Page 31 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

“Giombetti,” he interrupted, picking up a phone as a text pinged and scanning the message. “The glass artist. Incredible work. The kind that should be seen by more people. Our town is a huge draw for tourists, and we already have the hospitality sector in place. Your plans seem redundant when you think about it, don’t you agree?”

Redundant?

He leaned forward and smiled with over-bleached white teeth. “I think you’d do best to relocate the center and everything associated with it to our town, including the new museum Tom Sarkesian is planning.”

Bets’ mind went blank in shock for a minute. Then a seed of rage took root.

He wanted them to relocate the Sorcha Fitzgerald Arts Centerto Watertown.

Linc started to laugh, a dark, thunder-cracking chuckle she’d never heard from him. “That’s one hell of an idea, Malcolm,” he said, slapping his knee before letting the humor fall from his face. “But you see, Caisleán really loves this center, and Bets here and many others already have everything in hand.”

She was going to pop this man if she didn’t do something with her hands. Fisting them in her lap seemed a good idea.

Malcolm’s smile didn’t slip. “But you’re still in the early phases, Linc. You haven’t even broken ground on your museum or your hotel, although I hear Kathleen O’Connor is working hard on her groundbreaking metal sculpture. But so many things can go wrong. Donal,youknow.”

Wrong? The word made her ill.

“The beauty of me knowing what can go wrong, Malcolm,” Donal answered in an easy voice Bets could only admire, “is that I and many others know how to head such problems off.”

“And yet I discovered none of you had filled out the correct permit for this mobile home. Now poor Sophie Giombetti and her young daughter are living in the simple Irish cottage of Caisleán’s schoolteacher, Jamie Fitzgerald.”

Icy fingers touched her skin. Only Mary Kincaid could have shared that news with this asshole.

“Sophie’s been around the art world a long time,” Linc said, stretching out both feet now, as if making himself at home in Malcolm’s office. “She’s resilient. This little permit thing didn’t ruffle anyone’s feathers. We’d just like to fill out the correct permit today, along with any fee associated with the processing.”

Shit. Here we go. Fee, smee.Why couldn’t anyone call it a bribe?

Linc cleared his throat and continued. “I’m sure you’re as anxious as we all are to show Sophie and the other internationally recognized artists associated with our center what we mean by Irish hospitality. Malcolm, you know better than anyone that tourists come to Ireland to travel around and see its sights. Watertown is barely an hour from Caisleán, and it’s considered one of the most beautiful places in the west of Ireland. They’re going to end up here, seeing your beautiful sights and playing golf on your new course. Don’t you worry none.”

Malcolm’s mouth shifted, reminding Bets of a serial killer straight out of a horror movie. “But we’d like them to stay in Watertown longer. Driving all around Ireland can be so tedious, especially for people who aren’t used to driving on the left side. We’d be cutting down on accidents along the Wild Atlantic Way.”

Linc gave another dark chuckle. Bets held her breath.

“You know, Malcolm,” he began in that folksy way of his, “that’s downright humanitarian thinking, that is. I even admire it. God knows life is hard enough sometimes, and it’s a real pleasure to meet with someone like yourself who’s thinking along those lines.”

Linc stood up and extended his hand across Malcolm’s desk. They were leaving? Bets shot out of her seat in solidarity as Donal did the same.

Malcolm laid his hands on his desk and rose slowly, finally shaking the hand Linc offered, gold and diamonds glinting.

“Thanks again for the meeting,” Linc said, nodding as he dropped his hand to his side. “We’ll just talk to your assistant on the way out about that pesky permit and square things away. You have a right fine day.”

Linc put his hand on the small of her back, turning her toward the door as Malcolm swiveled his hand toward Donal. From her peripheral vision, she could see Donal took his sweet time before shaking it.

“Have a great day, Malcolm,” she called over her shoulder.

God, what she really wanted to say was:I hope your way-too-white teeth rot and fall out so when you ask for bribes in the future no one can make out your words.

Yeah, she’d lived in Ireland long enough too.

Linc paused at thegorgeousbleached blond assistant’s cluttered desk, murmuring about the permit while Donal followed them out.

“I’m afraid I don’t have an application printed out right now,” the young woman said with a fake smile with teeth as white as her boss’.

“Could you print one out for us, darlin’?” Linc asked in his thickest Southern drawl.

She shook her head, giving them an eerie clown-like smile. “I’m afraid we’ve run out of toner for the printer.”

Linc slapped his forehead. “Well, bless your heart! If I’d only known. I could have bought one for you at the office supply store we passed on the way to your offices. How about we do it the modern way then? Can you email it to us, sugar?”

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