Page 2 of Royal Deception
“How’s Darcy?” I ask, settling back in my seat as I wrap my hands around my beer.
“She’s great,” Kellan says, his face splitting into a beaming grin. “Her book’s a bestseller, and she’s already wrapping up the next one!”
Kellan’s pride is obvious, and I swallow down the faint sting of jealousy. I’m happy for my brother, but I know the family life isn’t for me.
I’m the leader of this godforsaken empire we’ve built, and I have to stay committed to the cause if we want to keep things going. So I push those feelings to the back of my mind and continue swiping on more photos of the kids.
“Is Rose okay?” I ask, glancing up at Kellan. He swallows his sip and sets his drink down, raising an eyebrow in question.
“Like, after the whole kidnapping thing,” I explain. “And losing her grandpa. It’s been almost a year since then, right?”
“She saw a kid therapist for a few months, but everything is fine,” he assures me. “Rose is a tough little kid. She’s a lot like me and you, I guess.” He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I know you’re worried the Russians are biding their time, aren’t you?”
I take a long drink instead of answering. Kellan might have moved on, but I couldn’t. The Russians aren’t the type to let things go. I know that better than anyone.
“You have to stop stressing about that shit,” Kellan says. “It’s been a year, Rory. We’re fine.”
“We’re not fine,” I hiss, leaning in. “The war with the Russians did more damage than you realize. Their smear campaign on us lost us half our political connections and even more of our business associates.”
“We’ll rebuild,” Kellan says, but uncertainty lines his eyes.
Kellan’s expression hardens, but he doesn’t argue. He knows I’m right.
“You’re right about one thing,” I say, my voice low, a mixture of frustration and resolve. “We’re not fine yet. But we will be.”
Kellan gives me a tight nod, and the silence stretches between us. Neither of us says it out loud, but we both know that things won’t really be fine until we’ve wiped the slate clean of the Russians for good.
I stand, grabbing the bottle and setting it down with a thud on the table.
"Enough of this," I mutter, straightening my shoulders.
The next morning, I’m back at the office, the weight of yesterday's conversation still pressing on my mind. Kellan's words linger like a bad taste, but I don't have time for it. There are deals to make, paperwork to sign, and people to remind why crossing me is a mistake.
A few minutes later, I hear a knock at the door.
“Mr. Brannagan?” Clary’s soft voice filters through.
I don’t look up right away. “Busy,” I say, motioning to the paperwork spread across my desk.
“It’ll only take a moment.”
She steps inside anyway, smoothing her hands down the front of her skirt before squaring her shoulders. “I want more,” she says, her gray eyes locked onto mine.
Something stirs inside me. The way she says it—firm, unflinching—sends my mind somewhere it shouldn’t go. Heat coils in my chest before I shove it down, burying it beneath the weight of responsibility.
“More?” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
“In the office.” Her chin lifts slightly, like she’s daring me to challenge her. “I want to be involved in operations.”
I exhale sharply and pinch the bridge of my nose. “You already do plenty.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
Her fingers curl slightly, gripping the fabric of her skirt—a tiny, almost imperceptible gesture. But I see it. I see everything.
“Absolutely not.” My tone is final, leaving no room for argument. “It’s dangerous, Clary.”
“I can handle danger.”
