Three Irish Kings

Chapter One

ISLA

The cursor blinks at me from the blank page, mocking every second I've wasted the last three days. My exposé on the city's elite—the one that's supposed to launch my career—sits exactly nowhere. Just a title and a whole lot of nothing.

I look toward my laptop, which sits open on a fucking blank page with a blinking cursor that drives me mad. I need this exposé, but I’ve been stuck with nothing for days.

Who does a girl got to sleep with to get some info? If only I just had a damned break!

I huff and focus on the stack of mail on my kitchen counter. Might as well riffle through it.

As I pick it up, an ornate, shiny envelope catches my eye.

I set everything else down and turn it in my hand before opening it.

Inside is an invitation to an upcoming gala, raising money for mental health awareness. I squeal and jump up and down.

Fucking finally!

I shoot Colleen a text.

We’re in.

I set the invite down and pour myself a glass of wine. I deserve it!

My phone beeps, and I pick it up.

Colleen.

Her text is filled with a series of excited emojis and punctuation followed by:

I’ll be at your door in less than half an hour.

This gala is my break, my way in. Everyone with money will be there. And it is happening tonight. In a few hours.

I run to my computer to research who is going to be there. I know most of the players already, but I want to make sure I know everyone by heart. I can’t afford to make mistakes. Not on this.

As a journalist, I need to have an uncanny attention to detail and ease with making people talk. I mean, that’s how I met Colleen.

Colleen Connor is an Irish immigrant who’s actually pretty flaky and a little snaky, but I like her.

She’s almost always straight with me, and that’s what matters. It’s a little weird being friends with a source, but hey, where else am I going to meet people?

And unlike the other guests at this gala, I’m no billionaire. Far from it.

I mean, I do okay with all the commissions from my stories to the websites, but I certainly don’t have that many zeroes in my accounts. Not that I need them, or a love life, which I also lack. But if only I could have some big-name newspaper behind me.

If only I didn’t have to rely on so many sensationalist stories and was allowed to do what I’m really passionate about, which is a thorough and good investigative piece.

That’s why I need to be at this gala. This exposé might just be the break I need to get the big names in the industry to notice me.

What I do have is determination and ambition. Because I can do this. I can blow this scandal wide open.

Colleen walks in with her usual swagger, placing her designer purse down on the table, perfectly manicured nails clacking together.

“So, you’re to be my plus one?” The Irish lilt in her voice makes her tone almost teasing.

“That’s right.” I smile. “I'm your date.”

“Don’t tease me, sweetheart,” she croons, and I laugh.

I haven’t been on a real date in three years. I blanch at the idea of that. But this date right here, I have no problem with.

“Seriously. We have to go."

“Good thing I dressed to impress.”

She’s wearing a peach-colored sparkly dress that leaves little to the imagination, dragging along the floor behind her. The fabric looks like silk.

I wince. “I haven’t been shopping in a while. I’m really going to have to dig deep for an outfit.”

“Surely, your closet isn’t all that terrible.” She walks into my room without asking and I shake my head, smiling.

This is so Colleen.

She looks at me when I follow her in and holds out two options: a red, fiery dress with a plunging neckline and backline, and a simple black number with some low heels.

Lifting them both alternately, she smirks. “So, what mood are you in?”

I bite my bottom lip, looking at each in turn.

The black one is safe, the little black dress that can save me any time. You can never go wrong with that one.

But this gala, is this really how I want to do it? Do I want to play it safe?

Do I ever?

I grab the red dress and put it on, getting it zipped up.

Colleen proceeds to do my hair and makeup, and I let her do whatever she wants. She has been around these people. Rubbed elbows with the greats.

If tonight is to be successful, I have to listen to her, follow her lead.

When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself.

I look like a movie star. Or... a debutante, I suppose, like I’m going to be pretending to be. An heiress, even, to some paper company. Or a box company. Or an investment boutique. I don’t know. I’m going to wing it.

Wing it with research, obviously.

“Have you seen the guest list? Everyone’s coming.”

Colleen finishes curling the ends of my chestnut hair.

“The guest list isn’t always accurate. Gotta remember plus ones.” She smirks.

I nod. “The more, the better. I want to mingle, get all the juice.”

“It’s the perfect scoop. Not just good.”

“What makes it perfect?” On top of being snarky, Colleen is also sometimes cryptic, but I’m hoping that she tells me what’s going on.

“Just trust me. You’ll get more than you bargained for. Now, let’s go, our ride is here.”

She’s gotten us a limo, and I sip champagne on the way there, feeling almost like a Disney princess. Or maybe some evil villain, after all, my intentions are not of the charitable type.

Besides, every princess needs a prince, and well, I have none.

And the way things are going in my life, if I don’t land this, villain is the way to go for me.

A bump in the road startles me, bringing me back to reality.

I bounce as the driver pulls up to the venue, a huge building that used to be the city hall. It’s decorated so well now it fits perfectly as a red-carpet scene.

As we get out of the car, the flashes from the paparazzi nearly blind me as we rush inside.

Colleen is a bit of a celebrity in her own right, heir to an investment company that makes billions every year.

Her trust fund is huge, and her father..

. well, he’s rumored to be involved in all kinds of scandals and even reportedly has ties to the Irish mob, not that Colleen would ever confirm or deny that.

And since she is my friend, he is not the one I aim to look into today.

But I know other billionaires in this city have something to hide. And I’m going to find out what the hell it is.

I walk into the building, and I’m assaulted with beautiful food platters lined along the walls, well-dressed debutantes standing around with champagne flutes, men in tuxedos and suits with their glasses of brown liquor.

I have no idea what I expected, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this... tame. Honestly, a little boring.

There’s music, faint, classical, and a splash of moving color makes me turn my head to the dance floor.

Everyone’s just arriving, so there’s only one couple there.

The man has auburn hair, falling down over his face as he sways with the woman as if they are making love on the dance floor.

As the last notes float through the air, the man holds the woman in his arms as he bends her backwards, making her blush, and even I get hot just looking at how he is holding her.

When he sets her straight a few seconds later, he nods at her and turns, walking away, leaving her there, hand on chest, heaving as if she just finished running a marathon and looking lost.

He looks up, and his green eyes fall on me.

I look away, suddenly flustered.

Who is he?

I was not expecting to find someone like him here.

He’s more handsome than I would have expected, with those bright green eyes, flickering with mischief, a sharp jaw, and very slight stubble suggesting he just shaved maybe a couple of days ago.

Would it scratch if he kissed me?

I blink.

I have no idea who this man is. This is the first time I’ve even seen him. I must be really hard-up if I’m already fantasizing about a kiss.

I turn back, too curious to stay away, and he’s gone.

Taking a breath, I pick up a champagne flute and shake myself out of the lusty haze he got me under.

I need to really focus and lock in. I’ve got to get to know somebody before things get hectic.

A tap on my shoulder startles me so much I nearly spill the champagne.

“Whoa there.” A slight Irish accent tickles my ears.

When I turn, it’s the man that was dancing with that woman.

He takes the glass from me, steadying me with a hand on my hip. “It can be hard to keep your drink in the glass.”

It’s like fire where he touches me.

My eyes widen.

He smells good, like some kind of pinewood cologne, and my nostrils flare as I inhale, my knees going weak. He’s even more handsome up close, the long line of his nose straight, his jaw chiseled, shaven clean.

His bright green eyes are focused right on mine.

Maybe he knows something. I mean, there are a lot of Irish in this area, a lot of talk about the possibility of a mob, though I doubt every Irish person is interested in crime.

“And I’m not even dancing.” I gesture toward the dance floor. “Saw the end of your performance over there.”

He barks out a laugh. “Just passing time, a ghrá.”

The Irish term of endearment isn’t lost on me. My father is Irish.

“Passing time?”

“Until I met someone more... interesting.” He steps closer to me.

Oh.

Is he flirting?

My cheeks heat up, and my chest warms up.

Why today of all days when I have to focus on work?

Wait! He is here, I am here, he might know something, I need to get to meet people.

So, why not make the most out of this chance?

Might as well enjoy myself and try to get some inside info at the same time.

I give him a slow smile. “And have you?”

“Aye.” He looks down into my eyes, offering me his hand. “You want to dance?”

I giggle, and it makes me sound more like a lovesick teenager than I’d like to admit.

“I don’t even know your name.”

He shrugs. “Names are overrated. You could call me shitheel, and I’d come when I’m called.”

I laugh out loud this time. “Maybe you’re right, but if I’m to dance with someone, I’d like to know their name.” I extend my hand. “Isla.”

“Lovely to meet you, Isla.” He draws out the pronunciation of my name. “I’m Darren, but everyone calls me Dare.”

“Dare? As in truth or dare?”

He grins. “Might have a couple legendary stories about that party game.”

I lean closer.

He smells like sandalwood and honey and whiskey. It makes my knees weak, despite my determination.

“I’d love to hear them over a drink.”

His eyes tick down to my cleavage and back to my face, then he puts a finger to his mouth as if we’re in on a secret. “Normally, I wouldn’t say no to a woman in a red dress, but I’m not actually supposed to be drinking.”

“Why not?”

“Working. Mingling. You know the drill.”

“What do you do?”

“I… um, I’m in… investments.”

Intriguing and also vague enough to let me know this might be a good guy to try and get information from.

That being said, I’m not at all interested in a long, drawn-out explanation of investment techniques, so I’ll have to dig a little deeper to see if I need to cut my losses with him, even if it is a pity. I could have a lot of fun with Dare.

“Really? My family owns an investment boutique company.” Actually, my father owns a bookstore, and my mother is an artist. She sells her sculptures at a local art gallery.

“Ah, then you know how it goes. Besides, as much as I’d like to bend the rules for you, see that tall guy over there?” He puts his hands on my shoulders, making me shiver, and points me toward the bar at the end of the building. “That’s my boss, Liam.”

There are several people in the area he is pointing at, so it takes me a second before I spot the right person, but when I do, I almost startle at the way his ice-blue eyes glare at me.

His gaze is both chilling and scorching. He could kill me, I know that in my bones. And maybe he even wants to.

Unfortunately, my body seems okay with taking its chances, because even as I fear for my life, my core heats up with all the things he could do to me before the end.

He’s all strong brow and sharp chin, his cheekbones pronounced. Dark brown hair swept back and that piercing gaze...

I can’t seem to look away.

Luckily, Dare tilts me the other way, toward the end of the long bar, and I snap from whatever that was.

“And that’s Cillian. We work together, too.”

Cillian is looking down into his glass, so I can’t see his eyes, but his jaw is square, and his profile attractive.

What is this, a party for guys who look like they could be cast in a mafia romance? Because there is nothing about these guys that says rom com, or even any other kind of “rom” that isn’t the dark type.

And why is my body lighting up like the Fourth of July at that?

I turn back to Dare. “So, this is just a work function for you?”

“Not for you?”

I shake my head, smiling. “I’m just here for fun.”

“You came here for fun?” He shakes his head, a smirk on his very kissable lips.

What is wrong with you, Isla? Cut it out!

“Why not? Maybe you just don’t know how to have fun…”

I’m still talking to him because since he’s here, he might know something that I can use. Or maybe he is even involved. Him and his co-workers.

Right?

But if he is here with his boss and his colleague, maybe he’s just a plus one, like me.

And yet, I’m still talking to him. Because he’s hot. Because I live a lonely life and it’s been so long. Because though I need this scoop, I’m also human and I need this connection too.

I bite my lip as I look up at him.

His eyes sparkle. “Oh, a ghrá.. Fun is my middle name.”

“Dare Fun…?”

“Kavanagh.”

Darren Kavanagh.

Where have I heard that name before?

It’ll come to me, I’m sure. For now, even if just for a little while, I’ll just enjoy myself before I have to say goodbye to him and focus on why I’m here.

My job. My career. My future. My life.

“Nice to meet you, Dare Fun Kavanagh. So, shall we have some fun?”

He steps ever closer to me, right behind me with his mouth near my ear. “Are you sure you want to have fun, or are you looking for some trouble tonight?”