Page 8 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

I’m so fucking confused. “My age? I’m twenty-seven, not that old and not that young. I don’t understand anything you just said.”

His head tilts to the side as he studies me. “Was he impotent or something for you to not comprehend you are a beautiful, sexy woman? A beautiful woman who incites lust in any man not made of stone.”

The question throws me so much the truth comes out of me without thinking. “Michael wasn’t interested in sex, at least not with me. He wanted a wife who would make him look good. Someone who could do the dinner parties and talk business. I was young and dumb. A blond with big breasts that he was certain would look better once I finally lost weight. If we had sex more than once amonth…”

“So he’s the reason why you said that stupid shit about your weight?”

“He’s not the only reason. My father told me no man would marry a fat woman. Last Christmas, I was shopping for a gift for my boss. It was one of those beef jerky sampler things. The salesman said it was good for me to lose weight and encouraged me to start as soon as possible—not wait for a New Year's resolution. I could list five different times in the last few years someone that I’ve never met before felt the need to comment on my body.” My stomach twists, and I put down my fork.

It felt like because I was fat, people had the right to tell me what they thought about me and my body. I’ve been told about more diets than I can name. It shouldn’t matter what a person who doesn’t know me thinks of me, but when it’s the same cruel thing over and over, it hurts.

“Hey, look at me.” It’s a soft command I don’t dare refuse. “You are a beautiful woman. No one has the right to say anything about your body. Your ex-husband was a fool for letting you go. Although I must say I’m glad he did. I couldn’t imagine thinking you were moldable. You must have been very young when you met. Let me guess, he was older and rich.”

Nodding, I sip on the water. “It was weeks after I turned twenty and in my last year of college. He was thirty-eight and had his own investment firm. One of my professors was a friend of his and invited him to speak to our class. When we first got together, I had to prove I wasn’t with him for his money by paying half of our bills even though he made four times what I made. He constantly pushed me to go after promotions for work. Often, it felt like he was more of a mentor than a husband. Then, my work became a point ofcontention. I wasn’t being the supportive wife enough, and he wanted me to quit. When I refused, he started looking for my replacement.”

“Idiot.” The word is soft, almost like he’s saying it to himself.

Embarrassed, I shrug. “In the end, I’m grateful it ended. Once he moved on, he was generous. The settlement was far more than I would have expected from him. He really just wanted me to sign the papers and go away quietly, which I was more than content to do. He found another younger, dumber woman to attempt to mold into what he wanted. We both wanted something the other wasn’t.”

“What did you want?”

“Security. I’ll admit that now. It wasn’t like I went after him or anything. Hepursued me. I was flattered. He was a lot older, successful, charming, and living a life I wanted to live. I grew up in a home where love was supposed to be enough, except it isn’t. My mother died because we couldn’t afford regular doctor visits. If she had, her cancer might have been found sooner, and she would still be here. It’s why I picked accounting because of the job opportunities, potential salary, and stability it would give.”

“I’m sorry about your mother.” His blue eyes are soft.

The sincerity surprises me. “It was a long time ago.”

That eyebrow goes up again. “I lost my mother when I was ten. There are still days when I feel her loss deeply.”

“Peter was ten when our mother died, too.” I can’t help murmuring. “Is your father still alive?”

A shake of his head. “No, it’s almost twelve years now. I loved the man, but he made me crazy the way he didn’t take care of himself. Once he died, my uncle admitted my da long thought he had heart issues. Yet he didn’t see a doctor. His heart attack was a surprise to only me.”

The sadness in his eyes is a stark and palpable thing before he covers it with a smile. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” He turns my words around on me. “And your da?”

“He died when I was twenty-one. And he was the reason I married Michael. I’m not saying I would never have. But we were only dating for a little less than a year. He was going downhill fast from his lung cancer. My father didn’t imply he wanted me married—he said it bluntly to Michael. That he would die easier knowing I was being taken care of. We were married in the chapel hospital. Dad died three weeks later. When he died, he was happy. And no matter how badly it turned out, I’m glad I was able to give him that.”

The blond man is back. “Declan, there’s?—”

“I told you no fucking interruptions,” Declan growls at the man.

Cowed, the man lowers his head. “It’s Dominic Sabatini.” His head jerks to me.

Clearly annoyed, Declan throws his napkin beside his plate. “Excuse me, business.”

Sabatini? My father’s words of the capo he trusted, a man named Tony Sabatini comes back to me. It isn’t a common name. I’ve never heard the name since my father mentioned the man. Could it be Tony's brother or son? Declan might say he’s not mafia, but if he’s talking to someone about business and his last name is Sabatini—he’s mafia. I’m not sure what the hell I’m feeling. It’s relief. It has to be. I should be grateful for the reminder of what he is.

Except as I finish eating, then go back into the office, I don’t feel grateful.

Any moment, I expect him to come back, but one hour stretches into two. I refuse to wonder where he is or what he’s doing.

Declan

I’m holding onto my temper by my short and curlies. The only thing keeping me from unleashing on the man is that if I do, he’ll clam up, and we won’t get the information needed from him.

“Seamus, I believe you want to do the right thing here. I’m not mad at you, and neither is Dominic Sabatini. You didn’t know the man was going to blow up the spot. We believe you. But you’re the only one who can identify the man. Everything leads back to your building. You rented to him without knowing he was going to cause problems, yet he has. And now I need you to tell me what you know.” I catch Dominic’s hands curling into fists.

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