Page 18 of Tempted

“So, your brother came after us, and yetwe’rethe ones to be blamed here?”

“It’s not a matter of who is to be blamed, Steph. Dougall is looking out for his family.”

“And if that’s so, then how come he isn’t forbidding Declan from seeing you?”

She shrugs. “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose that Declan has a mind of his own and Dougall knows that if he does forbid him, that Declan will do so, anyway.”

“And if that’s the case, then how come he isn’t putting better protection on us? It seems to me that Dougall is the idiot here, not me.”

Moira rolls her eyes as we reach the funeral home. “God, Steph, this is a mess. I think you should give the pillowcase to the police. That’s the only solution here. The case is under investigation and who knows if they’ll find anything else.”

It’s my turn to look at her like she’s an idiot. “Moira, the lad wasn’t wearing any gloves, clearly. If they have any brains, they’ll fingerprint the doorknobs, etc., like a person with any intelligence.”

“Then why did you think that they’d miss the boat on the pillowcase?” She points out, veins popping out of her neck with frustration and condemnation.

“Because I can’t be sure, Moira. At that point, we didn’t even know if theywouldinvestigate. Granny was in a senior’s home and if you didn’t know her, you would assume that she’d passed in her sleep. I mean, they didn’t even do an autopsy.”

I feel like I just scored a point with that comment. “Fine. But you still need to surrender that pillowcase to the police. I don’t even know if it would be submissible in court now that you’ve tampered with it, anyway. Did you ever think of that?”

Point for her. “It’s in a plastic bag.”

We’re sitting in her car with the windows closed, shouting at each other. People are staring but both of us are all but oblivious. “So?! You could have had him dirty up his hands and force him to put his prints all over the thing, Steph! Don’t you think that that’s what they’ll say?! Any good defense attorney would bring that up in court! You taking that away was so fucking stupid! You might as well burn the thing, because now you can’t even prove that those prints were done during the murder!”

I’m so angry I fly out of the car, stomp to the back and start unloading. We’re both all but baring our teeth at each other as we unload the flowers. The anger is taking over and I do something very stupid...

...I call Malcolm.

Malcolm

I’m in the middle of a meeting, arguing with a client that doesn’t want me to pull his money out of a hedge fund thathas been stagnant for the past quarter, because he’s fucking superstitious, and he believes that his da visited him in his sleep, warning him to stay put financially. The man is in his seventies and I’m this close to calling his son to tell him that his da is borderline nuts or coming down with dementia. This client was passed over to me as a punishment from my Uncle Dougall for not staying with this lass that he wanted me to continue banging, so that he could get a leg up on her da’s investment portfolio. It was the one and only time I agreed to fuck a potential client, and it was only because the lass was hot as fuck and very sweet on me. Problem was, Clare was way too high maintenance, and I couldn’t so much as fart without her knowing my exact whereabouts.

That was three years ago. I was hoping that Dougall would let me give old Farley Watson to one of our interns, but he’s adamant that I keep him. Evidently, he’s not over the fact that I wasn’t willing to keep my dick wet with her for the business. Fortunately, Farley hasn’t been here in a while, but I had to call him back to review his portfolio, or at least convince him to move part of his money out of that godforsaken fund, since the whole thing is starting to tank. I swear da just makes me keep him as a reminder of the ways that he can make my life so much more difficult if I don’t agree to do the things that he wants me to do.

And as I feel my phone vibrate with a text message, just as Farley is running down his obnoxious list of reasons why he can’t move his money, I look at the screen. Normally I’d never do such a thing while I’m with a client, but it’s my only solace, and if I don’t look at something else, I’m going to kill the motherfucker. Then I wish I’d ignored it. The text is from Clare herself, and I can’t help but feel that da has orchestrated that. She’s asking if we can meet up for coffee or lunch, as she’s in town. I hadn’tknown that she’d left town. Had I, that would have called for a party or at least a dance of glee.

After pondering if I should ignore it, I decide that if I do, I'm sure that Dougall will get wind of it. Have I mentioned that my uncle is relentless? When he wants something, he’ll stop at nothing to get it. And I did hear that Clare’s family business was just recently interviewed by Forbes magazine, so Dougall's out for blood again. It occurs to me that the recent disaster I’ll call Stephanie still looms behind me, and it almost makes my tryst with Clare seem like a walk in the park. That’s half the reason why I answer Clare, and agree to meet with her for a late lunch.

It’s not thirty seconds later when I get a call from Steph, and I wonder if Uncle Dougall is sharing his fucking crystal ball with anyone else. That call I have to ignore if only for a minute, while I wrap up things with Farley. I get him to agree to meet with me in a few weeks, after he’s reviewed the documentation that I’m about to send him via email, outlining the recent decline of the stocks that greatly affect his portfolio. Farley is a man that reads, so here’s hoping that this will knock some sense into him. Once the old man is gone, I see Dougall walking down the hallway. He actually stops to shake Farley’s hand, making my gut clench.

“How was your meeting?” Dougall asks.

“You know damn well how that went.” I say under my breath, trying to hide the snarl in my voice. “I suppose you know that Clare reached out.”

He plays dumb, even though we both know it. “Oh?”

I smirk, looking none too pleased. “She’s in town. She wants to have a late lunch with me.”

“And are you going to go?”

“I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, now, do I.”

“There’s always a choice, lad.”

“Not if I don’t want to shoulder Farley anymore.”

He simply walks away from me and says. “You know the way it works, Malcolm.”

“Aye.” I mutter to myself, feeling my fist ball up. I figure I’m pissed off, anyway, so I might as well return Steph’s call and get it over with.

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