Page 25 of I Blame the Club

Pulling down Mo’s expensive vanity mirror, I grin at my own reflection, “We just got off scot free and took down a group of homophobic rednecks. Time to get drunk.”

Keeping his attention carefully focused on the road, I see a tiny smirk pull at Mo’s lips.

“I’m not sure alcohol is what your system needs right now.”

“Alcohol is exactly what my system needs right now.” Snapping the mirror shut, I adjust the oversized collar of Mo’s shirt, “I’m thinking a round of tequila. Maybe a vodka cranberry to wash it down.”

“It’s 2PM.”

“And the problem is?”

Mo gives me a wry glance, “Happy hour hasn’t even started.”

I smirk, “When you’re with me, Maurice, every hour is happy hour.”

He chuckles and the sound has little Nico stirring back to life. Shifting to get a better look at Mo’s side profile, I have to hold back a sigh when I take in his chiseled features. The cold blue eyes are framed by dark lashes that somehow look intimidating rather than pretty. My eyes trail down the high cheekbones and I have to grab my seatbelt to stop myself from leaning over and planting myself on those full lips right here, right now.

God, and don’t get me started on the hair. The perfectly styled strands of brown hair are just long enough to run my fingers through but short enough to maintain the professional business persona Mo has got going on.

“Incoming phone call from Jonathan O’Brien.”

Jumping back against my seat, I stare at the navigation system in horror, “Did your car just talk to us?”

“Yes because my car isn’t from the 1970s.” Mo glances at me, “Pretty sure that bumper I saw yesterday was older than my father.”

Cheeky. I like it.

I open my mouth to respond but he cuts me off with a serious look, “I need to take this. Please don’t say a word.”

Shocked he asked nicely, I nod and make a show of zipping my lips closed. He rolls his eyes and presses answer.

“I just got off the phone with MacLaren.” A harsh silence fills the car and I see Mo grit his teeth beside me.

“There was a situation that required his services.”

“Do I need to remind you what's at stake here?”

I feel my eyebrows raise as I try and figure out Mo’s relationship with the faceless speaker.

“No. I made a mistake and now it’s been fixed.”

“Thanks to MacLaren.” Teeth clenching, Mo grips the steering wheel tighter and falls silent.

“You took two weeks worth of vacation so you could re-live your glory days before taking your corporate position to the next level. I allowed it because I thought it would help straighten out your priorities.” My mouth falls open but the cold voice continues, “And now I find out that you are spending your time getting into bar fights in the middle of nowhere and putting the O’Brien name to shame.”

Slowing to a stop for a red light, I try to make eye contact with Mo but his gaze doesn’t leave the road.

“They were going to kill him, father.”

Father?

My mouth snaps shut as I glance at the navigation screen. The name Jonathan O’Brien screams back at me and I want to slap myself for not putting it together sooner.

“Then you should have called the police. What did I teach you about fighting other people’s battles?”

“You only fight your own.”

“That’s right.”

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