Page 13 of The Bossy One

“I am. Catie’s in town.”

“What? That’s brilliant,” Thomas’s voice sounded like he was beaming. “We’ll have to have you and Sinead over for dinner. How long are they staying?”

“Sinead’s not here,” I said. “Just Catie and an unhinged nanny. She’s staying for two months.”

Thomas fell silent. When he spoke, it was tentative kindness. “When you say two months, you wouldn’t mean sixty days, would you?”

I sat heavily in my chair, remembering that Thomas’s father-in-law had been in and out of rehab for the past decade.

What if rehab doesn’t help Sinead?a frantic voice inside whispered.

I refused to listen to it. “I’d appreciate your discretion.”

“Of course,” Thomas said. He cleared his throat. “Maybe this isn’t the best time for my news, then.”

“Please, go ahead,” I said, rubbing my forehead. “I need the distraction.”

“I’ve heard rumors that the O’Rourkes are thinking of selling property,” he said.

I straightened, feeling like a jolt of bad electricity had been shot through my system. The O’Rourkes were the scum of the earth. They were the reason I didn’t believe in forgiving your enemies.

A family of petty landlords, the O’Rourkes had been the richest family in Ballybeith for generations—and they’d gotten that wealth on the backs of the poorest families in town. They’d killed my da, when the family’s current patriarch, Mark O’Rourke, decided to drive home drunk when I was in high school.

They’d never faced a single consequence for their actions.

I’d spent the last sixteen years waiting for a way to make them pay.

“Why would they sell now?” I asked, trying to keep my vicious excitement in check.

“You know the son, Seamus? Apparently, he was put in charge a year ago, and he all but ran the business into the ground, wasting money on high-end improvements and renting to people who couldn’t afford to pay, then letting them live there for free for months.”

I frowned. “Is it some kind of insurance scam? That makes no sense.” If anyone else had been responsible, I’d have said it sounded generous—wildly, stupidly generous. But generous was not a word anyoneassociated with the O’Rourkes.

“I think he’s just incompetent,” Thomas speculated. “Mark came out of retirement and demoted his son. He’s jacked up rents, but it’s not enough. Word is he’ll have to sell one of his properties.”

I held my breath, imagining buying the iconic O’Rourke mansion and razing to the ground. I imagined Mark O’Rourke’s rage and grief. Short of killing someone, destroying that mansion was the only way to make the O’Rourkes feel a fraction of what my family had felt. With any luck they’d flee town in shame, and sell their properties to someone else who would run them responsibly.

Maybe then my da would have justice. And I wouldn’t feel this jagged, clawing rage in my heart, shading everything I did and experienced. Maybe all my successes would feel different, would feel like enough, once I finally had the one thing I truly wanted.

“Do you think he’ll sell the mansion?” I asked.

“It makes sense to. It’s their most valuable property,” Thomas said. “Do you still want it?”

I could practically taste revenge on my tongue. “I do. Set up a shell company, though. They’d never sell to me.”

“What’s your budget if they put it up for sale?”

“Anything,” I said, viciously. “I want that house.”

“Why?” Thomas asked. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Stop their hold on this town,” I said. That was all he needed to know for now. The house was something of a local landmark—he might not like the idea of me tearing it down. But I could work him around to it. I just needed to get the place first.

I thanked him, said goodbye, and started to hang up.

But Thomas had one last thing to say. “Sinead will be fine, Declan. You know her.”

“I do,” I said.

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