Chapter 30
Goldie
Something was up with the O’Rourkes.
It wasn’t just that Brody was acting weird, though he definitely was. Well, maybe not weird, just… more. Like he’d taken some kind of Daddy steroids, making him simultaneously bossier and sweeter at the same time.
If she didn’t know any better, she might think he’d had the house bugged during her girls’ night. But even Brody wouldn’t go that far.
Would he?
Maybe.
Ugh.
Even without Brody’s weirdness, there was definitely something going on with the family as a whole, though they hadn’t actually told her what that ‘something’ was.
All she knew was that the last couple dinners she’d attended had seemed extra tense, despite them all doing their best to pretend everything was fine.
Tonight was yet another family dinner, so maybe she could corner Aria somewhere and wheedle the truth out of her. While Goldie would never refer to her as the weak link, she was definitely more trusting than the others, at least where Goldie was concerned.
“Don’t forget to bring your laptop,” Brody called up the stairs while she busied herself with putting the final touches on her outfit for the evening.
A week ago, Aria and Reagan had invaded Brody’s house again with piles of clothes for Goldie to ‘shop’ from.
How they’d gotten her exact size was still a mystery, but judging from the smug smile on Brody’s face as he’d watched her try on outfit after outfit, she had some ideas.
He’d even, much to her surprise, made room for those new clothes in his giant walk-in closet.
It was exactly the kind of thing the men in her books would do.
And she wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
But ever since that night with Aria and Reagan where they’d pointed out all the little things he was doing to show her he loved her, she found herself fantasizing less and less about those big, grand gestures of love she wrote about.
What she found herself looking forward to instead were the smoothies Brody made for her every morning—now with extra banana after she’d made a fuss over how much she’d enjoyed that particular addition.
The way he forced her to take breaks when she got too focused on hitting a deadline.
The way he listened to her rant about how a particularly knotty plot point was driving her up the wall, and even occasionally threw out halfway decent ideas for getting around it.
Those little everyday things had come to mean more to her than any of the big, splashy displays of romance she usually wrote about it. So much so that she’d found herself incorporating some of them into her newest book, and she had a feeling it was going to be her best yet.
Now, if she could just get the man she’d been sharing a bed with to actually say the damn words, life would be pretty freaking close to perfect.
Still brooding over the “he loves me, he loves me not” loop playing over and over in her mind, she headed down the stairs with a detour into her office to grab her laptop before making her way to the foyer where he waited for her. “I still don’t know why I can’t just sit in on the meeting.”
A muscle in his jaw jumped, letting her know she was pushing the limits of his patience. “We’ve been over this, Marigold.”
“I know, I know.” Even with that tic in his jaw, she couldn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes. “You don’t trust me with family business.”
It shouldn’t sting. She wasn’t an O’Rourke, despite all the time she’d been spending with them lately.
Despite the fact that the twins had started calling her cousin the way they did the rest of the family.
Despite Reagan’s assurances that Brody loved her and wanted a future with her.
Despite the man himself saying he’d been shopping for fucking engagement rings.
None of that mattered one little bit when it came down to them trusting her. And yeah, that hurt more than she wanted to admit.
“It’s not that, menace.” To her surprise, his voice had gentled considerably, and when he reached up to cup her face his touch was more tender than she’d expected. “The more you know, the more danger you’ll be in. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
Dammit. How could she not melt at that? She couldn’t, but she still wasn’t quite ready to give in. “So nobody cares if Aria is safe?”
“Marigold.”
Her name was a warning. One she knew, logically, she should heed.
But since when did she ever listen to logic when it came to him? “What? I’m just asking.”
“And I’m telling you to drop it. Unless you want to spend your time writing lines instead of getting an extra hour of writing in. Understood?”
She absolutely did not want to do that. “Fine. But we’re not done talking about this.”
The grip on her face tightened, sending her heart racing when he used his hold on her to force her head back. “Is that how you answer me, menace?”
Yeah, she was definitely pushing her luck. And as tempted as she was to continue pushing just to see what would happen, she really didn’t want to write lines all night. “No, Sir.”
“Then try again. Are you going to stop arguing with me about this, Marigold Jane?”
God, she hated how much she loved it when he got all bossy like that. Hated the way her pussy clenched at the low growl of his voice, the way her blood heated when he demanded her obedience.
But she did love it, and she wasn’t keen to earn herself a trip over his knee or the lines he’d threatened her with, so she swallowed her pride and gave him the words he wanted to hear. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl,” he murmured, dipping his head to capture her lips with his. And for a few blissful seconds, she forgot she was mad at him, forgot he was shutting her out of family business, forgot everything but the feel of his lips, hard and demanding on hers.
By the time he lifted his head to grin down at her, she could barely think straight enough to remember why she was supposed to be annoyed with him. “Behave yourself tonight and when we get home I’ll eat your pretty little pussy until you come more times than you can count. Deal?”
Now that was a deal she could get behind.
“Yes, Daddy.”
Goldie
They left her in what Killian had called the parlor.
Reagan had made sure she had plenty of snacks—ridiculously unhealthy ones that Brody had grumbled about for a solid five minutes—a whole bottle of wine, and a place to set up her laptop.
Realistically, it was all she needed and she should be grateful for the extra hour of writing time.
But she couldn’t help feeling like a child who’d been plopped in front of the tv to keep her busy while the adults talked. Especially since Brody had threatened her with his belt if she left the room before he came to get her.
She’d tried to shake it off, and she had actually gotten a decent amount of work done in the first half hour of her confinement.
The longer it dragged on, however, the more it nagged at her that she was being left out.
That she wasn’t to be trusted with whatever it was they were discussing in there.
The more she thought about it, the more Brody’s explanation of keeping her out of the loop to keep her safe sounded like complete and utter bullshit.
Just when she’d worked up enough of a head of steam to go marching into Killian’s office and damn the consequences, the sound of voices in the hall froze her in place. Curiosity, her favorite deadly sin, overrode righteous indignation as she crept toward the door.
“I don’t understand why I have to come make nice with Killian.” A man’s voice, one she didn’t recognize. The whiny tone scraped over her nerves, setting every single one on edge. “He’s the one who threatened me.”
“Which he only did because you disrespected his wife, in his home, Rowan.”
Murphy. She was sure of it. And his son, Rowan. She’d heard bits and pieces about him, enough to know the other members of the family weren’t fans, but she hadn’t actually met him or his girlfriend yet.
“Oh come on, Dad. You saw the way he let her talk to me! He lets her walk all over him and somebody needed to tell him the truth.”
Well, that was one mystery solved. Rowan was apparently on the outs with the head of the family because he’d insulted Aria.
From what she knew of Killian, and the mob in general, Rowan was lucky to still have his tongue.
Have to remember that one. Would make a great scene in one of my books.
Tucking that little plot bunny away for later, she pressed her ear more firmly against the door to listen.
“Aria is a member of this family, and the mother of Killian’s child. You will show her and Killian the respect they are due. Starting with a meaningful apology to both of them.”
His demand was met with stony silence, and after a long while, someone sighed.
“Rowan, I’m asking this as your father. Not as an O’Rourke. Our family has suffered enough. Please don’t ask me to watch you walk away from us, on top of everything else we’ve lost.”
“All right.” Rowan’s voice had gentled considerably, and Goldie was left feeling as though she was eavesdropping on a very private moment. “I’ll do it. For the family.”
“Thank you, son. I’m going to let Killian know we’re here and see if he’ll speak with us. Wait here.”
“Sure thing, Dad.”
Something in Rowan’s tone set alarm bells off in her mind.
Praying he wouldn’t catch her, Goldie slowly turned the handle of the door in front of her and eased it open.
Through the sliver of an opening she allowed herself, she watched Rowan pull a phone from his pocket.
Not the sleek, expensive kind she would expect the son of a mobster to own, but a cheap flip-phone.
A burner, maybe?
And if it was… why would Rowan O’Rourke need a burner phone?
Heart pounding against her ribcage, she pulled the door open a smidge wider as he punched a number into the phone and held it up to his ear. “Yeah. We need to talk.”
Rowan paused, his lip drawing up in a sneer as he listened to whatever the person on the other end of the phone had to say. “I don’t give a fuck how busy you are. If you want to take down Killian, you’ll make time for me.”
Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. This was actually happening. She was actually listening to Killian’s cousin make plans for his downfall.
A noise in the hall had both her and Rowan freezing in place. Rowan whipped around, searching for the source of the noise, and she just managed to duck back behind the door before he spotted her.
“Hang on. I’m gonna step outside.”
Dammit. She was never going to find out what he was up to if he got out of hearing distance.
Clearly, there was only one thing to do.
Moving as quietly as possible, she opened the door just enough to slip out into the hall. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Rowan’s hideous brownish-purplish polo shirt—puce, she thought the color might be called—as he moved toward the front door.
It was difficult in Killian’s stupidly spacious home to keep to the shadows, but somehow she managed to make it to the foyer without Rowan spotting her.
Getting outside was a bit trickier, but luckily her target kept his back to the door as he spoke to whoever it was on the other end of the phone.
Which gave her just enough time to scramble for cover behind a set of bushes before he turned back around, his gaze roaming the area, clearly checking for any threats.
She was just settling into her hiding space when a hand clamped over her nose and her mouth, cutting off her air.