Chapter 60
sixty
CIAR
They were all on the jet Dagr had chartered, headed to Colorado. They were also on their way to a congratulatory drunk in honor of the O’Faolain’s newest family members, which was a total mind fuck.
Ulf had agreed to stay with his new-found brothers and their wives, and Rowan, of course, while the younger crowd started their trip across the ocean.
Ciar wanted to relax like everyone else seemed able to do, but the tension in his neck held the premonition of a migraine.
His boss sent him a text before boarding. He was to go to London the moment he stepped foot back in Europe. His boss, Anders, wasn’t one for dramatics, so Ciar’s head was spinning over possibilities.
Ciar got paid an extraordinary salary to put out fires in the real estate world, not start them.
He could think of nothing. Damn it. He huffed, ignoring the animated conversations around him, concentrating on sipping his iced vodka instead of everyone else’s preferred whiskey.
He blamed his Russian mother. May she not rest in peace.
He felt eyes on him. Gray eyes.
He glanced up and met Gray MacGregor’s steady gaze. She had been avoiding Ciar since he’d managed to screw things up so royally between them. She wouldn’t listen to him. She wouldn’t forgive him.
With good reason.
His stare didn’t waver until Mags said something to her friend, ending their standoff.
He shouldn’t even allow his thoughts to stray toward that woman, and yet his every thought starred the leggy blonde.
He squeezed the back of his neck in frustration, their gazes clashing once again. When she raised her brow in haughty question, he couldn’t help the smirk that twisted his top lip.
She rolled her eyes and went back to looking at pictures of Dagr’s cabin. Ciar tipped his head back and forced his muscles to release one by one.
Gray had always gotten under his skin.
Always.