Page 83 of Ireland

Her father nodded thoughtfully. “Do you like him?”

“Dad.” Her face was hot. “We’re not talking about this.”

“Do you trust him?” When she opened her mouth to protest again, he rushed on, “CanItrust him?”

Closing her mouth, she frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Christopher walked in without knocking, looking sharp in monochromatic burgundy. “Here you are. Get this.” He waited until he’d taken the chair next to their father before continuing, the two men looking so similar and yet uniquely themselves. “Gideon left town with Eva yesterday and is apparently now completely off-grid until Friday. No one from his office can reach him, and all of my calls to either of them go straight to voicemail.”

Ireland rocked back in her chair, her gaze narrowing. “Why are you trying to reach Gideon?”

He shot her a look. “Why do you think? McCaffrey thinks he’s hot shit, but Gideon will destroy him.”

An anxious knot tightened in her gut.

“We’ve decided not to approach Gideon with this situation,” their father said.

“No,” Christopher corrected, “you twodecided that.I’mgoing to fight tooth and nail.”

“We have other avenues, Christopher,” she argued, standing and walking to the door to close it.

“Like what? A new single from Six-Ninths?” Christopher snorted. “I know Dad’s counting on that but come on.”

Their father shook his head. “You haven’t listened to the demo, either.”

Christopher gave Ireland a sardonic look. “I don’t have to be a fan, Dad, to sell the shit out of them. I’ll give it my all, I promise you.”

She settled back in her seat. “You’re both forgetting about London Grant.”

Both men perked up, studying her avidly. London Grant was a young actress/singer who’d skyrocketed to prominence as a supporting character on a teen-focused musical televisionshow. Her reps had leaped to capitalize on her growing fame by shopping her to all the major record labels. Ireland had heard about London’s ambitions and pursued the chance to sign her.

Her father spoke first. “I thought her team was aiming for a bigger label.”

“They were. But they’re ambitious. They want her everywhere—school supplies, fashion collabs, and even home goods. Once I learned that, I suggested something that put us over the top: branded hotel suites in Vidal Hotels. Similar to the suites we all designed.”

Christopher whistled. “Holy shit.”

“She’ll bring the added benefit of helping the hotels appeal to a younger demographic. And” —her smile widened with excitement and pride— “I reached out to Chantal because she’s presently recording and asked if she’d be open to a duet with London so we can launch her faster. Turns out Chantal’s sister is a fan of London’s show, so it was an easy yes for her, and London’s favorite song is one of Chantal’s, so she’s thrilled.”

“Maybe our luck has changed,” her father said with a brighter smile than she’d seen in days.

“We’ve got a songwriter working with them now,” she continued. “Hopefully, we can get them in the studio before Chantal’s session time expires. Then London and I will discuss some producer options for her debut. We launch her with care, and it’ll pay off.”

Her phone rang, and she saw that it was her assistant. “Hey, Matt.”

“Hey, boss.” There was more than a hint of amusement in her longtime assistant’s voice. He was getting a kick out of their changed circumstances, not knowing the gravity of the situation. “Mr. McCaffrey would like to see you as soon as you’re available.”

Her traitorous body heated at the mere mention of Ronan’s name. “I’m in a meeting now,” she said.

Her dad stood. “I can let you go. Just wanted to check in, and now, with all this good news, I’m energized to get some shit done.”

“Fuck yeah.” Christopher pushed to his feet. “I’m fired up, too. I’ll start making some calls about the new Six-Ninths single. See what kind of support we can pull together.”

“Listen to the damned demo!” their father told them, rocking back on the heels of his sneakers.

“Never mind,” she told Matt. “You can send him in.”

“Will do.”

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