Page 73 of Stolen Rival
Dessert arrives and, despite Andrew’s permanent glower, there’s a lightness inside me that I haven’t felt in a while, a level of comfort that’s strange and new, but not alarming. After the plates are cleared away, Patrick raises his arm, and two thick-set men appear tableside.
“Take Andrew back to the house,” Patrick says.
Andrew’s eyes pop. He clearly wasn’t expecting that, but he doesn’t argue. Probably too afraid of another up close and personal meeting with Patrick’s gun. The two men bracket him as he leaves the restaurant, and I can’t say I’m sorry he’s gone.
“Why did you send him away?” I whisper.
“Because I have business to discuss that he’s not partyto. Besides, I made my point, don’t you think?” He arches a brow, and there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“You enjoyed what happened earlier, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but enjoyment wasn’t the purpose. Drawing boundaries was.” He drapes his arm over my shoulder and wraps one of my curls around his finger. “If any of my men make you uncomfortable, you tell me and they will be removed.”
I blink several times in succession. “You mean that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Wow.”
He tugs on my hair, but it’s affectionate. “You’re my wife. It’s my job not only to protect you, but to ensure you feel safe.”
“You’ve changed your tune.”
“We’re both playing a different tune, don’t you agree?”
I muse on it for a second, nibbling my lip. “Yes. I do.”
As the men talk business, the women form a little group of our own. Even though Cillian is in a starkly different field to the three Mahoney brothers and Garrett, Patrick doesn’t seem to mind including him. It’s a testament to how much he trusts his childhood friend, and not something I ever saw Da doing. Business was always kept in business circles. And Da didn’t have anyone in his life who wasn’t connected.
I keep one ear on the men’s conversation, if for no other reason than knowledge is power. It seems Patrick’s Irish operations expanded faster than he planned after absorbing my father’s business without warning, and he needs a few trustworthy contacts for roles that my family members previously did.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to speak up, but I don’t want to piss him off, not when we’ve beengetting along so well tonight.
Except, I know I could help him.
If it’s a stupid idea, they might laugh at me, but if my idea has legs, Patrick might reward me for being useful.
A little flare of hope lights in my chest. It’s embarrassing to acknowledge that I want to be of use in the situation more than I want Patrick to reward me, but I convince myself it’s his approval I’m seeking and open my mouth.
“You might want to try the Wilsons for that.” I don’t turn toward the conversation or make eye contact with anyone. I just… kind of… throw the sentence out and hope someone picks it up.
Most of the men don’t hear me, or don’t heed what I’ve said, but Patrick holds up his hand, silencing the group. He never misses a damn thing. “What was that?” When I don’t offer up anything else, he touches my arm. “Sorcha?”
My whole body heats now that he’s called everyone’s attention to me. Shit. What if I’m wrong?
I clear my throat. “Uncle Seamus used to do that for Da’s business. But if he got stuck, and needed to eh…” I look around to make sure no one else is listening. “If he had more laundry than he had machines, he’d send it to the Wilsons, and they’d help out with the washing.”
The men all stare at Patrick, and Patrick stares at me. I have no fucking clue what that look means. Am I about to meet my maker? Where the fuck’s his steak knife?
“He trusted them?”
Nodding, I lick my lips. This is where he mocks me, or dismisses me, or tells me in front of everyone to know my place and stay there. The part where he reminds me that he’s in control, and I should only speak when I’m spoken to, and don’t butt into a business conversation without being specifically invitedto contribute.
I hold my breath for several seconds that last an eternity while Patrick’s dark eyes remain locked on mine. He taps his chin, deep in thought. Eventually, he releases me from his hot gaze. “Liam?”
“On it.” Liam springs to his feet, pulls out his phone, and heads out of sight.
“What just happened?” My voice is a whisper as my eyes lock on the spot where Liam disappeared to make a phone call.
