Page 98 of Ireland

Harper would not allow the man’s daughter to finish the job of removing Ronan from both her grasp and his family's influence.

It was Vidal’s turn to feel her loss and suffering. She would see to it and bring her boy home.

Ronan didn’t need any further reason to save Vidal Records beyond Ireland herself, but sitting in the conference room after hours, without the piped music and enthusiastic, colorfully clothed employees, made him realize what would be lost if he continued with his initial, long-gestated plan.

The creative musical energy that thrived here held a certain magic. He’d seen firsthand that it was hard, often thankless work, and he understood why Ireland was conflicted about it. Making and enjoying music was next to spiritual, but for a record label, the finished product was a commodity to be sold and had a sliding scale of value. It was far too easy to fall in love with a song, which made it that much harder to decide it wouldn’t appeal to enough listeners to be financially feasible to distribute.

Still, he was growing increasingly more excited by the thought of building something rather than tearing it down and doing so alongside Ireland, who fought so fiercely for the people and things that mattered to her. If, one day, she fought for him and whatever this thing was between them with equal ferocity…

Well, he wouldn’t be worthy of it, but he was working on that.

He picked up the phone and dialed the number he’d searched for in the company records. He had decided to come to the offices to make the call because he wasn’t sure she’d answer without Vidal Records showing on her Caller ID and because he had nowhere else to go now that he’d lost his hotel room. He laughed ruefully. There were vipers in his family, but he didn’t worry about Ireland’s ability to handle them like she was so deftly handling him.

“My god, girl,” Alina answered, sounding thoroughly exasperated. “You promised to leave work and go punch things at the studio!”

The unexpected revelation straightened Ronan’s slumped shoulders. “Alina, it’s Ronan. Please don’t hang up.”

There was a wary pause on the other end. “How did you get this number?” she asked finally.

He opened the saved bookmarks in his browser. “You’re a contractor with Vidal. Your contact info is in the system.”

“Isn’t it illegal to use my information for personal reasons?”

“No. It is an invasion of your privacy, though, and I’m sorry for it, but desperate men do desperate things.” Like he was doing right now by calling Alina Rurik while simultaneously wracking his brain for the article he’d saved about the Krav Maga gym Ireland trained at. He swore silently. He had to find it to find her.

“If you’re hoping to sweet talk your way into another round of crazed jungle sex with her, you’re delusional.”

“I’m never not hoping for that with her,” he said, scrolling down the list of his bookmarks, searching. “But right now, I just want to explain what happened and how I’m addressing it.”

She snorted. “How, exactly, do you address cheating on your fiancée?”

He went very still. For fuck’s sake, could this day getanyworse? He winced. Of course it could—depending on whatever else Ireland thought she knew. “I’m not engaged. Have never been engaged. Who told her otherwise? Jules?”

“Why would she or I believe any-fucking-thing you say?”

“Because I can prove it.” And if he had to bring Scarlett to New York to do so, he would.

Alina sighed heavily. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not the right guy for her, and for so many reasons, there’s not enough paper in the world to write them all down. That you can tear Vidal Records into pieces, knowing what that’s doing to her?—”

“It was a mistake,” he interrupted. “A miscommunication. I’m fixing it.”

“So, she finally realizes you’re too toxic even for her, and you miraculously find a solution that you couldn’t find earlier in the week?”

When she put it like that… “I’m in this fight for my family, Alina. That made it harder for me to realize that I’m prepared to fight for Ireland, too.”

“You know what? I don’t care. Listen, I’m not your ally and never will be. Ireland has dated some exceptional assholes but you… You, Ronan, are in a class by yourself. If you ever contact me again, I’m calling the cops.”

The line went silent.

“Merde,” he breathed, setting the phone down and removing his glasses. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

If that was a taste of what Ireland had in store for him, he didn’t know if there was any chance at all for him to make things right. And hadn’t that been the struggle all along? Everything had gone wrong long before they’d met, and he’d been trying to paddle upstream, over raging rapids, ever since. Damned if he wasn’t exhausted by it all, and he knew she was, too.

But even as he sat there, telling himself to fly home as Jules and Claudette had done earlier, hecravedher and couldn’t turn it off. More, he didn’t want to.

Opening his eyes, he straightened. The name of the Krav Maga gym returned to him in a flash. He pushed back from the table. If Ireland was done with him, so be it. But she would hear the truth before he walked away.

Parker Smith’s Krav Maga gym in Brooklyn was housed in a brick-faced warehouse in a revitalized industrial area. Flanked on one side by a trampoline park and a nutritional supplement company on the other, it boasted two massive delivery bay doors that could be opened for airflow. When Ronan entered, he saw rows of aluminum bleachers against one wall and dozens of students sparring on mats throughout the vast space.

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