by Cora York
Screw Shane and his empty promises. He wouldn’t win.
I drew in a deep breath. I didn’t have time for this. Self-pity and violin playing could happen later over a glass of wine. There was a wedding to plan. I unclenched my fists and smoothed my palms over my skirt to iron out any wrinkles.
The cubic zirconia diamond weighing down my ring finger twisted backward and caught a few threads, plucking them loose.
“Shit. Crap.” I wrenched the princess-cut bauble free, and then stretched the material taut to pull the nylon threads back into place, hoping I appeared somewhat professional. Since all of my old designer clothes and most of my shoes had found new homes via eBay and consignment shops, my current wardrobe came from discount warehouses and second-hand stores. I wasn’t as pristine or as put together as I’d like, but I’d have to do.
With one last glance in the rearview mirror to check for out of place hairs and smudged lipstick, I grabbed my knockoff Birkin bag and laptop and stepped out of my clunker car.
The Derryveagh Mountains, already draped with snow, gave a postcard-perfect backdrop. Despite being in a valley and surrounded by hundred-year-old Scots Pines, gnashing wind from Lough Veagh bit my cheeks and yanked my hair. The beach curls it had taken over an hour to achieve now looked like a snarled bird’s nest of tangles. So much for looking put together.
Oncoming snow scented the air. I sent up a silent prayer to the Universe and the bloated gray clouds requesting rain instead. Ireland and snow weren’t a good mix. Six inches or more would cause an Irish Armageddon. The airports would close, people would ransack supermarkets, and the infrastructure would stall. Those kinds of headaches were something I didn’t need. Guests would arrive in a few days. If the weather forecast was right, and the end of the world was nigh, I’d have to figure out how to get members of the glitterati from various airports around the country to the castle. But fretting about what hadn’t happened yet was energy I didn’t have to spare. I’d take things minute by minute. What else could I do?
Violet wanted a small wedding and had invited fifty of her closest friends. Next year, she and Archer would have a showbiz bash, and I hoped with every cell of my being, if there were no major hitches this week, they would hire me to organize it.
Their Christmas wedding would make my career in Ireland, but their second wedding would establish my career worldwide.
My spiked heels crunched along the pebbled courtyard, and I gazed up in wonder, as I always did, when the clustered towers of Oak Castle came into view. History surrounded me, and I imagined the lords and ladies and kings and queens who once traveled the path I now walked.
Winter-stripped branches scarred the rough stone walls and knocked against arched windows, giving the castle a gothic feel. The serenity and stillness of the wooded estate filled me with hope and possibility.
Christmas had always been my favorite holiday, but the wonder of the season combined with a wedding chased goosebumps up my arms.
Nothing could go wrong. Nothing.
****
Flames danced and snapped in the grand fireplace surrounded by thick, smoke-blackened stone, and the tick-tock of a grandfather clock echoed around the vast foyer. Two red renaissance style sofas sat on either side of the fire, and rich tapestries depicting ancient battles hung on the walls. Besides the dated and dusty décor, the castle couldn’t be more perfect. Most of the furnishings were original, ornate, and luxurious, and no way could money buy a finer or a more authentic atmosphere.
A damp, earthy smell infused the air, and in the distance, clanging tools sang as contractors fixed the antiquated electrical and plumbing systems. I’d kept the wedding venue top secret, and the construction companies I’d hired had no idea why they were fixing the castle up under such a tight timeframe. Everything was on a need to know basis. The FBI could interrogate and torture me, and I still wouldn’t reveal the secret. I’d signed my soul away when I’d signed the contract and NDA.
“What the fuck’s going on he-yah?” barked a brash New York accent.
Barb Crawford. For the past week, I’d spoken to her every waking hour on the phone and had received over sixty emails a day. Whenever Violet changed her mind, or had a random thought like should her guests do a body cleanse before the wedding, or should her bridesmaids go on a rice-cake only diet, Barb emailed or called me.
Pasting on my most professional smile, I walked toward Barb, who marched down the sweeping staircase at the back of the foyer.
My nerves jumped and jangled, but I refused to show any trace of worry or anxiety. Appearing anything other than confident would get me eaten alive.
“I don’t care… Do this for me, you pathetic piece…” Barb acknowledged me by holding up her finger in a one-minute gesture.
I nodded in response and examined the ass-kicking woman in front of me. The fillers plumping up her pinched face made it hard to gauge her age, but if pushed, I would have said mid to late fifties. Her Valentino suit was as dark as the ebony razor-cut skimming her chin. Her hair contrasted with her ghostly skin, scarlet lips, and sharp steel-blue eyes that could flay the flesh from bones. Intimidating didn’t come close to describing her.
Barb stabbed the end call button and made her way towards me. The clicks of her Jimmy Choos popped like firecrackers against the stone floor. This was a woman who would take no shit from anyone.
I held out my hand, which Barb accepted in a bone-crushing grip. Not making eye contact with me, she stared over my shoulder.
I released her hand and followed her line of sight. “Are you expecting someone else?”
“The rest of your team?”
“No team. Just me.”
The exasperated look on the woman’s face said you’re freaking kidding me. “There’s no way one person can control this circus. And by your puke-inducing video pitch, I expected your fiancé here throwing rose petals and sugar at your feet.”
Heat filled my cheeks, and I fiddled with my bag strap. “Like I said in my email to Violet, he’s on business. As for one person controlling everything, I’m sure you can tell from my emails and phone calls, I have it all under control. And you’ll be happy to know the marriage license arrived this morning thanks to an acquaintance of mine rushing it through.”
“And that’s supposed to impress me?” Barb’s eyes narrowed to slits, and she opened her mouth as if to say something else, but before she could get any words out, the cell clasped in her hand trilled like an old-fashioned rotary phone. Holding up her finger again, she marched away. Six days of Sergeant Crawford bawling orders would be a bundle of fun, but I wasn’t fazed. I’d worked with enough bridezillas and monsters of the bride over the years to know how to handle anyone.
While Barb continued to suck the soul from whoever was on the other side of the line, I made my way to the office.
“Brendan, you in there?” I pushed the creaking office door open.
Brendan McCabe, the castle’s owner, perched at the edge of his paper-strewn desk with a phone trapped between his thick cauliflower ear and wide neck. Sweat beaded across his flame-red forehead and cheeks, and his usually flawless salt n’ pepper hair stuck up in weird angles as if he’d spent the last hour tearing it out. If he wasn’t one of the healthiest men I knew, I would’ve said he was a sitting heart attack.
“You okay?” I mouthed.
He shrugged his broad shoulders and smashed the phone into its cradle. “Bloody reporters. So bloody much for it being a bloody secret. Someone’s only gone and leaked that Violet bloody Hale is getting married in a castle in bloody Ireland this bloody weekend. The place’ll be crawling with paparazzi and fans before you know it.”
“Crap.” I chewed on my lower lip. “No one working here knows, and I know you haven’t said anything.”
“Not a word.”
Brendan wouldn’t have gone to the media, so the blabbermouth must have been someone on Violet’s side looking for a quick buck. Not that it mattered whose camp it came from because if Barb disco
vered the press were sniffing around, the blame would stop at my door.
I sat beside Brendan, being careful not to send any of the stacked paperwork tumbling. “Did they say they knew for sure the wedding was here?”
“Not in so many words, no. They were fishing.”
“How many wedding castles are there in Ireland?”
“Too many if you ask me.”
“Exactly,” I said. “They’re phoning every single castle searching for a scoop. No one’ll figure it out, and if they do, we’ll handle it. But to be on the safe side, I’ll arrange for extra security this weekend. Let’s keep this between us for now.”
Brendan nodded, seeming satisfied with my solution. “I suppose you’ve met the T-Rex.”
“Barb?”
“Aye. That one’s a right piece of work.” He laughed. “Wanted me to paint the honeymoon suite pink. Can you believe that? Pink? She said it’s Violet’s favorite color. I said, ‘A fourteenth-century castle with pink walls? You’re having a laugh?’”
“Don’t worry. I’ll veto the pink walls.” I patted his hand. “As for the rest, it’s just for a few days. Imagine how many people are going to want to get married here next year, and then you’ll be able to afford the rest of the renovations and make this place a haven. Wait and see, people will flock here.”
“I know, chicken, you’re right. But if this week doesn’t kill me—”
A pounding on the office door stopped our conversation.
“Ms. Maken,” Barb called. “There’s someone out here who’s just dying to see you.”
“Be right there.” I wasn’t expecting anyone. All contractors had already arrived, and no one else was due. Puzzled, I left the office and went into the foyer with Brendan in my wake.
A man fashioned from pure testosterone, dressed in a charcoal gray suit and a black wool overcoat, stood with his arms folded.
His high cheekbones and full lips would make women all over the world drop their panties. Snow dotted his tousled brown hair. Snow. Shit. The Universe hadn’t answered my prayer for no snow but had made up for it by sending some eye candy my way.
His ice-blue eyes were colder than frost, but when they caught my gaze, tingles warmed my skin, and my vow of chastity packed its bags, waved goodbye, and slammed the door.
He flashed me a lethal smile and strode my way. I made a move to get out of his trajectory, but before I could, he trapped me in a bear hug and hoisted me from the ground.
“Sweetheart, I didn’t think I’d make it.” His Irish accent held a slight American twang and flowed as smoothly as a freshly poured pint of Guinness. “I rearranged my schedule so I could be here for you.”
“I’m sorry, I don—”
The stranger lowered me and twisted a lock of my hair around his finger. “By God, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I’ve missed you.”
A bead of sweat slid down the valley of my breasts, and hazy confusion swirled around my mind.
Hysteria tickled my throat, and an overwhelming urge to laugh worked its way upward.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and held out his free hand to Brendan. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Keegan. Tessa’s fiancé.”
Chapter Three
Tessa
The world around me faded to black, and my legs quivered. I bit back a whimper and was half glad the stranger had his arm around my waist to stop me from crumpling onto the ground.
This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Maybe I was dreaming, and if I clicked my heels three times, I’d wake up at home.
Brendan smiled and shook the stranger’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m glad you could make it. Tessa said you were away on business till the New Year.”
The man gazed down at me. “I couldn’t let Tessa do such a big job on her own.”
Cold fear clawed at my chest. “How—”
“Never mind how.” He nudged his hip against mine. “Are you surprised?”
“You could say that.” My words were nothing more than a strangled whisper. I needed to talk to this man on my own. Find out what kind of cruel joke he was playing and who had put him up to it.
No one in my life knew about the fake fiancé story I’d spun to win the job. “Brendan, Barb, could you give us a minute? I’d like to bring my fiancé up to speed on a few things.”
Brendan’s confused eyes darted between Keegan and me, obviously sensing something was up. “Barb, let’s go look at the honeymoon suite again. See where we can pink it up.”
“I knew you’d come to your senses.” Barb grabbed Brendan’s bicep and pulled him toward the stairs.
A rush of anger heated my veins and pummeled my brain, resulting in a headache that threatened to crack my skull in two. What was this guy after? Whatever it was, he wouldn’t get it. Half-dragging him, I marched into Brendan’s office. Fury and fear hammered inside of me, seeking a way out.
I slammed the door shut and spun around to face him.
“Who are you, and what the hell do you think you’re doing?” My voice shook, and I didn’t attempt to hide my anger. Being sweet and polite to someone who’d dropped a world-ending lie at my feet was pointless.
Mr. Alpha Male settled himself on the swivel chair behind Brendan’s desk and glowered. “Your fiancé. Don’t you recognize me?”
I pressed my white-knuckled fists onto the desk. “Who. The. Fuck. Are. You.”
“Keegan Devlin, Devlin Events.” He leaned back in the chair.
“Who?” Thoughts charged through my mind, searching for his name. After a few seconds, a neon light went off in my head, and I realized who he was. “You—you pitched for the wedding. Violet’s assistant sent me a list…”
“So much for anonymity. I did some digging. I was curious how someone with your stellar reputation managed to get this gig.”
Blood buzzed through my ears, throwing off my equilibrium, and I steadied my thighs against the desk to stop from keeling over.
He clasped his hands together and leaned across the desk. A grimace contorted his handsome face. “You’re a con artist and a liar.”
I gave my head a vehement shake. After everything Shane had put me through, the last thing I’d ever do was con anyone. How was I going to get myself out of this mess? Beg for his silence and explain what had happened? Explain how foolish I’d been to fall for promises of forever? Offer him my body in exchange for his silence?
The suspicious glint in his eyes told me he wouldn’t give a shit if I got on my knees and kissed his feet.
“I might be a liar, but I’ve never conned anyone out of anything.” I curled one of my hands into a fist, hankering to punch his perfect nose. “What do you want? If it’s money you’re after, you’re too late. Someone already took every penny I had.”
I pushed away from the desk before I caused him some grievous bodily harm and paced the narrow space. The ancient floorboards groaned with every step as if sensing my distress. There had to be some way to persuade him to leave. Something I could give him.
“What do I want?” Keegan stood, prowled across the room, and situated himself in front of a grimy bay window. He locked his hands behind his back and stood there like the lord of the manor. “Let’s see… I want you to resign, and I want my company to come in and, as it were, save the day.”
“Exactly what the world needs,” I said, not even attempting to hide my sarcasm, “a wedding-planning superhero. What are your powers? Decorating a cake in ten seconds?”
He shrugged with seeming indifference. “You scammed your way into a contract. A contract that belongs to my company.”
Sandpaper grated my parched throat, and I stopped pacing. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when I was so close to making a success of things. “Look, I’m sorry if your feelings are hurt. This isn’t personal. It’s business. I need this job. If I lose it, I’ll lose—”
“Your dignity?” He sneered then smirked. “I’d say you’ve already lost that.”
Acid laced fury ate its way up my esophagus, b
urning holes in my throat. I wanted to scream that if I lost this wedding, I’d lose everything.
“I’m good at my job.” My words did nothing to conceal my desperation. “Whatever you’ve heard, it isn’t true.”
“Seems true enough for the couples who paid deposits for wedding receptions that didn’t happen.” He regarded me coolly, hatred shining through his eyes. “A thief as well as a liar. Your parents must be so proud.”
“I’m not a thief,” I said on a low breath. My plan was to settle my debts and control the damage before too many people heard about the missing money. But I couldn’t control or stop broken-hearted brides posting on forums about the dream receptions they wouldn’t have. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Believe me, I do. I have it on good authority. Did you somehow misplace their money?” His gaze moved from my head to my toes and back again. “By the way you’re dressed, I’m guessing you lost it all on clothes.”
I tugged at the hem of my jacket. “If you knew anything about clothes, you’d know this suit was from a discount store.”
“I might not know about clothes, but I know a fraudster when I meet one.”
This. Wasn’t. Happening. I rolled my shoulders back, sucked in a calming breath, and stood tall.
Less than twenty minutes ago, everything had been perfect and was falling into place. But now this Keegan person threatened to destroy everything I’d worked for. One man had already tried that. He hadn’t succeeded. Neither would Keegan Devlin.
“I won this contract on my own merits, and I—”
“Own merits? More like false pretenses.”
“I don’t care what you call it.” I smoothed my fingers over my hair and ran my hands down the front of my jacket. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a wedding to plan.”
“But I do mind, very much.”
Adrenaline barreled through my bloodstream and possible solutions whirled around my mind. If I had any money, I could pay him off, but judging by his expensive wool coat, and the tailored suit beneath it, money wasn’t something he lacked.
