Page 127 of Bad Bishop
“This is why you’re paid to fuck, not think.”
“You never come here anymore.” Her bottom lip rolled sulkily.
“Fintan’s running the place just fine.”
“The girls don’t like him. For one thing, he never uses their services. And his nosy girlfriend loiters around, always in everyone’s shit to make sure he doesn’t drink or gamble.”
“I’m off the market.” Tiernan parked his elbows on the table.
“Till when?” she pressed.
“Death and beyond.”
His words didn’t pacify me. The fact that he was talking to her at all made me want to bash his head against that table.
I took a step forward and cleared my throat.
Tiernan’s eye snapped to me in a flash. His pupil dilated as he took notice of me.
“Darlin’.”
Darlin’, my ass. His exchange with Becky reminded me of her existence, and the fact that he brought her toourhome, had put her inmydress, and screwed her inmykitchen.
I turned around and briskly made my way to the exit. He was beside me immediately, his stride quicker than mine. He was talking to me, but I didn’t look to see what he was saying. Thedoor was manned by two Irish soldiers, and when they saw us approaching, their boss at my heel, they blocked my way outside. One of them put his hand on my shoulder to push me back into the club. Tiernan responded by twisting his wrist and breaking it in one smooth, frighteningly practiced move.
“Fatal mistake,” I saw his lips move. “Nobody touches my wife.”
Rolling my eyes, I pushed through the door and headed to the car. A puddle lay at my feet between the Mercedes’s passenger door and the curb. I took one look at it, then at my velvet Jimmy Choos, and sighed.
“I hate you, but not enough to ruin these perfectly good shoes.” It wasn’t anyone’s fault the weather decided to act up this week. Not even Becky’s.
Tiernan shouldered off his peacoat and splayed it on the ground beneath me, so I didn’t tarnish my pink pumps.
Finally, I speared him a pissed-off glare, stepping onto his jacket.
“The wool of your stupid coat got stuck in my heel.”
My husband’s cold, flat mask melted momentarily. He somehow understood exactly what I was doing and why I was doing it. We had an audience.
Becky. His soldiers. His clientele.
He needed to sacrifice his pride to restore mine.
“My bad, sweetheart.” He slung my arm over his shoulder and took a knee, literally on his knees for me, as he lifted my leg. He rested my knee on his muscular thigh, rubbing the fuzzy wool from my heel with his thumb.
“Next time I’ll wear cashmere.”
“You make sure you do that.”
I could feel the stares of the entire club burning a hole in the backs of our heads as they watched on in bewilderment.
“Why did you speak to her?”
“She’s an employee.”
“She wanted to fuck you.”
“So? People want shit they can’t have all the time.”
