Page 8 of Royal Deception
“The rest of you guys are involved,” she mutters, narrowing her eyes at me.
“You’ll do what I say, or I’ll cut off your funding,” I warn her, my voice low and serious. “We chose this life, but we want better for you. That’s why you’re in school in the first place.”
Alannah rolls her eyes, and for a moment, she looks like she’s going to argue, but then her shoulders slump, the fight draining from her.
“Fine,” she murmurs. “But I won’t be in school forever, Rory.”
She shoves past me, her shoulder knocking into mine as she grabs her jacket and bag, stomping out the door.
Better she be angry at me than put in harm’s way, I think as I head back to the living room.
Once the kids are asleep, Kellan and Darcy come back out, and we sit around chatting for another hour before the rest of us take our leave. The next day at work, I’m still reveling in the success of my proposal from the night before, confident that nothing can possibly bring down my mood. That is… until I get the call.
“Brannagan,” I say, leaning back in my chair, the smile still lingering from last night.
“It’s Frankie,” he announces. “I got bad news, Boss. The pub we own down by the docks, O’Shaugnessy’s…” He pauses. “The property managers are threatening an eviction.”
My smile fades. We’ve been in that place for twenty years. Not only that, but the place is really more of a front for cleaning our money. An eviction might give the cops ammunition. I inhale deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose. “What’s going on over there, Frankie?” I demand.
“I think Louie’s been stealin’ from ya,” Frankie says, his voice sour. “I knew trustin’ that man was no good, sir. We think he’s been pocketing the rent money you give ’im.”
“Louis Gibbs?” I ask, clarifying.
“That’s the one,” he confirms. “Do you want me to take care of it?”
“No,” I say, sitting up straighter, my earlier calm replaced with cold determination. “I’ll put Liam on it.”
“Oh, damn.” Frankie whistles. “You’re makin’ an example out of ’im then.”
“Exactly,” I say, my lip curling into a smirk. “No one steals from the Brannagan family. He must be looking for an early retirement if he thinks he’s gotten away with it.”
I hang up with Frankie and immediately call my brother. “I need you to fix a situation for me,” I tell him. “Louis Gibbs has been skimming the rent money at O’Shaughnessy’s.”
“How do you want it handled?” Liam asks, his tone eager, almost gleeful.
“Make sure everyone knows exactly how bad it is to cross one of the Brannagans,” I say, reaching for a letter opener and opening the stack of mail on my desk. “I want something to remember our dear Louie by too.”
“Got it,” Liam says before hanging up.
I’m halfway through the mail when Clary walks into my office, bringing me a cup of coffee from the place down thestreet. I take it without a word, but the warm steam rising from the mug barely registers.
“I heard what happened,” she says, pushing the cup toward me. “I know your brother is handling things, but what’s going to happen with the pub?”
“I’ll figure it out,” I say, taking a sip. It’s perfect—exactly the way I like it.
“Someone needs to sort out the issue with the property managers,” she points out. Her voice is calm, but her words are deliberate. “I could do that. I can handle logistical operations on something like that for you.”
I glance up from my paperwork, considering her words. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I don’t like the idea of her handling anything like this. “You’ve got plenty to do around here,” I say, scanning over a financial statement from the bank. I frown. “There’s men I pay to do that kind of thing, anyway.”
“Yeah, but you can’t always trust them,” she replies, her voice soft but growing more confident with every word. “What if I took over managing O’Shaughnessy’s? I’d make sure the rent was always paid on time directly from our accounts, and I could even…”
I cut her off, unwilling to entertain the thought for even a second. “The idea intrigues me,” I admit, “but I’m not interested. You can’t be here and managing a business like that at the same time. I appreciate your trying to take on more responsibility, but let me handle this stuff, Clary.”
She stares at me for a long moment, her gaze unwavering. Then, with a frown, she turns toward the door. But before she leaves, her hand grips the doorknob and she pauses, turning to face me once more. There’s a fire in her eyes now, something fierce that wasn’t there before.
“You know,” she says softly, her words cutting through the space between us, “you always underestimate me.” Her voice isquiet, but it holds weight. “One of these days, you’ll be sorry that you did.”
Her words linger in the air as she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. I stare at the empty space where she stood, her challenge ringing in my ears. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I have underestimated her.
