by Cora York
What other choice did I have except keep up the façade of him being my fiancé? None.
Saving my business and paying off my debts was my number one goal, even if it meant going along with a farce of a relationship. One stupid lie and now my dream job and a chance at redemption were turning into one epic fail after another.
I shuffled across the snow-covered pebbles and made it to the parking lot and my car without too much slipping and sliding.
“Leaving without me?” Keegan asked from a few steps behind, his voice muffled by the falling snow.
“Not at all. I came out to warm up the car. Wouldn’t want my fiancé freezing his balls off, would I?”
He caught up with me, laughter filling his blue eyes. “You’re too thoughtful.”
“Aren’t I?” I opened the driver’s door as Keegan made a move to get in.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“What do you think I’m doing? Solving world hunger?”
“But it’s snowing.”
“It is? Where?” With a deliberate widening of my eyes, I raised my hand and caught a few feathered flakes on my palm.
“We’ll take my rental. It’s safer and about twenty years newer than your rust bucket.”
“I’m driving my car.” I perched sideways on the driver’s seat and planted my feet on the frozen ground. “By the slight twang in your voice, I take it you don’t live in Ireland anymore.”
“Brooklyn, but what’s that got to do with anything?” He lifted his collar until it touched his ear lobes and then buried his hands inside his coat pockets. A pink blush from the cold highlighted his cheeks and nose. Snow spiked his eyelashes, and his hair fell over his forehead. He was a magazine cover come to life.
I stamped my feet to shatter the ice cubes enclosing my toes. “I bet you use cabs or the subway most of the time or walk. I’m used to driving these roads—you’re not.”
“I grew up about an hour’s drive away. I know these roads like the back of my hand.” He hopped from foot to foot and hunched his shoulders. “The roads are going to be an icy mess. I’m not sure you can handle them.”
I rummaged through my bag, and when I found my cell, I held it to my ear. “Hello, 1950. One of your chauvinists managed to make his way here. Want me to send him back?”
He gave me a smooth, slow smile. One that was way too dangerous and way too sexy. “You’re quite the comedian.”
I lowered my phone and focused my attention on the white-peaked mountains. “I live here. You don’t. When’d you leave? Five, six years ago?”
“Ten,” he supplied.
“Long enough to forget what driving here’s like.”
My insistence on driving had zero to do with who should or shouldn’t drive or whose car could handle the twisting roads better—hands down his could. It had everything to do with giving in and giving him what he wanted. If I caved over something as small as driving, Keegan wouldn’t merely walk all over me, he’d stomp me into the ground.
I swiveled my body inside the car and yanked the door shut. I turned the ignition, blasted the heat, and winced when nothing but cold air hit my face.
Once the car warmed up, the heat would kick in, I hoped. Keegan hadn’t moved, and I wanted to leave him there, but if I did, he’d jump into his rental and tailgate me the entire way home. I cracked open the window.
“Stay there, or get in. Either way, I’m leaving.”
He jogged around the car, opened the passenger door, and dropped into the seat. I controlled the urge to punch the air in victory.
The tip of his nose and cheeks were now a delicious winterberry red, and the rich scent of his sandalwood cologne infused with snow filled the air. Why did he have to smell so goddamn delicious, and why did I have a ridiculous desire to lick him from head to toe?
I’d welcome a cold and a stuffy nose, anything not to spend the entire journey smelling his aftershave. To stop myself drooling over him, I’d have to spend the car ride breathing through my mouth. That, or stuff my nostrils with a tissue.
“Don’t kill me,” he said.
“Wouldn’t that be a shame?”
While the car idled and warmed, Keegan occupied himself by scrolling through his phone, and I called Tyrone to rearrange the tasting for the next day at the castle. The culinary wizard’s expletive-laden response would’ve impressed Gordon Ramsey. After promising him the wedding would make him into a worldwide celebrity chef, I hung up and maneuvered my way over a rickety wooden bridge and out of the secluded castle grounds.
Thick hedges and tumbling stone walls hugged the narrow two-lane road, and bleating sheep huddled together in patchwork fields in a bid to keep warm.
The snowfall thickened and stuck to the roads, hiding the many pool-sized potholes scarring the asphalt. Despite the turmoil whirling inside of me and my foot wanting to put the gas pedal through the floor, I forced myself to drive slowly.
At our current zero-mile-per-hour speed, the drive to my apartment would take more than an hour instead of the usual twenty minutes.
The repetition of driving the route for the past few weeks set me on autopilot. There was no doubt I was in a sucky situation. How to get out of it was the question. I could either use every ounce of my creativity and business acumen to fight for what was mine, or I could hand the job over to Keegan and walk away with my pride somewhat intact, but maybe even that wouldn’t stop him blabbering to everyone.
If he exposed me, no one would want to be associated with a liar. Ireland was a small place, the wedding and event community even smaller. Once the gossip started, nothing would save my already ice-thin career. Screw Shane fucking Gorman and his fucking empty promises. I smacked the heel of my hand against the steering wheel.
“Everything okay?” Keegan asked, not looking up from his phone.
“Oh, everything’s perfectly fine.” The irritation in my voice said the opposite. “Frustrated by this weather and the roads, is all.”
“I should have driven. You’re too timid.”
“And I suppose you get all ‘I am man hear me roar’ and aggressive behind the wheel?” I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
He leaned over the center console, close enough that his breath fanned my cheek, and his musky cologne invaded my senses. “If you mean I like to be in control, you’re right, I do.”
A flash of desire shoved my irritation out of the way, and my breasts conspired with my nipples on the best way to bust out of my bra to get closer to him.
Previously comatose hormones opened their eyes and fangirled, leaving my underwear more than a little damp, which, in subzero temperatures, wasn’t as fun as it sounded. His sexy accent and alpha male act would not turn me into a swooning simpleton. No way. That particular road was one I had no plans on traveling ever again.
“You’re an arrogant ass.”
“I would say confident.”
“I would say conceited.”
“I would disagree.” Keegan shrugged and shifted back into his seat. He shoved his phone into his pocket. “We should find out a wee bit more about each other, don’t you think?”
“Thanks, but no. I know all I need to know about you.” I switched on the radio, and the sound of Santa Claus is Coming to Town blasted from the speakers.
“You don’t know anything.” He switched the radio off.
I switched the radio back on. “Exactly. Like I said, ‘I know all I need to know.’”
“I have three brothers and three sisters.”
“Don’t care.”
At a turn in the road, a tractor with monster-truck wheels bigger than my car swung around the corner, cutting me off. I slammed on the brakes and sent up a silent prayer thanking God I was driving so slowly and that my tires had enough tread to grip the road.
The glove box flew open, and a landslide of unopened envelopes plummeted onto the floor and onto Keegan’s lap and feet.
“Great filing system,” he said. “Don’t you ever open your mail?”
“None of your business.” I leaned over to pluck up the envelopes. The final demands inside would give him more ammunition. Not that he couldn’t already assassinate me with everything he already had.
“Drive.” He motioned toward the now clear road. His finger hovered over the back of an envelope as if undecided about opening the flap.
“What do you think you’re doing?” My eyes darted toward the envelope in his hand. “It’s illegal to open someone else’s mail without their permission. And you, most definitely, do not have mine.”
“These all look like bills. Final demands, if I’m right. Hiding something?” Keegan swept the envelopes together and rammed them into the glove box.
“Again, none of your business.” I gripped the steering wheel tighter. “You’ve invaded my life enough without sticking your nose in any deeper.”
“I haven’t even begun.”
With a flick of my hand, I set the volume of Christmas FM loud enough to drown out his voice and my thoughts.
****
Sammy, a homeless teen who sometimes slept outside my apartment building, sat huddled in a corner, with his grimy, and now wet, sleeping bag draped over his knees. Pour soul. He should be in a hostel or somewhere warmer than a street corner, but I guessed his dog Max had something to do with him being on the streets on a day like this.
“You live here?” Keegan glanced out of the car window and eyed the graffitied building with apparent distaste.
“What were you expecting, a penthouse overlooking the river?” My neighborhood wasn’t the safest place to live, but it was all I could afford. When I’d paid off my debts, I’d move somewhere better, cleaner, more secure.
“It’s not in the greatest of areas.”
“It works for me.” Admitting he was right wouldn’t happen. “Stay here. Make sure no one steals the car.”
“This jalopy? People are more likely to give you money out of pity to fix it than steal it.”
Ignoring him, I stepped out of the car.
He got out and slammed the door shut. “I should know where we live and what our love nest looks like.”
“Whatever. Suit yourself.”
I walked forward and hunkered down in front of Sammy. “Where’s Max?” At the sound of his name, the scraggy dog whose tongue was too big for his mouth and eyes too small for his head, stuck his face from beneath the stained sleeping bag.
Max’s breed was indeterminable. He was possibly the resulting cross-species love child between a Chihuahua and a possum.
“I was worried you wouldn’t be coming home.” Sammy shivered and wiped the back of his hand beneath his runny nose. “The thing is, they have a permanent bed for me, but I can’t take Max. They said I should take him to the pound.” He scratched the trembling dog behind its ears. “I can’t do that to the wee fella. He’s already been through the wars. Can you take him for me? Find him a home?”
The dog lifted his head and widened his eyes as if trying to charm me into finding him a place to live.
“I don’t know, Sammy. I have a lot on at work right now.”
Max whimpered as if he knew he was seconds away from abandonment, but permanent beds didn’t come easy, and it’d taken Sammy months to find one. More than once, I’d offered him my sofa, which, if the weather was bad enough, he took, but more often than not, he refused.
“No worries. I understand.” The sorrow in his eyes stabbed my heart.
There was no way I could let either of them down.
“Give him here.” I reached for the dog. If I didn’t take care of Max, Sammy would stay on the streets, and I didn’t need yet another worry weighing down my conscience.
“You’re the best. I knew I could count on you.” Sammy handed over the dog, who slobbered stinky kisses all over my face.
“Stop kissing me, you mangy mutt.” I laughed and put the rat-sized dog on the ground. “I won’t be home for about a week, but he’ll be somewhere safe, and after that, we’ll see what we can come up with.” During the day, I’d keep him in the castle’s kitchen out of harm’s way, and at night, he could sleep in my room. Brendan wouldn’t mind.
Sammy gave me a beaming smile. “You’re a legend.”
“I don’t know about that.” I dug into my coat pocket, pulled out a twenty, and held it out. “Get yourself something hot to eat.”
Sammy shook his head. “Keep your money. Taking Max is enough.” He stood and rolled his belongings into the sleeping bag, and when he wasn’t looking, I tucked the money into his backpack. He needed the money more than I did.
“Who’s yer man?” Sammy jerked his head toward Keegan, who stood by the car with his arms crossed and legs in a wide stance, looking more like a bodyguard or a nightclub doorman than an event planner.
“No one important.”
“He looks like he thinks he’s important.”
“You’re not wrong.” I laughed and pulled Sammy into a quick hug. “You have my number written down, right? Call me if you need anything, and I mean anything.”
“Thanks a million.”
“Come, Max.” The misshapen dog followed me through the concrete lobby of my apartment building, his overgrown nails clicking with every step. As soon as the wedding was over, I’d take him to a doggy groomer and maybe the vet. I couldn’t do much to help Sammy, but I could make sure his companion was healthy and safe.
“Who was that?” Keegan fell into step beside me.
“A good kid whose parents kicked him out because he’s gay.”
“You serious?”
“Wish I wasn’t.”
My nostrils flared at the reek of stale garbage and at the pungent smell of cooking fish saturating the air.
Rather than take the elevator, which sometimes doubled as a urinal, I picked up Max and ran up three flights of stairs to my floor.
One of the fluorescent strips lighting up the narrow corridor hung by a wire, flickering on and off, and with every step, my heels snagged the frayed nylon filaments of the puce carpet lining the hallway. Showing Keegan where I lived should’ve embarrassed me. But since he meant less to me than the regurgitated mice the local cats sometimes left on my doorstep, I couldn’t care less what he thought about my home.
I unlocked the triple bolt lock and disarmed the alarm to my shoebox apartment. “Wait in there.” I pointed toward the sitting room and set Max on the floor. “And don’t touch anything.”
The dog scampered into the sitting room and flopped onto his makeshift teddy bear bed. Keegan stood at the threshold and glanced at several precariously stacked boxes.
“Moving?”
“They’re from my old office.” I shoved a wavering stack against a wall to prevent a flood of paper. “I haven’t had time to go through them.” Satisfied they wouldn’t fall, I turned to Keegan. “Give me a few minutes to get packed.”
He nodded, but his attention was on the boxes I’d pushed against the wall.
I left him alone and went into my bedroom. The damp room, a few steps from the sitting room, held nothing to show the place was my home.
Torture would’ve been preferable to unpacking. Too many painful memories showing my failed business and failed relationship were wrapped up in old newspapers and stored inside cardboard boxes, and that was where they would stay until I had the courage to deal with them.
I closed the door and flopped onto my unmade bed.
Who exactly was Keegan Devlin? I slid my phone from my bag and Googled his name. Hundreds of articles about him flooded the screen. Devlin Events were goliaths in event planning. Compared to them I wasn’t even a gnat. Going up against him was moronic, but I had to try. With a resigned sigh, I threw my phone back into my bag and started to pack.
Chapter Six
Keegan
If there was an uglier dog alive, I hadn’t seen it. The mutt, who now lay on his back snoring, was obviously at home in Tessa’s apartment.
How often had she helped the kid and dog out? I hadn’t missed how she
tucked the money the kid had refused into his backpack. Was she the Robin Hood of con artists? Someone who justified her actions of robbing from the rich to give to the poor? I gave my head a quick shake. A scam artist with a heart of gold. There was a Hallmark movie somewhere in Tessa’s future.
I leaned against the doorjamb and examined Tessa’s home. Her professional and sexy appearance suggested an upscale apartment in a trendy part of town. Instead, she lived in an old public housing building that was as impersonal and as welcoming as the DMV.
Limp green and yellow plaid curtains hung by grimy patio doors that led to a small balcony. Bare cream walls held no pictures of friends or family, and piles of unopened moving boxes occupied every available space.
A chipped Formica table drowned in paperwork beside a postage-stamp-sized kitchen. I walked over to the table and used the edge of my phone to shuffle the papers around. Nothing but bills and threatened legal action. A few handwritten letters cursing her to hell. I now understood the hissy fit in the car when she thought I was going to open her mail. She was in it up to her neck.
Based on the numbers scribbled on a legal pad, I calculated she owed half a million euros, maybe more—a hundred grand in back rent for an office. Something—a lot of things—weren’t adding up. I needed a few more answers, and to get those, I had to talk to Shane, because the femme fatale picture he’d painted wasn’t the same Tessa I’d met.
I scrolled through my phone and redialed the number Shane had called from. Disconnected. Not surprising. An uneasy sensation crawled up my spine. What the fuck was Shane’s plan and what was my part in it?
If I screwed this event up for Tessa, she’d be bankrupt by the New Year. A desire to jump on the next flight back to New York and let her sink or swim yanked at me. But I couldn’t do that. If I left now, she’d suffocate. But maybe she was playing me for a fool. What if she’d planted the numbers and letters to make me think she was in trouble? Was I a pawn in a long con mapped out by Shane? Or was she the brains of the operation? With another shake of my head, I blew out a slow whistle and went to the balcony doors. She hadn’t expected me to come to her apartment, so the scribbled numbers and letters demanding money had to be genuine.
