Page 5 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

All I want is to get up and tell him to fuck off. And I want Peter to know it. This isn’t my life. I don’t care how prettily Declan Kelly sums up what he is. In basic terms, he’s a criminal, and to work for him in any way would place me in a world I want no part of.

The thought gives me the strength to look him in the eye. “The entire interest, the vig, Peter called it. I do the audit and find the people or person stealing from you and Peter only pays back the principal.”

Blue eyes darken to a sea blue caught in a storm. “A vig keeps running until the money is paid back. That’s a lot of money to kiss away.”

“I have no doubt it’s nothing compared to the theft you’ve experienced, or I wouldn’t be here now.” I’m firm.

His jaw tightens. “You have a deal.”

God, please don’t let this be a mistake. “Fine. I’ll be back tomorrow to?—”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be so quick to rush off. We have further things to discuss.”

For a moment, fear flashes. We’re in a room alone with his men somewhere in the house.

An eyebrow goes up. “What I want to talk about now is pleasure, yours and mine.”

Air leaves me in a gasp of outrage and shock at his words. “How dare you?”

Shaking his head, blue locks with mine and refuses to let go. “Darlin’, do not be denying your desire for me. There is no need, as I find myself suffering the same. A desire this strong is not a common thing, to deny it does no one any good.”

I harden my resolve and stand, intent on getting the fuck out of here. “Mr. Kelly, this is about the audit only. I will not get involved with you at all on a personal level. Criminals are absolutely a no-go for me, ever. You have two choices: either you accept it without being an asshole about it, or you do not, and we can end this whole thing now.”

That damn eyebrow goes up again. Yet he doesn’t say a damn thing for what feels like forever but might be only thirty seconds. Finally, he nods. “We’ll see.”

It feels like a threat.

He opens the bottom drawer of his desk. Two large old-style ledgers are in his hands. He pushes them to the other side of the enormous desk to right in front of me. “Wait, nothing is online?”

A brief shake of his head. “No, too easy for someone to get into or share. These books are the only way of recording. I did this now because the last pages were used a few days ago.”

Great, fucking great. “Fine. I’ll bring them back?—”

“You don’t leave until it’s done.”

I shake my head. “This is going to take a week, maybe even two, for each ledger. I can’t?—”

“You don’t leave until it’s done.” No inflection at all. His accent is all but gone.

This is insane. He’s fucking nuts. “I have a job?—”

“And more than a month in vacation time. You rolled over more than forty hours of vacation from last year to this one. While annoyed at the short notice, your boss would actually be pleased you’re taking time off.”

How the hell does he know all of that? And fuck him for being right. My boss mentioned the way I constantly rolled my vacation over and ordered me to schedule days off to use my time. Since I never went anywhere, preferring to stay home and see and do the things in Chicago the tourists came here for—that’s a lie. I just stayed home and read on my days off.

“Clothes. I don’t have any.” I cling to my last argument. There has to be a way out of this, out of his home and away from him.

He holds out his hand. “Give me your keys, and I’ll see to it clothes are brought for you.”

“No, I don’t want anyone in my home.” I hate the idea of anyone going through my things or touching my stuff.

“Then you should get on with it.” He nods at the ledgers. His tone is someone talking to a small child.

Frustration leaves me seething. I fucking hate him. “When do you think the theft started?”

“Two, maybe three months ago.”

Declan’s phone on his desk rings. I’m surprised he not only answers, but after listening for a few minutes, he seems to speak freely. He also works a cell phone, sending texts and going through it rapidly. I’m impressed by his ability to multitask.

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