Page 53 of Audacity

Before we even meet up with Marlowe, I’m already anticipating that Brendan will hit on her, just like he hit on me.

There’s no denying that the guy is disgustingly attractive, just like his brother. Like Gabe, he has that classic Irish colouring of almost-black hair and blue eyes. Like Gabe, his beard is dark and well-manicured. He’s bigger than his brother, who’s more on the lean, athletic side. I suspect Brendan lifts some serious weights to achieve shoulders that broad. He’s wearing the hell out of his suit, and I bet he has to fight women off.

Despite all that, there’s something about him that leaves me cold. I’ve known too many men like him. Fucked too many guys who are drunk on their own Kool-Aid, who’ve lost touch with the essence of themselves.

The false gods of wealth and power can be both glittering shields and unreliable mirrors, which makes me marvel all the more at the integrity, the humility, that Gabe exhibits every day.

It seems his faith has him moored in still waters.

I’ve been wandering around the exhibits with Gabe and Brendan. I’ve spotted Marlowe from afar a couple of times, but she’s firmly on duty, schmoozing with patrons of the RA. It makes me reluctantly glad that I didn’t come along by myself.

The paintings themselves are wonderful. Monet’s garden at Giverny was, of course, the starting point for thisEden’s Echoexhibition, but the RA has flexed its considerable muscles in borrowing pieces from Bonnard and Le Sidaner, Nolde and Sorolla.

While I’ve been fortunate enough to see some of these paintings in their permanent homes around the cultural capitals of Europe, there’s a deep gratification in seeing them clustered together to provide a joyous explosion of florals and colours in one of the bleakest months of the year.

I find myself slipping into curator mode as we peruse the exhibit. I’m talking Gabe and Brendan through a lovely oil of Louis Comfort Tiffany by Sorolla, one I’ve never seen in the flesh before, when Marlowe catches up with us. Her long blonde hair is gathered up in a low, artfully messy bun with escaping strands, and she’s wearing a maxi dress printed—appropriately enough—with winter florals that I bought her for Christmas. As usual, she looks ethereally, naturally beautiful.

I hold my champagne flute off to one side so I can hug her. She has a pretty pink flush on her face that tells me she’s in her element. Her role as mother to Tabby is by far the most important role in her life, but it’s as gruelling as it is pleasurable, and it takes its toll. Seeing her here this evening with her work hat on makes me really bloody happy.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ I tell her. ‘Just gorgeous.’ But she’s looking beyond me, mischief dancing in her blue eyes, and I know she’s dying for an introduction to Gabe. I sigh and relent.

‘Marlowe, allow me to introduce my boss, Gabriel, and his brother, Brendan.’

Gabe extends his hand and steps forward with a smile I know is as genuine as it is warm. It’s a smile hewn from years spent greeting parishioners and making the most marginalised, the most destitute, feel welcome.

‘Gabriel. So good to meet you, Marlowe.’

‘I’ve been dying to meet you,’ she confesses to him with a sideways grin at me, and I roll my eyes.

‘That’s quite enough of that. And this is Brendan.’

I gesture his way, bracing myself for some sleazy line. But he’s staring at my best friend with what looks like shock, his mouth hanging slackly open. I frown at him, but Gabe beats me to it, nudging him lightly on the arm.

‘Bren. Mate.’

Brendan jolts, some champagne sloshing over the edge of his flute and onto his hand. He swears softly before finally, tentatively, extending his unscathed right hand to Marlowe.

When her hand closes around his, his eyes actually flutter shut for a moment.

‘Lovely to meet you, Brendan,’ she says with her usual friendly ease.

He coughs. ‘Um. Yeah. Hi.’

This is the guy who propositioned his brother’s employee within ten seconds of meeting her.

This is the guy who’s spent the past half an hour swaggering around the Royal Academy like he owns it and flashing his predatory grin at every female with a pulse.

So who the fuckthisversion of him is, I have no clue.

CHAPTER 24

Athena

This model of fucking at work isn’t just time-efficient for Gabe—yes, he has me calling him Gabe now. It’s working very well for me, too. I get an excellent orgasm or two during office hours, and it means I can spend my evenings getting to grips with my new EA role instead of swiping right or hitting up bars so I can get laid.

God knows, I need all the time I can get to do a deep dive on this foundation thing. I’ve spent the past few days pulling together a detailed briefing pack for Gabe ahead of his meeting with Eleanor and Torty. The proposed agenda is to take the first steps towards implementing a formal foundation structure under the umbrella of Rath Mor, but I’m damned if I won’t provide Gabe with as much detail, as much analysis, as humanly possible. His parents and brother and sister will be in attendance too, giving him four more reasons to bring his A game.

If I’m right, the Old Guard won’t fail to underwhelm with their proposal, which makes me intent on arming my boss with as compelling a counter argument as possible. My instincts tell me that Gabe’s background of community stewardship andpastoral care will give him a very different vision of his future foundation from the one Eleanor and her cronies present.

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