Ireland (Crossroads #1)

Chapter 8

Eva heard the knock at her door and glanced over to find her husband entering her office. As she always did, she paused, arrested by the sight of him—the way Gideon moved with powerfully seductive self-assurance, how he looked in his bespoke three-piece suits, the rakish fall of dark hair framing a face so stunning every thought in her brain scattered. And those eyes, a piercing aqua blue, saw through all her protective layers to the woman she was inside.

Her lips curved in delight and welcome, even as she felt a sharp pang of guilt for her earlier thoughtless words. He responded to her joy at seeing him, his sensual mouth lifting in a warm smile.

“Hello, ace,” she murmured, rocking back in her desk chair. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Am I now?”

“Always.” She stood and ordered the office AI to opaque the glass walls separating her office from the sea of cubicles. “Come here.”

His smile widened. “You know we have a meeting in five.”

“We’ll be there on time. I just need a minute.” When he reached her, she urged him around so her desk was behind him. “Now, half-sit on the edge so you’re not so dashingly tall, please.”

He gave her a quizzical look but complied.

“Now spread your legs,” she said, “so I can step between them.”

Moving into the space he created for her, Eva draped her arms around his neck and pressed herself into him, humming approval when his arms encircled her. She rested her cheek against his lapel and closed her eyes, savoring his warmth and scent. His hands stroked up and down her back, gentling her. The tension in her shoulders eased, and she sighed heavily. An instant later, she felt the same transformation in him, his muscular body relaxing into their embrace.

“Hmm.” He nuzzled the crown of her head. “I needed this.”

She offered her mouth to him, and he took it. His lips sealed over hers, and he kissed her with all the tender passion in his soul.

“I’ve been thinking…” she murmured between kisses. “Let’s fly down to the Outer Banks after the masquerade and spend the weekend unplugged.”

“Yes,” he agreed with zero hesitation.

“I’ll be over my period by then.”

His laugh was everything she needed to shake off her cloudy mood. “Even better.”

They’d somehow managed to keep their Outer Banks house a secret from the world at large. How was something she marveled at every time they were there. Without ever discussing it, they’d both never mentioned it in interviews. And while they’d renewed their vows there with friends and family in attendance, word of their sanctuary had never been leaked. Of course, they left the house infrequently. It was stocked with provisions before they arrived, and while they walked Lucky on the beach and surrounding streets, they very much kept to themselves.

Pulling back, she cupped his magnificent face in her hands. She loved him so much, almost beyond bearing. She wanted every single piece of him she could have, even as she acknowledged how greedy she was to want more. “Okay, we can go to the meeting now.”

Gideon gave her hips a soft squeeze. They both knew there would be more to unpack later at home, but they’d learned to connect even when they were apart on an issue. Neither of them was at their best when they weren’t solidly aligned. Reaching the point where they could disagree and not feel like the end was imminent had been a significant turning point for them both.

Taking her hand in his, he straightened. Fingers interlaced, they walked out together, heading to the elevator to reach the next lowest floor where Cross Industries’ advertising and marketing teams were located. In short order, they entered the reserved conference room, where familiar faces greeted them with easy smiles. That was something Eva took pride in, the camaraderie they’d built with their employees over the years. Gideon could still scare the hell out of someone—and did, if warranted—but working with her had revealed his softer side. For many, the first time they’d ever seen him smile was at her.

The man leading the meeting, Mark Garrity, stood when she walked in, and they exchanged affectionate grins because they were friends. She’d started her career in New York as his assistant at an independent advertising agency, and he’d been a great boss, generously sharing his knowledge. Gideon appreciated his work and hired him, and over the years, Mark advanced up the ranks to lead Cross Industries’ advertising team.

But while time had passed, Mark hardly seemed to have aged. There were a few strands of silver in the tight coils of his hair and closely cropped goatee, but his dark skin remained smoothly unlined.

Flanking him were Jeanette and Edita, the two female directors in charge of their liquor brands. They’d been with the company for over a dozen years, and Eva took pride in that longevity, too.

They all settled into their seats, with Gideon and her on one side and the team on the other.

“Before we get started,” Mark began, opening his leather portfolio and pulling out a folded piece of construction paper. “I’m supposed to give you this, Eva.”

Taking the makeshift card from him, she opened it to a child’s drawing of three stick figures encircled with unadorned Christmas trees. Her fingers traced the crayon marks, feeling the texture of the wax raised from the thick paper beneath. In her mind’s eye, she saw Janessa Garrity-Ellison bent studiously over the drawing. The little girl would tackle the task with the utmost seriousness.

The inner void Eva felt so keenly was filled to overflowing in Mark. She could see and feel it, which only made her yearning more acute.

“A budding talent!” Gideon said warmly, looking over her shoulder.

Mark beamed with pride. “Janessa drew that for you when I told her we were having a meeting today. You, me, and Gideon. When I asked her about the trees, she said they make people happy, and she wanted that for us.”

“It’s lovely,” she managed, her voice huskier than usual. She refolded the paper and tried to regain her composure. “And a very sweet thought. Thank her for us, please.”

“Of course. Now, down to business.” Mark flipped open the cover of his tablet. “I have to start by saying that rebranding Kingsman Vodka feels like coming full circle. We even have the same faces around the table, although some of us have changed which side we’re sitting on.”?

The memory of that long-ago first meeting was still fresh in Gideon’s mind, and he smiled. Even then, he’d had a robust advertising and marketing team at Cross Industries but had chosen to hire Mark’s agency—and Mark in particular—to get himself in front of Eva. She’d become his obsession but wanted nothing to do with him. Those early days had been rough, and he appreciated finding the humor in them now. He’d never desired anyone or anything so fiercely—or so provocatively out of reach.

Glancing at Eva, he reached for her hand and linked their fingers.?

“Now see that chemistry right there,” Mark began, jerking his chin toward them, “is why it was necessary to test creative featuring you both.”?

Eva’s grip tightened before she let go to steeple her hands together on the tabletop. “I expressly asked you to exclude us.”?

“I know, and initially we did, but feedback from early round testers was that your absence from the campaign was glaring.” His fingertips tapped the screen of his tablet, which was mirrored on the large wall monitor. “So, we threw something together just to keep respondents focused on the options in front of them. And when I tell you this creative outperformed the rest, I mean it wasn’t even close.”?

The mockup exploded across the wall, taking over the screen entirely. Gideon studied it, silently noting the strain in his wife’s voice. A photo of him and Eva on the red carpet had been altered so that the blindingly white camera flashes of the paparazzi were now glittering stars and diamonds against an inky velvet sky. The precious gems sparkled across the vivid image and piled around a towering Kingsman vodka bottle and a handblown martini glass in the same glorious emerald hue as Eva's dress.?

“Testers loved this,” Mark said, “to put it mildly. The top descriptors were luxurious, top shelf, and sexy. They selected a higher price point for the product and, better still, felt the price was justified. In comparison, the other ads had descriptors like energetic, fun, and colorful.”?

Gideon huffed out a laugh, thinking his wife could advertise tap water and make it sexy.? But when he looked at her, she wasn’t smiling, and there was a furrow between her brows. She withdrew her hand from his.

Mark’s mouth quirked thoughtfully from side to side. “You don’t like it.”

“It’s a striking image,” Eva said flatly. “I just don’t understand why you can’t use models in the same concept.”

“We tested creative with models,” he explained, swapping out the mockup with a rotating slideshow of other options. “And actors and musicians. But consumers know this is a Cross product and expect to see you. Dwayne Johnson is in the ads for Teremana. George Clooney is in the ads for Casamigos. It’s what works.”

“They are very specifically celebrities ,” she argued.

“So are both of you,” Jeanette said with a smile.

“We’re not,” Eva retorted. “We’re business owners. And as you all know, we didn’t create Kingsman. We bought the brand, as we’ve bought hundreds of other brands. We can’t be expected to be the face of everything.”

Concerned by his wife’s growing agitation, Gideon moved his chair imperceptibly closer to her.

Mark frowned. “Of course not. For instance, I wouldn’t suggest a campaign with you and the GenTen gaming system. But we’re launching an ultra-premium vodka. Lavish. Sophisticated. Elegant. Buzzwords also used to describe you, Gideon, and your lifestyle. Consumers want the fantasy of drinking what you drink and sharing that part of your life.”

“I don’t want to share my life!”

Everyone froze except Gideon. He pushed smoothly back from the table and rose to address the room.

“You’ve given us a lot to think about,” he said mildly as if ending the planned hour-long meeting after fifteen minutes was not unexpected. It was his company; no explanations were required. Concern for Eva overrode every other consideration. The discussion was triggering her; therefore, it needed to end.

Without looking at him, she stood, too, because they were always a united front. But she continued speaking. “There have to be limits to what people can take from us. I refuse to contribute to the media’s fetishization of Gideon and our marriage!”

“So, we’re all agreed on revising our approach to this campaign,” he said, filing away Eva’s response for closer examination later. “We excel at exploiting unexpected angles to boost sales. It’s one of our strong suits.”

Mark was on his feet, having stood when Eva did. “Yes, it is. Thank you. We had some other ideas, which I worried were a little avant-garde—a remnant of working with too-cautious brands, I’m afraid. I’ll assemble a deck and get back on your schedules as soon as possible.”

“Great work,” Gideon assured him as he slid his arm around his wife’s waist. To support her and soothe himself.

“You’ll be pleased to know,” Mark went on, “that the social chatter for the new ECRA+ campaign is extremely robust. The billboards featuring Ireland launched today here in the city, Philadelphia, Chicago, and Los Angeles, as well as Vancouver, Montreal, and Toronto.”

“Not my favorite campaign,” Gideon said drily.

Eva snorted and bumped her shoulder into him. “Ireland looks amazing. The ads are striking and unforgettable.”

“Obviously not in our liquor wheelhouse,” Edita said with a cautious smile, “but the ads definitely worked on me as a consumer. I contacted the ECRA+ team this morning to snag a bottle of lotion.”

“What more could we ask for?” Gideon urged Eva toward the door with a hand at the small of her back. “Thank you for your hard work on both campaigns.”

“Appreciate that.” Mark shot Eva a concerned look. “We’ll regroup and do great work on the Kingsman campaign, too. And quickly. We won’t lose momentum.”

Edita and Jeanette both nodded their agreement. The two brunettes gathered their folders and notes, then pushed their chairs back to stand. Gideon walked with his wife to the elevator vestibule and pressed the call button.

“Don’t say anything,” she warned, holding Janessa’s card at her side.

His brows lifted. “You’ll be doing the talking, angel. Over dinner. For now, why don’t you take the rest of the day off. Go home and cuddle Lucky.”

“I have meetings.” She stepped before him into the car.

“Anything that can’t be canceled, I’ll manage. We’ve covered for each other many times.” The doors closed, and he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs running lightly beneath her eyes. “Did you hide these dark circles with makeup this morning? Did you have trouble sleeping?”

“No.” When he just gave her a level look, she straightened and rolled her shoulders back. “I’m not lying. I slept like the dead. And I didn’t have dark circles this morning, so maybe I’m low on iron. I probably just need steak for dinner.”

“Done.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead as the car slowed. Taking her hand, he walked adjacent to her out of the elevator. “The day’s closer to the end than the beginning. I’ll be home before you can miss me.”

“I miss you the moment you leave my line of sight,” she said tiredly.

He smiled at her, but inside he was quiet and focused. Eva was not herself. Figuring out why and handling it was his top priority because he wasn’t himself without her.

Once Ireland reached the Vidal offices, she checked the family location sharing app to see where her father was. When she found that he was still at the hotel, she took a quick sink bath in his office bathroom and changed into the clothes from her overnight bag.

How swiftly things had changed. It felt almost like whiplash. Less than an hour before, she’d relished the scent of Ronan on her skin and the thought of her scent on him. Now, the only fragrance she wore was her perfume. Still, her body wouldn’t let her forget how close they had become before it all went to hell. She tingled all over, especially between her legs. If he’d been who she had believed him to be—a breathtaking stranger with effortless charm and wild animal magnetism who wanted nothing but her—they’d be making love again at this very moment.

But that was never the case when it came to the men she was attracted to. She hated that she couldn’t seem to learn that lesson.

Exiting Debra Sherman’s office—Vidal’s chief legal officer—Ireland caught sight of her father stepping out of the elevator.

“Dad,” she called out, snagging his attention. He walked hurriedly toward her, meeting her on the threshold of his executive suite.

“How do you know Ronan McCaffrey?” he asked without preamble, urging her inside and closing the door behind them.

“I don’t.” She sat in one of the visitors’ chairs and crossed her legs. She’d changed into a teal silk set comprised of wide-legged slacks and a fitted vest, a decision she regretted now because the material was too sensual against skin with heightened sensitivity. Making love with Ronan had felt like shedding a protective layer. She was exposed now, tender, and far too vulnerable.

“You were holding his hand, Ireland. You went with him to the hotel.” While he avoided being more specific, she could see the deeper question in his gaze. He may not have found her in flagrante delicto , but he’d seen Ronan in a very suggestive state of partial undress.

“I met him very recently. And the name he gave me was Ronan Boudreaux. So, again, I don’t actually know him.”

Her father moved to sit behind his desk, so she almost missed catching his flinch when she said Ronan’s name. “Are you romantically involved?”

She arched a wry brow. “He wants to destroy the family business, Dad. What do you think?”

“Was he your date Friday night?”

“You’re focused on the wrong thing,” she deflected. “He wants Vidal because of you . I’m irrelevant.”

And she refused to dwell on that or how she felt about it. Not now, when there was so much to be done in so little time.

Pulling off his glasses, her father tossed them onto his blotter and massaged his temples. “I’ve never met McCaffrey—or Boudreaux… whatever his name is—before today.”

“He says you owe him a debt that money can’t repay. What is he talking about?”

“Hell if I know.” Her father’s hands dropped to his lap. “He’s a total stranger to me.”

“He said it was a story you needed to tell me,” she insisted.

He gestured helplessly. “I knew a Boudreaux once, a lifetime ago. It’s a very common Cajun surname, but the resemblance between the two is striking. Uncanny really, so I suppose it’s possible they’re related. The man I knew was attractive and charming. He came from an esteemed and wealthy Southern family and used all those advantages to avoid consequences. His lack of empathy and remorse made him dangerous, and after talking with McCaffrey face to face, I can tell you they’re of the same ilk. They both have soulless eyes.”

She tried to reconcile the Ronan her father saw with the one she’d thought she knew. Ronan was so vital, such a vibrant and warm man. To think of him as soulless was impossible…unless she acknowledged that the man she’d spent the weekend with was merely an invention. It pained her to admit that with her dating history, it was more than possible that she just couldn’t see Ronan for who he really was.

“You need to stay away from him, Ireland,” her father said urgently. “That handsome exterior is hiding a rotten core. You have to trust me on that.”

“Doesn’t need saying,” she said tonelessly, “but he owns a big chunk of Vidal, so that may not be possible.”

“He doesn’t own enough. I’ll deal with him. Just keep your distance until I do. He’s not to be trusted.”

She studied him intently. “You seem very sure of someone you’ve just met.”

“He revealed his character when he deceived you. If he has nothing to hide, why was he hiding?” Without his glasses, Chris Vidal, Sr. looked older in a way she’d never noticed before this past weekend. The lines in his handsome face appeared deeper, his mouth thinner, his eyes reflecting inner turmoil and sadness. The hits had been coming fast and hard for him, too, with her mother’s engagement news and now McCaffrey’s takeover attempt.

“How are you going to deal with him?” she asked.

“We need to pay off the note he’s holding. Some weeks back, Brett Kline sent me a demo of a song Six-Ninths is working on. It’s good, honey.” His expression brightened. “Really good. It’s just what we need right now.”

“You’re kidding.”

He sat forward and put his glasses on again. “They performed at a festival this past weekend, but they’ll be flying in soon to record it. We’ll release the single right away and add it to a new album later.”

Gripping her head in both hands, she groaned. “Please tell me you’re just grasping at straws and that you haven’t been banking on a new single from Six-Ninths to save the company.”

“I don’t understand your reaction.”

“Seriously?” She gaped at him. “Six-Ninths is a one-hit wonder. They haven’t been relevant in ages.” When he just stared at her as if confused, she went on. “Their recent albums have barely covered their expenses. They’ve been mimicking midlevel rock bands for years. Their NFL playoff halftime appearance made headlines for how boring it was. Do I have to go on? Because I can.”

“It only takes one song to make a comeback,” he said resolutely.

“Dad.” Ireland bent forward, her hair flowing almost to the floor as she rested her elbows on her knees and linked her fingers together. “I have to ask you something, and I really need you to think hard about the answer. Do you see a future for Vidal beyond you or only within the span of your lifetime?”

He scowled. “What kind of question is that? It’s a family business.”

“Then why do you keep making decisions that jeopardize the future of this company?”

His breath left him in a rush as if she’d knocked the wind from him. “That’s not fair, Ireland. Growing a business has inherent risks.”

“Yes, managed risks. Which should never lead to the brink of disaster not just once but twice.” She held his gaze, sharp and direct. “Vidal needs you, Dad. Needs your gift for spotting and working with talent. But executive decisions are not your forte. You have to acknowledge that if you envision your grandkids working in these offices someday.”

He sat motionless, his jaw taut.

“Maybe you’ve felt like you have to handle that end of things,” she went on, “whether because you’re the parent or you don’t think your kids are ready for the responsibility yet. Whatever the reason, you’re about to lose your shares, and I can maneuver into the majority position by acquiring Mom’s and aligning with Christopher. So, will you step aside and let me fight off McCaffrey? Because if you want to keep forging ahead on your own, I’ll ask Christopher to buy me out and leave you both to it.”

His brows lifted. “You have to be in charge or you’re leaving? That’s your ultimatum?”

“No. McCaffrey wins, or we do. Those are your choices.”

“You don’t think I can fend off the takeover?”

She shook her head and forced herself to be brutally honest. “Not without Gideon’s help, no. And I hope you don’t go that route because he’s got a bazillion businesses to run, and Vidal is my only focus.”

His fingertips drummed restlessly into the blotter. “And Christopher agrees with you?”

“He’ll have to agree, or we’ll be out of business. He’s too much like you. He won’t be the change Vidal needs to recover and rebuild.”

Her father gave her a long, studious appraisal, and then his eyes and nose began to redden. “When did you grow up?” he asked hoarsely.

Today . But she didn’t say that aloud.

Pushing back from his desk, he stood and faced the windows, his fingers linking behind his back. She’d spent her lifetime seeing him in this space. She had memories from when she was so small that the heavy wood desk dwarfed her, the desktop inches above her head. She remembered hiding from Christopher in the kneehole and putting toys in the drawers for her dad to find.

Framed on the walls were photos of her father with legendary performers and music industry figures, along with magazine cover stories and articles about him. Chris Vidal, Sr. had built a sterling reputation for his unrivaled ear and history of signing talent who set trends rather than followed them. And beyond that acumen, he was widely regarded as a good man with a kind heart. She’d always been immensely proud of him and still was. Whatever flaws he might have, he was still the best father she could ever ask for.

His heavy sigh weighed on her heart. “You’re right about Christopher, I’m sorry to admit. He does love the business, though. As much as I do.”

She hated hearing the despondence in his voice. “We’re just shuffling jobs. You can focus on the talent, and I’ll handle the business.”

He faced her. “I’ve never doubted that you’re capable of doing much more here at Vidal. But you don’t love it like we do. I’ve struggled with that for years now, Ireland. It’s why I’ve structured our workloads the way I have, hoping that if you’re having fun, you’ll stick with us. The task you want to take over is hard, heartbreaking work.”

“Dad…” She tried to find the right words. “No, I don’t love it to the same extent, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love it.”

Standing, she ran her fingertips along the worn and nicked edge of the desk. “I remember when this desk used to be Pop’s and all the clutter he had on it—the guitar strings and picks, the levers and valves, the scraps of piano wire. I remember Mom and Nana working together to turn this old storage space into offices while Christopher and I built forts out of the empty boxes.”

Her father’s mouth quirked with a melancholy smile.

“I love my family,” she went on, “not entities or things. You’ve got to believe me when I tell you I’ll fight harder for Vidal because you love it. More than I ever would for myself.”

“I don’t want you fighting on my behalf. I don’t want you to have to fix my mistakes.” Rounding the desk, her father gripped her shoulders and held her gaze. “You should be doing what you love.”

“Oh, I’ll love waging this war,” she told him with a sharp-edged smile. “But you decide. Right now. Because if this is the route we’re taking, I have homework for you to get started on.”

Settled in the sitting area of his office, Gideon reexamined the half dozen notes in protective plastic sleeves strewn across the coffee table. It had been a couple of years since he’d last studied them at length, but their familiarity made them no less disturbing.

Around him, Raúl Huerta, Victor Reyes, Chase Kwon, and Angus McLeod—the top-level supervisors of his security team— waited quietly. Only Angus was dressed casually in jeans and a gray Henley. The other men wore black suits tailored to hide their sidearms.

The notes were disturbing at first glance before a single word was read. Photos of him and Eva, haphazardly cut out of magazines, had been disfigured by a red Sharpie and razor slashes. Individual letters had been pasted into words that formed malevolent rhymes.

Four blind eyes. Enucleated twice.

How will you run? Can’t wait for the fun.

Twinkle, twinkle—I’m not far.

Know exactly where you are.

Up above the world so high,

You’ll be in a gutter when you die.

Blood is red,

Your eyes are blue.

Will she cry real tears

when I eviscerate you?

The last had been found under the Bentayga's windshield wiper. The others had been left with the reception staff at various Cross Industries-owned businesses around the city and even with the lobby staff at the penthouse. All were delivered by couriers who had no knowledge of what they were delivering, and no fingerprints or genetic material was left behind to trace who the author was.

“The last arrived—what…two years ago?” he asked tensely, his fury a deep chill inside him.

“Just about,” Raúl confirmed, his dark eyes raking over the items on the coffee table.

“Could be he’s incarcerated,” Victor offered. “Or he self-destructed.”

“You’re sure it’s a man?” Gideon asked, studying the faces around him.

“More than likely, lad,” Angus said, the music of Scots threaded through his voice. “Removing the eyes. Disemboweling. The Glasgow smiles carved into the photos. All knife injuries. Not typically a woman’s choice of weapon, especially against a man of your size and strength.”

Nodding, Gideon straightened. “Since it’s been some time since the last contact, could we dial back security?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Chase interjected. “Why take the risk?”

He was the most recent addition to the team, having joined them several years before. He’d worked his way up to swing shift supervisor, and his relative youth brought a different energy to the team.

Gideon explained. “You’re all doing exactly what you should, but the heightened security is making Eva feel anxious, not secure.”

“Since when?” Victor asked, frowning.

“I don’t know. But it’s become an issue.”

“It’s a risk to lower our guard,” Chase repeated. “This guy’s smart. His language is educated. He may be waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to give him an opening.”

“I can talk to my daughter,” Victor offered. “Help her see the necessity of it.”

Gideon raked a hand through his hair. “We’ll be discussing it this evening. If I need reinforcement afterward, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, let’s find a way to keep her secure without making her feel like she’s constantly under threat.”

“But you are,” Raúl said frankly. “You have round-the-clock security because there are threats, even beyond this wacko.”

And that was the problem Gideon didn’t know how to fix. He’d made enemies. His father had made enemies. Plus, there were those who fixated on him and his wife for reasons ranging from infatuation to ransom. Being so prominently in the public eye made them targets. “I don’t know the solution,” he admitted grimly. “But we need one. Eva isn’t feeling safe, and that’s unacceptable. Can we make security a little less visible to her without compromising it?”

His phone line beeped on his desk, then his assistant Scott’s voice came through the speaker. “Ms. Vidal is here.”

Gideon turned his head to look at the reception area outside his office and saw his sister standing by Scott’s station. Pulling his pocket watch from his vest, he realized Ireland was right on time for their six o’clock meeting. He paused to admire the photo of his wife inside the case, then snapped it shut.

When Ireland had called to see if he could fit her in, he’d suggested they meet at the penthouse. But it was business, she said, and she didn’t want to bring that home with them. Since she also expected to work late, they’d agreed to meet after hours. He hadn’t anticipated spending so much time reviewing the damned notes. He’d somehow managed to put from his mind how deeply unsettling they were.

“We’ll work on it,” Angus said, standing. There was significantly more silver than red in his hair these days and more lines on his craggy face, but his biceps strained against his sleeves, and he still radiated vitality and strength.

“Thank you.”

They all stood. Raúl gathered up the notes and slid them into a file. Then, they moved in unison toward the door. Ireland watched them through the glass, admiring how the four men carried themselves. Deadly predators, all of them. Casual attire couldn’t disguise Angus McLeod’s lethality. And Chase Kwon’s boyishly youthful features and flashing smile weren’t enough to distract from the trained economy with which he moved.

They filed out of her brother’s office, each giving her a fond smile.

She stopped Angus before he walked away. “I was going to call you later,” she murmured. “There’s someone I’d like to know everything about. No detail is too small.”

“Of course. Who is it?”

“I’ll text you.” She glanced at where her brother waited, holding open the glass door for her. “Please keep this between us. And thank you!”

“Havnae done anything yet, lass.” He winked before continuing on, and she thought, not for the first time, that he was undeniably sexy for a man in his mid-sixties.

Taking a deep breath, Ireland approached her brother with a sunny smile. “Thanks for fitting me into your day—or evening, as the case may be.”

“I’m always available to you.” He let the door swing shut behind them and gestured toward the sitting area. “What do you need?”

Ireland studied her brother as he settled into the sofa across from her. His suit jacket hung on a coatrack behind his desk. His waistcoat hugged his lean torso like a second skin, while platinum cufflinks, matching tie clip, and the fob of his pocket watch caught the light at random intervals. Unlike Ronan, Gideon was thoroughly comfortable in his urbanity. She couldn’t ever remember seeing her brother with his sleeves rolled up or his tie loosened.

She was like Ronan in that way. Her style was a little edgy and unorthodox—except when she was shopping with her family in mind. And while Gideon’s confidence was dynamic and aggressive, Ronan’s was smoothly nonchalant. It was a polished facade that hid a man whose morals were as gray as his eyes.

“I feel like an idiot asking this,” she began, “but I don’t know the extent of my assets. I know I own a bit of Cross Industries shares—thank you very much for gifting me some on my birthdays—and I have a ten percent share of Vidal, but I don’t know how much that’s all worth.”

“I’m happy to tell you.” He moved to stand.

“Wait. I just want to know if I’ve got what I need to buy Mom’s fifteen percent stake in Vidal.”

Gideon resettled into the sofa. “You want to take a controlling interest in Vidal?”

She nodded, having decided before she arrived that she wouldn’t say anything about McCaffrey Holdings, which would also hold a twenty-five-percent stake in the company if the loan defaulted and they exercised their lien on her father’s shares.

“The shareholder agreement gives your father right of first refusal,” he noted. “So, he declined to buy them. That surprises me.”

Ireland hadn’t known that, but her father must have. But he hadn’t brought it up or used it to get in her way. “He’s ready to focus on the creative side exclusively,” she lied. “And Mom wants me to have her shares. She won’t sell to Christopher.”

Her brother winced. “Ouch.”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered, digging into her purse. Her phone screen was lit up with another incoming call from Ronan and the sight of his face twisted her into knots. She’d had to silence her notifications earlier because of his efforts to reach her. “I’m not looking forward to explaining what I’ve done, but I’ll handle it as soon as everything’s finalized. I’m hoping the sale can be done quickly because I won’t be able to keep it under wraps long.”

“Sales of private shares can be done at any time, barring any conflict with the shareholder agreement.”

“Great.” Reaching across the table, she held a folded piece of paper out to him. “This is the amount I’d need to buy Mom out. Do I have it?”

Accepting the paper, he sat back and opened it. “I’d have to run the numbers to confirm?—”

“I’m not asking you to verify the amount. Just tell me if I can afford it.”

His brows shot up. “Well.”

“Don’t take it like that. I’m just saying I didn’t graduate summa cum laude because of my good looks. I know how to run a debit-to-equity ratio calculation.” Of course, she’d fudged the numbers because Vidal was so upside down, and she wanted to pay her mother fairly, more so because McCaffrey Holdings’ most recent offer had been so generous.

“I am going to need your help,” she went on. “You’re a mastermind and I’d be stupid not to tap your experience even if I do really hate adding to your workload. So let me handle the stuff I can. There will be plenty for you to do when the time comes.”

His mouth quirked in a half smile. “Okay. Yes, you can afford it. You have many times that amount in your cash reserves. You won’t have to sell off anything. You can assume control as soon as the wire transfer is completed and you have a signed shareholder agreement.”

Her sigh of relief deflated most of the tension in her body. “So, first thing in the morning. Great. Could I conceivably have enough to pay off Vidal’s debt?”

His amusement sharpened into calculation. “Not knowing how much we’re talking about, I can’t say. But why would you want to do that?”

“Oh, you know.” She waved a careless hand as if the company wasn’t failing due to its debt. “Having a clean slate when I get started.”

“Don’t do it. Once you start pouring your personal wealth into a company, you’re both in trouble. Buy the shares, get the company in a position to sustain itself, then make it profitable. If it fails—and I’m not doubting your ability, just observing that the music industry is facing extreme challenges—you’re going to be just fine.”

Staring at him, she chewed on her inner lip and debated arguing. Paying Ronan off and getting him out of her life was such an attractive possibility that she ached to make it reality. If she never saw or heard from him again, she’d never risk doing something stupid.

It was the height of irony that her feelings for every other man she’d been with had turned on and off as easily as flipping a light switch. But Ronan, the gravest threat yet, was proving harder for her to shake off. All afternoon, she’d been fighting the urge to call him and attempt to change his mind somehow.

You could have me if you’d just pick me over Vidal! But he’d already made his choice, and he’d done so when she’d been sitting right in front of him, still warm and pliant from sharing his bed.

In the end, she had to take Gideon’s advice because he was right, and she knew it. If she couldn’t save Vidal without transfusing her own money into it, then it couldn’t be saved, and she had to accept that. All she could commit to was trying her best.

“You’re right,” she agreed. “Thanks for keeping me straight.”

Her brother’s smile was so warm it thawed some of the chill left by Ronan’s betrayal. “I’m proud of you for taking this step. It’s a big deal to take control and bigger yet that you want to.”

Ireland smiled back, feeling a little more settled. Yes, circumstances had forced her hand, but she was making a major shift in her life no matter the reason.

“Do you want me to schedule the wire transfer?” he asked.

Gathering up her purse, she stood. “I feel bad asking you to do that. It’s way beneath your pay grade.”

Her brother stood, too. “It’s not a problem.”

“Thank you.” She rounded the coffee table. “Knowing that’s handled without me screwing up an account number or something is a relief, and I appreciate it.”

He draped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a side hug. “I’m about done for the day. Want a lift home?”

“No, thanks. I’m going back to the office for a bit. Lots to get done before tomorrow morning.”

Gideon pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll have Raúl take you back.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. But only because you won’t let me say no.”

“Don’t work too late, either,” he called after her as she pushed through his office door.

“Hey.” She stopped on the threshold. There was a reason her brother was at work late after Eva had already left. His competitive drive was fierce, and closing deals satisfied it. “Think you could use a warehouse in Queens?”

He gave her a thoughtful look. “Possibly.”

“There’s a family clothing business using the building now, but you could move them to another of your properties that would suit them better. They’re getting forced out, so if you went in with an offer to relocate them, I’m sure you’d be more attractive. I figure if someone else wants it, there has to be potential.”

“Where did you get your information?”

She gave an offhanded shrug and smiled inwardly at the bright acquisitiveness in his gaze. “I overheard it in a bar. The guy was an asshole, so I’m happy to foil his plans. You’d have to move fast, though. Sounded like he almost had it in the bag.”

His smile was sharply amused. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Anytime, bro.” Ireland whistled on the way to the elevator.