad.”
I blink at him. Of all the things I thought he was going to say, that was not one of them.
“Yes,” I bite out, eyeing him uneasily, unsure exactly how far I can push him before he snaps. “I missed my studio time this afternoon because you ordered me locked inside my apartment all day.”
He stares down at me, an unreadable expression on his face, but I make sure to hold eye contact. If I let him walk all over me now, there’s no telling where I’ll be in three weeks.
“When do you have to be at the studio?”
“Monday through Friday it varies, but usually I’m there all day, starting early. The weekends, I book extra studio time if I can get it.”
“Fine. Send me the full schedule and I’ll make the arrangements.”
I just stare at him, anger still thrumming in my veins, I still want to fight despite getting what I wanted.
He tries handing me the garment bag again. This time without a word.
I let it hang between us, chewing my bottom lip before reaching out to grab it with a roll of my eyes.
“Fine.”