Page 25 of The Bossy One

It’s just business, I told myself, and typed out an email telling them I had time for an interview this afternoon.

The doorbell rang, blasting a terrifyingly chipper ABBA song through the whole house. I winced. I’d made the mistake of mentioning over dinner that my doorbell could be programmed to play any music you could stream online. Now Olivia and Catie kept changing it. Under the guidance of her new nanny, Catie had discovered a love for Swedish disco.

I went to open the door and found my friend Thomas standing on the front step. As always, his lean, sandy hair was a welcome sight. But his face looked grim.

“Are you here as my friend or as my lawyer?” I asked.

“Both,” Thomas said. “It’s about the O’Rourkes.”

I led Thomas back into the kitchen and started filling the electric kettle for tea. I was doing my best to appear calm, but my whole body was tense. “They’re not selling after all?”

“They’re selling. But they’re not selling the mansion,” Thomas said. “They’ve listed two of the smaller properties.”

I slammed the kettle down on its base with more force than necessary. I’d always known there was a possibility they wouldn’t choose to sell the mansion. But I’d wanted my revenge badly enough that I’d only focused on the outcome I wanted.

“Do you want to buy the smaller properties?” Thomas suggested helpfully.

“No,” I gritted out. “It has to be the mansion. I want him to fucking suffer.” The O’Rourke family had been a poison in this town for far too long. Playing fast and loose with other people’s lives, and then hiding behind their money and power when disaster struck. That mansion was more than their ancestral home—it was the symbol of their position in town. They sat in that house and moved the rest of us around like chess pieces.

No, it had to be the mansion. I need Mark O’Rourke’s power to come to an abrupt, public, humiliating end. And I was finally so close to it that I could fuckingtasteit. Somehow, some way, Ihadto make selling the mansion their only option.

“Is this a bad time?” Olivia asked timidly from the doorway. “I was going to grab some snacks for Catie.”

Thomas and I turned to her. Her red curls were scooped up in a perky ponytail, and she wore leggings and a comfortably worn T-shirt that clung softly to her curves. Nothing fancy at all, just relaxed and natural…and very, very pretty. Thomas gave her an appreciative look, and I felt my hackles rise a bit, even though I knew Thomas was very happily married. And even though I knew it was none of my business who appreciated Olivia.

“It’s not,” I said firmly. “Thomas, this is Catie’snanny, Olivia. Olivia, this is Thomas, my friend and lawyer.”

“Nice to meet you.” Olivia gave a friendly smile, then crossed to the kitchen to pull out a plate of snacks my chef, Maeve, had prepared in advance for Catie, apparently inspired by something Americans called “Lunchables.” Maeve and Olivia had bonded, apparently, and it had led to a variety of…interesting additions to my usual menu.

“Don’t mind Declan’s temper,” Thomas said to Olivia. “We’re going up against a local bully in a business dealing, but they seem to have outmaneuvered us.”

“Temporarily,” I said.

Olivia grabbed a juice box and closed the door with her hip. “Well, is there anyone else you can bring onto your side to stack the odds in your favor? I used to nanny for a CEO, and that was his go-to tactic whenever he was losing.”

Thomas shook his head. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t really apply here.”

I straightened, the beginnings of a strategy unfolding before me. “Maybe it does.”

Olivia saluted me with the juice box and left the room to return to Catie.

When my eyes returned to Thomas, I found him watching me with eyebrows raised. “So.That’syour live-in nanny.”

“Shut it,” I said. “She’s staff. And anyway, she’s annoying.”

“You don’t look at her like she’s staff,” Thomas said mildly. “Or like you find her annoying. You know, it might be good for you, spending time with a sunny, can-do American. It could brighten up some of that gloom you’re always carrying around.”

I crossed my arms, ignoring his efforts to get under my skin. “Here’s what I’m thinking. Is there a way to get the city council to tie up the sales of the smaller properties in red tape? If Mark O’Rourke needs money now, and we can find a legal way to delay any other sale for long enough…”

“He might move on to listing a different property,” Thomas finished. “I’ll look into it.”

I grinned, wolfishly satisfied. I was going to get those bastards yet.

* * *

After Thomas left, I found myself unable to settle back to work, so I wandered out to where Catie and Olivia were playing in the backyard.

Or rather, Catie was playing. For reasons I tried—and failed—to fathom, she seemed to be turning over every stone she found in the overgrown garden, and holding up the bogs she found for Olivia’s inspection.

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