Page 8 of The Irish Arrangement

“Like men?” Keira exclaimed before we walked any further. “No. Absolutely not.” She marched after us, tossing a look of disdain at Ian as he joined us. “I will not allow you,” she scolded. “I don’t trust you to speak for Saoirse.”

I huffed, crossing my arms near the sofa Murray directed me to. “Who wears the pants here, so I know which one of you to address?”

Murray mumbled, unsure of what to say as Ian sat. Again, he gestured for me to sit. “If you’d please, Declan.”

I lowered to the stiff, uncomfortable sofa facing the one he sat on. Keira lowered next to him, back straight and eyes beady on me.

“Mr. Sullivan, the answer is no,” she said. “You will not marry my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Ian asked, raising his brows at her, then Shane. “Not his?”

A framed photo on the side table distracted me. The slim brunette smirked in her pose for the camera, and I wondered if that stuck-up bitch was Saoirse. She looked rigid, too skinny, like she’d break if I fucked her hard. I could already hear the whining a woman like that would make. And those fake breasts. God. Would it be too much to ask for a real woman? One with meat on her bones, someone who could stand up to a good pounding? And real tits to hold?

Keira tipped her nose up, noticing where I looked. She got up and hugged the frame to her as she sat again. “Saoirse will not marry you in exchange for any supposed, outdated debt.” She sniffed. “You’ve probably fabricated it all.”

I locked my stare on Shane, who fidgeted in his seat, avoiding any eye contact with me. Then I returned my glare to her. “Are you accusing me of lying?” I growled.

She didn’t budge, seeming to hold her breath as she clutched the picture frame like it could be a shield.

“No!” Shane chuckled uneasily with that outburst. “No, no, Declan.”

“Mr. Sullivan,” I bit out.

“No, Mr. Sullivan. She’s not accusing you of lying. No, not at all.” He patted her forearm until she wrenched it away from his reach. “She just doesn’t remember. It was so long ago. And you know, women.” He huffed. “They don’t know the details of business and all.”

“Then you are aware that you owe the Sullivan Clan a significant sum.” Ian produced a printout from his inner jacket pocket, set it on the coffee table between the sofas, and spun it with his finger for the couple to see.

Keira’s eyes nearly bugged out. Shane winced. “Uh, the number’s a little higher than what I recall, but, yeah…”

“Consider yourself fortunate that my father never decided to inflate the interest after all this time. You haven’t paid a single cent back. But with your agreement that you’ll arrange a wedding within one week, uniting me and your daughter in marriage, I will wipe the slate clean.”

Keira let out a whine. “No.” Now she gripped Shane’s forearm, digging her manicured nails into his sleeve so hard that it might tear the fabric. “No, Mr. Sullivan. You must consider someone else for marriage.”

Ian chuckled lightly. “We’ve considered any and everyone possible.”

Shut the fuck up. It was already clear that this mother didn’t want her bratty-looking daughter hitched with me. Ian didn’t need to worsen my image by explaining that Saoirse was my last option.

“Not my daughter,” she begged.

“Murray.” I stood and held up the paper in his face. “Shall I collect on this amount now? Or will there be a fucking wedding at the end of this week?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yes.” He winced at Keira’s tightened clutch on his forearm, trying to remove himself from her grip. “Yes. We will arrange for a wedding.”

Ian stood, nodding once in acknowledgment. “Then we’ll be in touch.”

I maintained a level glare on them until I followed Ian out. We didn’t mess with the butler, who wasn’t even there anymore. He’d probably shat his pants with how we’d frightened him at the door and let ourselves in.

But we didn’t leave. Ian glanced around, tipping his head toward the side of the house. I furrowed my brow and followed him, catching on to the fact that he wanted to listen to Keira and Shane. Their shouting match wasn’t hard to eavesdrop on. With the windows open and both of their voices raised, we idled on the front sidewalk and heard it all while we lingered.

“You are out of your mind if you think we’ll arrange for a wedding,” she shouted.

“I think we have to,” Shane whined.

“No. We won’t. Not like this!” she threatened before the sounds of her heels clacked. A door slammed inside, and Shane groaned.

Ian and I walked back to his car. Once we were in, I let the tension of irritation and impatience bleed out of me with a deep exhale. “If they don’t cooperate,” I promised, “I’ll fucking ruin them.”

Ian nodded, setting the car in drive and pulling away. “Damn straight, we will, Brother.”

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