Page 11 of Ciaran

“I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“You’re not. You need a job. Declan needs someone front of house. The fact you and Callum dated in high school doesn’t matter in the slightest. Jesus, he’s screwed half of Manhattan.” He winces. “Sorry, that was insensitive.”

I tip my head to the side. “Why do you say that?”

Ciaran shrugs. “I didn’t want you to think you were just one in a long line.”

I laugh. “I was one in a long line. Look, Ciaran. Callum and I were barely an item before his extremely low boredom threshold kicked in and he moved on to his next conquest. Plus, it was years ago. A lifetime. The only reason I said I couldn’t take the job is because I don’t want my presence to be awkward for him, but if you think he’ll be okay with it then forget I said anything. I’d love to accept.”

Ciaran lifts his glass. “In that case, let’s toast to The O’Reilly’s newest recruit.”

Chapter 4

Ciaran

I slip Millie’s jacket around her shoulders, quashing the urge to pull her into my side and keep her safe. I can’t remember the last time I hoped time would stand still. If I’d had my way, we would have stayed inside the restaurant for hours. Unfortunately, our server had taken to hovering too close to our table and coughing at regular intervals. I hadn’t even noticed the other diners leaving until it was just Millie and me sitting there, nursing the remnants of our wine.

“Thank you for dinner, and for the job.” She offers a brief smile. “Do I have to call you ‘boss’ now?”

I raise an eyebrow. “I kinda like the sound of that.”

She playfully nudges my arm with hers. “Dream on.”

I laugh. “A man can hope. Technically, though, Declan’s the boss. And for the record, you don’t have to call him that, either.”

She studies me with an unreadable expression. I don’t recall her being so hard to figure out. Then again, my younger self had been too consumed with raging teenage hormones, then overcome with crushing disappointment when she’d looked through me to my twin, followed by Tanner.

“So, what happens now?”

I scratch my cheek and second-guess the correct response. “Um, I see you home?”

She smiles. “I mean about the job. When do you need me to start?”

“Oh.” I chuckle, glancing upward while I work out my shift pattern. There is no way she’s turning up for her first day without me being front and center to welcome and protect her from Callum’s habit of engaging mouth before brain. “Day after tomorrow. Ten a.m. sharp.”

“Perfect.” She presses a hand to her forehead. “What’s the address?”

I take out my cell and open the contacts app. “What’s your number?”

Her smile falters. “My number?”

“Yeah. Your cell number.”

“Why do you need that?”

A flicker in her eyes, the stiffness to her demeanor, and the way her spine straightens at my innocent request has my eyebrows shooting up and every instinct honed as an experienced cop firing. “So I can text you the address.”

“Oh.” She recovers her composure, but not fast enough. She mentioned in the coffee shop last night about not wanting Tanner to find her, and now she’s tentative about giving out her number. Whatever Tanner did to her, it’s killed her ability to trust.

“Can you write it down?” she asks.

“Sure.” She really doesn’t want me to have her number, and I’m trying fucking hard not to take that personally. “Do you have a pen and paper?”

She digs around in her purse, then hands over a receipt for some cleaning products, as well as a pen. I jot down the address and hand the receipt back to her.

She scans it before tucking it back into her purse. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll see you home.”

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