3. Fiona
Chapter Three
FIONA
"You officially look like a My Little Pony." I shake my head at Zoe.
I'm perched on the edge of her bathtub as she finishes straightening her hair.
Somehow, I managed to get the ends pink without it looking like a three-year-old attacked her with a highlighter.
I guess if my plan of becoming an analyst for the FBI doesn't work out, I could always go into cosmetology.
Zoe brushes through her pink ends. "You're my best friend, you know that?"
"I know." I get to my feet.
It's almost ten p.m. on a Sunday, which means it is officially past my bedtime.
"So, how does Friday night sound?"
"For what?"
Zoe gives me an exasperated look in the mirror. "For dancing, silly."
Oh, crap. I had hoped she had been so high on the bleach fumes that she had forgotten I had agreed to go out.
"Oh, that... Sure, Friday is good."
"Don't try to bail. Otherwise, I will personally come round to your apartment and drag you out kicking and screaming."
The annoying thing is, I know she's not joking.
I laugh as I head to the door. "Noted. Have a good week. Try not to catch anything."
"If I do, you'll be the first to know!" she calls after me.
I'm still chuckling to myself as I close the door behind me and head out of Zoe's building. It's only a few blocks away from my own, so I don't bother hailing a cab despite it being the middle of winter in New York City.
The walk will do me good and help to get rid of this lingering headache that has been pestering me for the past few days. I know it's from stress, but there doesn't seem to be much I can do about that.
College might be over and done with, but that doesn't mean life suddenly becomes all rainbows and unicorns. Trust me, I should know.
If anything, a permanent black cloud seems to be following me around these days.
Bundling my scarf tighter around my neck, I pull my hood up to try to keep my ears warm as I pick up my pace.
It takes less than a block for my feet to become numb and my cheeks to feel chapped.
But I've committed now, and stubbornness happens to be my most defining quality.
So, I power through, thinking of the scalding hot shower I'm going to take and the cup of mint tea I'm going to have in bed while I read my book.
How Zoe can think a night out grinding against sweaty men and having to queue for twenty minutes just to take a pee is better than that is beyond me.
"Miss Callahan! Please tell me you weren't just out walking." Waylan holds the door open for me.
He's been the doorman of this building for over fifty years and the first true friend I made when I moved to the city, fresh out of high school.
He's like a surrogate grandfather to me, which is nice, seeing as I never met my real grandparents.
They were long gone before I was even born, so I guess a doorman is the next best thing.
I really am pathetic.
"Uh..." I lower my eyes as I quickly stomp my boots on the mat to get rid of some of the snow.
"You'll catch your death."
"I know, I know. But I'm here now and still alive, so it's all good."
"Good, because you have a visitor waiting for you."
I pause.
It's ten o'clock on a Sunday night, and the one person who would even consider visiting me at this time, I was just with. And there's no way Zoe would risk going out into the snow with a fresh blowout.
"Who is it?"
Waylan shuffles back over to the desk. "Oh, can't remember the name... He was on your visitor list."
I don't have a visitor list, but I decide not to remind Waylan of that. He's already pushing his late seventies, and the last thing I want to do is give him a heart attack.
I force a smile, despite the lead weight that has settled on my chest. "Thanks for letting them in. I'll drop off some gingerbread cookies for you in the morning for Mary."
"You don't have to do that." But the way his eyes wrinkle at the edges lets me know he very much wants the cookies.
I pat Waylan on the arm. "Of course, I do. Everyone deserves freshly baked goods. And make sure there are actually some left for your wife this time."
"Yeah, yeah..." He winks.
I shoot him a wave before stepping into the elevator.
The moment the doors slide shut, the smile drops from my face, and I lean against the railing, clutching a hand to my throat.
I have a horrible feeling I know who will be waiting for me.
Yet, even when the doors open and I lock eyes with him, my stomach still bottoms out.
Lorcan Sullivan.
The last time I saw him, my sister was still alive. That realization hits me like a punch to the gut.
It's because of his family that she's gone, and that I will never get the chance to repair our relationship.
"What do you want?"
Lorcan pushes off the wall and re-buttons his navy suit jacket that likely costs more than my rent. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"
If I wasn't so terrified, I would laugh in his face.
Old friends? Is he kidding me?
"We're not friends."
Lorcan's dark eyes narrow to slits as he takes a step forward, though his thin lips twitch when I automatically take a step back.
I wish my fear wasn't so obvious, but I've never had much of a poker face.
"You should be careful. My friends get a lot more leeway than those who choose to work against me."
"I want nothing to do with you."
"It's a bit too late for that, considering you have a debt that you still need to pay."
Shit.
"It's not my debt," I mutter, though I know it will make no difference.
To Lorcan, a debt is a debt.
"Do I need to remind you of the promise you made?" His voice is low as he takes another step toward me.
I suck in a breath and try not to choke on the smell of his musky cologne.
"The promise is void?—"
"You're not clever enough to try and bargain your way out of this. You made a promise in exchange for your sister's life, and you would do well to learn to honor your promises."
"My sister is dead."
"That's not my problem."
The way he says it, so nonchalantly... As if Carly wasn't a living, breathing human being with a husband and two young kids and a whole life ahead of her. It makes me sick to my stomach.
Suddenly, I'm regretting drinking all of that wine at Zoe's. "What do you want?"
"I want you to pay your debt."
"How?" My voice shakes, but it seems no amount of positive self-talk is going to mask the fear rooted deep in my bones.
He tucks his hands into the pockets of his navy slacks. "I need you to spy on someone for me."
"Spy?" This time, I do laugh. "I can barely manage to turn off my read receipts on my messages. I don't know how you think I'm going to spy on someone."
"You'll find a way, I'm sure."
"Who is it? The person I'm spying on?"
I don't miss the way the corners of Lorcan's lips twitch.
The bastard is enjoying every second of this.
"Cormac Sullivan."
Sullivan.
He wants me to spy on a member of his own family?
"Why?"
"That's none of your concern."
"If I'm having to risk my life, I'd say that makes it my concern."
Lorcan's lips pull back from his teeth as he takes another step closer to the point I can feel his breath on my face.
I try not to recoil, but I can't help it.
This man has the power to make me disappear if he wants to, and that power is radiating off of him in waves.
"I wouldn't worry yourself too much. Your life is worth very little."
This can't be happening. I can't seriously agree to spy on Cormac Sullivan without getting caught, which means either way I'm going to die at the hands of a Sullivan.
A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
"I—I can't."
"You're going to become his executive assistant."
"This is insane?—"
"I've already taken the liberty of applying for the position for you. You have an interview on Tuesday at ten."
"What?"
"You could be a little more grateful."
"Grateful? You're kidding, right?"
"I've made this as easy for you as possible."
"Easy? You're asking me to spy on a Sullivan. If I get caught, I'm dead."
"Better not get caught, then, huh, princess?"
My throat burns as I try to fight back tears.
The last person I want to see me crying is Lorcan Sullivan.
"But I have a job."
"Not anymore."
I don't think it's possible for my eyes to bug out of my head even more.
"What the hell did you do?"
"Let's just say you handed in your notice, effective immediately."
It seems I'm no longer terrified. I'm pissed.
This isn't happening. This. Isn't. Happening. "You have got to be kidding me. Do you know how hard it was for me to land that job? I was hand-selected from hundreds of college grads?—"
"Save the sob story for someone who gives a shit."
"I've never been an assistant before. I'm not even qualified!"
Lorcan reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out an envelope.
I frown. "What's this?"
"Your resume."
"Seriously?"
"Do I look like I'm laughing?"
The asshole doesn't look like he's cracked a smile in his entire life.
But, of course, I don't say that. Instead, I snatch the envelope out of his hand and run my finger beneath the seam. Inside, I find a perfectly curated resume, complete with references and everything.
"I'll be in touch. Oh, and considering all of the trouble I went through, try not to fuck up the interview. And don't even think about trying to let Cormac know what you are doing. Trust me, it won't end well for you if you do."
I wait until Lorcan is out of sight before quickly unlocking my door.
My hands are shaking so much it takes me a few attempts to insert the key, but once I'm safely inside, I slam the door shut and fasten the chain. Though in reality, it will take a lot more than that to keep Lorcan Sullivan out.
My heart is pounding so hard I can barely catch my breath. I don't even make it to the couch before my knees give out, and I collapse to the floor in a shaking heap.
I knew this day would come. The day Lorcan Sullivan would show up at my door, demanding payment for Carly's debt. I just hoped by the time he did, I would have found a way to get out of it.
I should be grateful. Of all the things he could have asked me to do, spying on Cormac Sullivan is escaping pretty lightly.
If it was Ronan or Kieran, that would have been an immediate death sentence, but Cormac? He's a mystery to me.
But I know enough of the Sullivans to know that whatever Lorcan has planned for him, it will be well deserved. After all, it's people like the Sullivans who are the reason my sister is dead. They are nothing more than monsters in designer suits.
After I catch my breath, I shakily get to my feet and go in search of my laptop.
There has to be some other way of getting close to Cormac without giving up my job, one that I've worked my ass off to get.
Surely, I've proven myself to be loyal and committed, so whatever bullshit story Lorcan fed them, I bet with some sweet-talking I could get them to forget the entire misunderstanding.
I sit cross-legged on my bed and open up my laptop.
My eyes are stinging with tears, and yet my hands are shaking with rage.
I didn't think it was possible to feel so much all at once, but I have a feeling the Sullivans have that effect on everyone. Men like them live off pain and rage.
I load up the server and quickly type in my email and login before hitting enter.
Access denied.
I delete my details and type them in again, but once again, I'm unsuccessful.
"Are you kidding me?" I yell at my laptop.
I try refreshing the page, but after typing in my login details for the third time, I finally give in to the fact that I am officially Lorcan Sullivan's puppet.
I dread to think of the story he spun to get me blacklisted from my job without so much as a phone call from my boss asking if I was all right.
Granted, I have only been working at the firm for just over six months, but I thought I had built up a pretty good rapport with my boss and colleagues.
I guess it wasn't good enough to warrant a wellness check.
Fucking great.
I guess if I have any hope of paying the rent, I better make sure to make one hell of a first impression with Cormac Sullivan. Then again, if I don't, Lorcan will kill me, so it won't even matter.
I guess I could say there's a silver lining.
Yeah. I didn't think so.