Page 20 of Irish

“Using their kid?” Her words splintered, anger seeping through the cracks. How could a mother involve her child in such duplicity?

“Seems so.” Arrow's jaw clenched. “I was hoping you were wrong.”

Makenzie's emotions churned. She thought of Irish and how this would crush him. Her hands balled into fists, the paper beneath them crumpling.

“Can't believe she'd stoop this low,” she spat out, betrayal souring her tone. “I know she was deceitful, but to use your child to steal money from a nonprofit that helps children?”

“Deep breaths, Makenzie,” Arrow instructed. She drew in air, slowly releasing it, and repeated the motion.

Makenzie's heart hammered against her chest, as she paced the length of Irish's office. She paused by the window, watching the world move obliviously outside. Her reflection stared back at her. Could she tell Irish of the betrayal? The thought clawed at her.

She pictured Irish's face, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, the way his hands, large and capable, had rubbed the stress out of her shoulders the night before. The roaring of his bike announced his presence. As he stepped off, Clover jumped down from the specially formatted dog sidecar. She could read his irritation on his face before he walked through the door.

“Makenzie Beatrice Sullivan, you better have a damn good reason for sneaking out of the house before I woke up this morning and leaving me a scrawled note on a napkin does not count.”

“I needed to get in early, I had a meeting.”

“You had a meeting? Young lady, you are going to have to be more specific than that. Who exactly did you have a meeting with at my business without me knowing? Last I checked, you were going over my books, not meeting with clients.”

“Um, it wasn’t a client.”

Irish put his helmet on the desk and took another menacing step toward Makenzie. His eyes were flashing and a tik appeared in his jaw. “Little girl, you have about two seconds to tell me what is going on.”

Little girl.

He definitely thought of her as a Little. Did he want her to be his Little? She didn’t have the time to think about that right now. Her pulse hammered in her ears as she turned away from him and picked up the folder on the desk next to her, the weight of the incrimination was heavier than the physical papers in her arm. A chill of dread coiled in her stomach as she turned to face the scowling man.

“My meeting was with Arrow. I asked him to double check my numbers when I found some inconsistencies.”

Irish stood quietly, waiting for more of an explanation, an undercurrent of anticipation hung in the air that even Clover, lounging at his feet, seemed to pick up on.

“What inconsistencies?” Irish's voice was a low rumble, the sound of distant thunder before a storm. His green eyes, sharp as emeralds, fixed on Makenzie, searching for answers before she'd even begun to speak.

“Yeah, it’s something you're not going to like,” Makenzie confessed, her throat tight. She handed him the folder.

Irish's gaze flicked to it and then back to Makenzie. “Let's hear it.”

Arrow, who quietly walked in just a second before, stepped forward, and cleared his throat, and began to unravel the story. As Arrow spoke, Makenzie watched Irish closely, her own emotions a tangled mess. She saw the flicker of confusion on his face, the way his jaw clenched when the pattern of unauthorized transactions came to light, how his fingers curled into fists at the mention of suspicious withdrawals.

“Your ex-wife,” Arrow said, his tone steady but laced with a barely contained fury, “used your kid to steal twenty thousand dollars from the camp.”

The words landed like a gut punch. Disbelief etched deep lines across Irish's forehead, his brows knitting together as he processed the information.

“Damn it,” Irish muttered. He raked a hand through his red hair, the strands catching the light as if set aflame by his rising temper. “Are you sure about this?” There was a plea hidden in his question, a hope for some mistake, some error they could laugh off later over beers. Makenzie only nodded, her heart aching for him.

“I checked several times before I asked Arrow to look it over,” she said softly, hating that she was the bearer of bad news. “We wouldn't be here if we weren't certain.”

Irish strolled purposely through the office to his desk. His chair scraped against the floor as he sat down heavily. For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the sound of Clover's tail thumping against the ground—an oblivious drumbeat to the unfolding drama.

“All right,” Irish finally spoke, his voice rough with suppressed anger. “I'll handle this,” he said, the words clipped, decisive. The muscles in his jaw twitched.

Makenzie watched him, her chest tight with conflict. The office felt smaller somehow, the walls closing in as Clover's tail ceased its thumping.

“I need to be alone for a while,” Irish said breaking the silence. “Can you go grab breakfast at The Rusty Crab or?—”

Makenzie nodded, “I’m sure I can think of something.”

“Thank you,” Irish said, his voice softer now.

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