Page 65 of Ireland

“So cutthroat,petite sœur,” Jules teased with a grin. “I expect we’ll wrap things up this morning. Elizabeth is wily and has to know that we’ve reached the ceiling of what we’ll offer for her shares.” Jules sipped his coffee and winced. “Sacre bleu, c’est terrible.”

Drumming his fingertips on the table, Ronan felt rushed by the ever-accelerating timeline. Once they controlled Vidal Records, there were a million reasons to return to Louisiana andonly one reason to stay—a reason who presently wanted nothing to do with him.

Putting his mug down in disgust, Jules sat back. “Depending on how long you think you’ll be panting after her daughter, you might be relieved to know Elizabeth’s beauty hasn’t faded in the slightest. She’s still a smoke show. I’d have a go at her if she were at all receptive.”

“You have a go at every woman who’s receptive,” Claudette said impudently.

“He’s not known for his discernment,” Ronan agreed.

Jules’s brown eyes took on a hard, chilling light. “Well, I’m not the prodigal son of the illustrious Boudreauxes forced into making a high society match for respectability. That’s your fate,beau-frère,and I’m grateful to leave high-maintenance women like Scarlett Claiborne to you. I’m just a Robicheaux, the irrelevant son of a dirty cop who had the devil’s own heart and a cesspit for a soul. I enjoy proving that I’m just as much a scoundrel as they say.”

“You can set down that cross you bear at any time,” Ronan drawled.

Snorting derisively, Jules tossed a careless hand. “What would be the fun in that?”

“Indeed.” Ronan flipped the cover of his tablet closed. “I’m going to work in the Vidal offices today.”

“Is that so? To rub salt in Vidal’s wounds,” Jules queried, “or to try for another round with his delectable daughter?”

“I said we’re not discussing this.”

“You know, her mother gets this look in her eye when I mention her ex-husband. No man wants a woman wearing that look while thinking about him.” Jules caught himself before picking up his mug again. “Ireland had the same look when she realized who you are. You can’t trust her. If I were you, I certainly wouldn’t want her anywhere near my dick.”

Pushing back from the table, Ronan stood. “You’re not me.”

“You’re taking this far too seriously, Jules.” Claudette tore into a croissant from the breadbasket. “Ronan loves a challenge, and women tend not to offer him any. Let him enjoy this one who will.”

“She wasn’t a challenge before yesterday!” Jules said crossly. “He could’ve spent the weekend fucking her out of his system before she even knew what was happening. All these months of mooning over videos of her, Googling hundreds of pages deep to find the most obscure information about her, insisting on staying in this specific hotel room in the armpit of New York… This isn’t a game,petite sœur. He’s obsessed and putting everything we’ve worked so hard for at risk!”

Ronan gathered up his belongings. “I researched all of the Vidals, not just Ireland. I could leave nothing to chance.”

“You can lie to yourself, but I’ll never believe it, so save your breath. I bet you can name every man Ireland Vidal has dated but haven’t a clue who her brothers have hooked up with.”

“Her brothers have been married for years,” he dismissed. “A romantic interest can causetravails,and Ireland is the kind of woman a man fights tooth and nail for. It was important to assess all possible interventions.”

Jules’s smile was icy. “Mon dieu, no one can bullshit like you. But the clock is ticking. We’re just about done with this city. I meet with the Lees tomorrow about the warehouse in Queens. Should’ve been today, but they wanted to postpone the inevitable, so I gave them an extra day. I expect we’ll be enjoying Marcelle’s café au lait before the end of the week.”

The thought of Marcelle and the comforts of home was unequivocally appealing and always would be. Claudette and Jules had wanderlust and were often elsewhere, mainly for McCaffrey business but occasionally for pleasure. Ronan was more rooted and usually felt out of sorts to an uncomfortabledegree while on the road. Playing music could quiet the noise of beingotherand out of place, but Ireland could silence it entirely.

How would it feel to have her with him in places where he always felt settled? Would he need to take her home to break the spell holding him captive to her? It would take more luck than he had to convince her to travel with him anywhere when she was avoiding him entirely.

But she’d once imagined being in the bayou with him. Perhaps she could be made to imagine it again. He could scheme and would. He’d warned her that he was an immoral man for whom the ends always excused the means.

“Let’s get everything wrapped up tight,” he said as he headed toward his room for his jacket and satchel. “Call me when you get the agreement signed by Elizabeth Vidal.”

Ireland rubbed her damp palms over her denim miniskirt and paced the smaller of the two meeting rooms, the one that could be used as the living room set of a television show. Outfitted with deep-cushioned sofas, a squat coffee table, and a faux fireplace with a television mounted above it, this was where the informal meetings took place rather than at the conference table.

The glass-walled meeting area was directly outside the elevator and opposite the main conference room. It was the most neutral location to tell Christopher that she’d become the majority shareholder as of—she checked her phone—fifty minutes ago. Her mother had signed the shareholder agreement electronically mere moments after the wire transfer was deposited. Within twenty-four hours, Ireland had gone from the beginning of a dizzying romance to its shocking end, from having little say in the business to controlling it.

The elevator doors opened, and she felt a spurt of anxiety. It worsened when Christopher stepped out, whistling, one hand tucked into the pocket of forest green dress slacks. He wore a charcoal dress shirt with a soft sheen and a tie that was a lighter gray shot with a diamond pattern in the same hue as his slacks. A messenger bag was slung across his lean torso. Unlike Ronan and Gideon, Christopher seldom wore blazers or jackets during the warmer months.

Her brother’s mahogany hair was darker than their father’s but just as wavy. Objectively, she knew he was a very attractive man. Her high school friends had always dissolved into infatuated giggles whenever he entered the room.

Christopher saw her through the glass as she moved to the open doorway of the meeting room, and he gave her a bright smile that pricked her heart a little. While she’d always been a little afraid of Gideon’s commanding presence and emotional reserve, Christopher had been her playmate, schoolmate, and friend her whole life. She loved him wholeheartedly.

“Hey,” she called out, her hands wringing together. “Can we chat a minute?”

“Absolutely. I was going to hunt you down. What the hell was the uproar yesterday?” Pulling the strap of his bag over his head, he joined her in the room.

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