Page 53 of Ireland

Exiting Debra Sherman’s office—Vidal’s chief legal officer—Ireland caught sight of her father stepping out of the elevator.

“Dad,” she called out, snagging his attention. He walked hurriedly toward her, meeting her on the threshold of his executive suite.

“How do you know Ronan McCaffrey?” he asked without preamble, urging her inside and closing the door behind them.

“I don’t.” She sat in one of the visitors’ chairs and crossed her legs. She’d changed into a teal silk set comprised of wide-legged slacks and a fitted vest, a decision she regretted now because the material was too sensual against skin with heightened sensitivity. Making love with Ronan had felt like shedding a protective layer. She was exposed now, tender, and far too vulnerable.

“You were holding his hand, Ireland. You went with him to the hotel.” While he avoided being more specific, she could see the deeper question in his gaze. He may not have found herin flagrante delicto, but he’d seen Ronan in a very suggestive state of partial undress.

“I met him very recently. And the name he gave me was Ronan Boudreaux. So, again, I don’t actually know him.”

Her father moved to sit behind his desk, so she almost missed catching his flinch when she said Ronan’s name. “Are you romantically involved?”

She arched a wry brow. “He wants to destroy the family business, Dad. What do you think?”

“Was he your date Friday night?”

“You’re focused on the wrong thing,” she deflected. “He wants Vidal because ofyou. I’m irrelevant.”

And she refused to dwell on that or how she felt about it. Not now, when there was so much to be done in so little time.

Pulling off his glasses, her father tossed them onto his blotter and massaged his temples. “I’ve never met McCaffrey—or Boudreaux… whatever his name is—before today.”

“He says you owe him a debt that money can’t repay. What is he talking about?”

“Hell if I know.” Her father’s hands dropped to his lap. “He’s a total stranger to me.”

“He said it was a story you needed to tell me,” she insisted.

He gestured helplessly. “I knew a Boudreaux once, a lifetime ago. It’s a very common Cajun surname, but the resemblance between the two is striking. Uncanny really, so I suppose it’s possible they’re related. The man I knew was attractive and charming. He came from an esteemed and wealthy Southern family and used all those advantages to avoid consequences. His lack of empathy and remorse made him dangerous, and after talking with McCaffrey face to face, I can tell you they’re of the same ilk. They both have soulless eyes.”

She tried to reconcile the Ronan her father saw with the one she’d thought she knew. Ronan was so vital, such a vibrant and warm man. To think of him as soulless was impossible…unless she acknowledged that the man she’d spent the weekend with was merely an invention. It pained her to admit that with her dating history, it was more than possible that she just couldn’t see Ronan for who he really was.

“You need to stay away from him, Ireland,” her father said urgently. “That handsome exterior is hiding a rotten core. You have to trust me on that.”

“Doesn’t need saying,” she said tonelessly, “but he owns a big chunk of Vidal, so that may not be possible.”

“He doesn’t own enough. I’ll deal with him. Just keep your distance until I do. He’s not to be trusted.”

She studied him intently. “You seem very sure of someone you’ve just met.”

“He revealed his character when he deceived you. If he has nothing to hide, why was he hiding?” Without his glasses, Chris Vidal, Sr. looked older in a way she’d never noticed before this past weekend. The lines in his handsome face appeared deeper, his mouth thinner, his eyes reflecting inner turmoil and sadness. The hits had been coming fast and hard for him, too, withher mother’s engagement news and now McCaffrey’s takeover attempt.

“How are you going to deal with him?” she asked.

“We need to pay off the note he’s holding. Some weeks back, Brett Kline sent me a demo of a song Six-Ninths is working on. It’s good, honey.” His expression brightened. “Really good. It’s just what we need right now.”

“You’re kidding.”

He sat forward and put his glasses on again. “They performed at a festival this past weekend, but they’ll be flying in soon to record it. We’ll release the single right away and add it to a new album later.”

Gripping her head in both hands, she groaned. “Please tell me you’re just grasping at straws and that you haven’t been banking on a new single from Six-Ninths to save the company.”

“I don’t understand your reaction.”

“Seriously?” She gaped at him. “Six-Ninths is a one-hit wonder. They haven’t been relevant in ages.” When he just stared at her as if confused, she went on. “Their recent albums have barely covered their expenses. They’ve been mimicking midlevel rock bands for years. Their NFL playoff halftime appearance made headlines for how boring it was. Do I have to go on? Because I can.”

“It only takes one song to make a comeback,” he said resolutely.

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