Page 97 of Ireland

“Jules—” he began harshly.

“Beau-frère,” Claudette greeted him, sounding as serene as always, “Jules is neglecting to tell you that he had the recording studios emptied overnight.”

Ronan froze with his fingers on a switch, his heart skipping a beat before it began pounding. “He didwhat?!”

“We agreed!” Jules shouted. “We discussed it, and you agreed!”

“I said I would fucking handle it!”

“Also,” Claudette continued, “Ireland knows about Scarlett.”

The sudden tension in his back was painful. “What the hell does that mean?!”

“Nothing good,” she guessed.

Cursing, he hung up and speed-dialed Ireland, racing through the run-up to takeoff. The call didn’t even ring; it just went to voicemail. Jules called back, and he skipped the incoming call, trying Ireland again before he accepted that he’d probably been blocked. “Maudit!”

He called the Vidal offices.

“Ireland Vidal’s office,” Matt answered. “How may I help you?”

“Matt, it’s Ronan McCaffrey. Can I speak to Ireland, please?”

“Sorry, second boss,” he chirped. “No can do. She did leave a message for you, though. Fuck off, eat shit, and die—that’s the message. I didn’t say it; she did.”

His jaw clenched. “Tell her I’ll be there in four hours, and she can give me the message personally.”

“You got a death wish?” Matt asked, still with that same bright cheerfulness. “I’ll pass your message on. Have a nice day.”

Furious and worried at once, Ronan pulled his headset on and communicated with the tower while waiting for the engine to spool up. Once it had, he engaged the clutch, and the rotor began to turn, quickly picking up speed.

The spirits were laughing at him; he just knew it. Every time he thought he was making some headway, he was back to being the asshole.

Fine.

Damn it.

Harper Boudreaux heard the helicopter this time. The rotor's whine increased until the aircraft lifted off, and the sound gradually moved away. She looked at her son on the screen before her, her thoughts sorting and churning.

“This is a problem,” she said.

“Why? I find it amusing.”

“This girl is different. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. She’s influencing him.”

“You don’t find it romantic?” Lucas teased, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes.

“I won’t have her ruining everything. Ronan needs to conclude his business there and come home. There’s work to be done here. Scarlett is here. I can’t have him lingering in New York, especially not over a Vidal.”

“Carefully,Mere, before someone listening takes the harmless words of a loving grandmother the wrong way.” His voice was light, his smile wide, but the warning was in his eyes.

Harper giggled as if they’d shared a joke, but her festering anger was truly making itself felt today.

Scarlett was what Ronan needed. The girl was clever, well-bred, and knew how to smooth the way for him in social settings. And she wasn’t demanding. A baby or two, and Scarlett would let him roam. He could have it all, everything he deserved. And Harper knew he was fond of Scarlett and that they’d alreadybeen intimate on more than one occasion. For Ronan to indulge more than once meant there was at least a small spark between them. That was more than enough.

And Scarlett knew she had to work together with Harper to keep Ronan in line and was more than willing to do so.

Losing Lucas had wounded Harper as nothing else ever had or could. The damage to the family’s reputation was intolerable, even with most of the parish agreeing that her son could not have done what he was falsely accused of. And because Lucas wasn’t where he should’ve been, Ronan had been lost to them for years. He would never be the man he could’ve been had she raised him from infancy. Two lost generations because of Vidal.

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