Page 16 of Lucky Strike

“And Maeve won’t leave me alone, so maybe they’re seeing something I’m not.”

Any warmth I may have been feeling evaporates. “You really know how to sell the position, huh?”

He comes so close that I can smell his cologne, the damp cotton of his shirt. “Are you interested or not?”

I stare at a pair of freckles on his neck. I kissed them once, in another life. I feel as if I’m slipping down a muddy embankment of complicated feelings and memories with nothing to catch me at the bottom. But then I think of Grammy, and it doesn’t matter what I feel or who I feel it for.

Yanking his phone from his pocket, he scans the screen with a furrowed brow. “I have to go. I’ll send a car for you at 9:45 a.m.” And then, walking briskly to his car, he slides in and takes off, leaving me to wonder if he noticed that I never agreed to come.

I’ll call him Conlan.

Lucky was a lifetime ago.

5.Lucky

Now

“Hey, Lucky,” sings Patricia, my father’s long-time secretary at the downtown office. We have another, smaller office down at Conley Container Terminal where Tristan and I handle most of the day-to-day stuff, but Dad’s usually up here in his crystal tower. “You look like you need a cup of coffee.”

She’s probably right. I didn’t sleep all that well last night. “Nah, I’m all right. Thanks, Patty.”

“Well, you get more handsome every day, honey. You sure you don’t want to have dinner with my Kelsey? She’s back in town, and she’s not that much older than you.”

“Kelsey can do better,” I assure her, tapping the desk as I pass by. “Trust me.”

Inside his office, Dad’s standing at the window, gazing out at the city. He turns when I shut the door, holding up a finger and pointing to the cell phone at his ear. Nodding, I drop into a chair and pull out my own phone, checking the texts that came through while I was en route.

A few are from Nola, whose managerial role tends to bleed into my personal life.

I was appalled at your treatment of that young lady yesterday, Conlan.

Your mother raised you better than that.

I’m surprised it took you so long to send this text, Nola.

I’d have told you sooner, and to your face, but you hid in your office until I left yesterday.

When I don’t respond, she texts again. I imagine her in my kitchen, scowling at her phone as she pecks away at it.

I decide to change tack.

Have you been able to interview anyone else?

Ms. Grant has been the only one, so far, up to your standards. And the only one with a close personal reference.

Yes, a close personal reference frommy sister. I snort. Maeve, who’s sent me six messages in the past twenty-four hours, all of which I’ve ignored. Bria’s one of her oldest, dearest friends. She’s always been over-the-top protective of her.

“Sorry, Con. There was a little hiccup with one of our Department of Labor accounts,” Dad says, settling into his chair. “How you doin’? You don’t look too good. You sleeping okay?”

I scrub my hand over my face, partly to conceal my annoyance. It’s established: I look like shit. “I’m fine, Dad.”

“How’s Liam?” His smile goes dreamy. He fingers one of the frames on his desk, a photo of Liam and me from Thanksgiving last year.

“He’s okay. I’ve been busy, so he’s been a little bored. Maeve’s taking him out for ice cream later.”

“That’s good.” He nods, still gazing at the photo. “Any luck finding somebody to watch him?”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about that, though. I’ll figure it out.”

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