“I was covering Sloan’s gallery while he was at the hospital with his new daughter. This piece of crap came in to pick up a painting he bargained with Sloan over. The maggot shorted Sloan for the price he asked for. Something in me snapped. I wasn’t about to let that son of a bitch screw with my—” His voice trailed off.
Silence filled the room as Bartholomew ran his large hand through his sandy blond hair. He could feel his family’s eyes locked on him.
“Screw with your what, Bartholomew?” his father asked softly.
“Screw with my family. But you’re my family. They’re just my—”
His father smiled gently. “They are your family, Bartholomew. Those men are closer to you than your biological brothers. They have been there for you when you’ve needed them. Sloan saved our home. You don’t need to apologize. We understand.”
Bartholomew turned as he felt his mother touch his shoulder. “And if you really love this girl, and she loves you, they will be family, won’t they?”
He felt his heart sink. He had been ignoring Maggie’s calls ever since he left Las Vegas. How could he explain why he hadn’t come home to her with her brother? Yet, he would have to find a way to explain everything. And hope she forgives me.
“But what if I turn into one of these sleazy, corrupt thugs?” he pleaded.
“Do you think you will?” his father questioned.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I do. We raised you better than that.”
Bartholomew glanced around the room to his father, his mother, and his sister and then smiled. My father’s right. He had needed to come home to Montana to get centered. That way he could go back home to Iowa to get answers from both O’Riley siblings.
“Do you want me to drive you back to the airport in Bozeman?” his father offered.
“Not yet.” He stood. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to spend the night. I’ve been gone so long. It’s nice to be back. I just need to call Maggie.”
“Of course.” His mother beamed at him, obviously overjoyed. “Let me just make your old bed really quick.”
“After your call, we can ride out to find your brothers,” his father suggested.
“That would be great, Dad.” Bartholomew chuckled as he watched his mother disappear down the hall toward the bedrooms. He excused himself as he searched the speed dial of his smart phone and hit the Send button.
Chapter Eleven
Bartholomew wrapped his hand around the door handle of the gallery as he took a deep breath. It was time to face the music. The first thing he had done when he stepped off the plane was call Maggie. She had just finished her shift at the hospital and wasn’t able to talk. Instead of going to Gordon’s and relaxing from the flight, he set his sights on the gallery to see if he still had a job there.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. As he looked up, his eyes locked with a pair of ice blue ones. Ones that were obviously not very happy with him.
“I wondered when the bloody blazes you’d come back,” Sloan snarled. “Pack. We’re leaving for Miami.”
“Not until you answer a couple of questions for me,” Bartholomew countered.
Sloan glared at him as he set the empty canvas he held on the floor.
Bartholomew continued, “How can you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Deal with men like Damien Rex, or do business in VIP rooms of clubs with half-naked women clawing at you? I thought you gave up that seedy life when you left New York. I didn’t realize you liked it.”
Sloan stormed across the gallery until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Bartholomew. His brogue was low and dangerous. “I don’t. Like you, I hate it. I do this because of Abigail. I’m a marked man. If anything were to happen to me, I have to know Abigail is taken care of for the rest of her life. She is all I care about, the only thing I have ever loved. The money, the paintings, the real estate can go to hell.”
“What about the women?”
“What women? The only woman I see, the only woman I desire, is Abigail. There are no other women. I’m done with that life. Abigail has given me everything. She’s given me the child I never thought I would have. She humbles me. She is my world. I will never betray that.”
Bartholomew nodded silently.
Sloan continued, “The only other woman who matters to me will not allow me to take care of her. I cannot pay for her rent. I cannot pay for her tuition.” Sloan cocked a half smile at Bartholomew. “However, with our arrangement, I assume she will be taken care of. Correct?”
Bartholomew grinned. “Of course.”
“Excellent. Now go pack. We leave in an hour.”
“Sounds great.”
Bartholomew shook Sloan’s outstretched hand. He turned on his toe and opened the gallery door, stepping outside into the frigid afternoon.
»»•««
Twelve hours after they left the gallery, Bartholomew was walking alongside Sloan as they wandered through the club, stopping briefly as the Irishman accepted the congratulations offered to him. The opening of the Miami complex was a resounding success. The place was rocking, packed to each wall with hot, gyrating bodies dancing to the music of the DJ. Just this morning, Bartholomew had sat in as Nathan, Sloan’s smarmy attorney, helped Sloan choose smart, savvy businessmen and women to form his enterprise into a full-fledged corporation. Only downside in my mind? Nathan can’t be trusted.
Bartholomew barely had time to say goodbye to Maggie before this trip. Had she not met them at the airport, he wouldn't have had a chance to give her a farewell kiss. He sighed miserably. I miss her so much.
Strangely, she didn't seem to mind him leaving.
The two men slipped onto barstools that sat beside a long steel and glass bar. Every alcohol imaginable lined the glass shelves along the wall, each bottle lit by a different colored neon light. Sloan ordered a whiskey and a beer. He pushed the beer toward Bartholomew and then slammed the entire tumbler of amber liquid in one swallow. Then he ordered another.
“Sloan, I need to talk to you,” Bartholomew shouted above the music.
“About?”
Bartholomew slipped the small box from his suit coat and opened it. He popped open the lid and slid it across the glass of the bar to Sloan. Inside, a diamond solitaire sparkled in the club lights.
“I want to ask Maggie to be my wife. I won’t without your blessing.”
Sloan stared at the ring for a moment and then snapped the box shut. He handed it to Bartholomew. "Put it away," Sloan demanded.
Wonderful. That was a bust. Bartholomew felt his heart sink into his stomach as he picked up the box and slipped it back into his pocket. "But—"
"You have my blessing."
Bartholomew felt his spirits rise a bit at the words, but still looked at his friend confused. "All right." He stared at the rainbow-colored bottles of liquor behind the bar, still baffled by Sloan's reaction to his request. Suddenly, he was startled by a sweet, soft brogue behind him.
"Which of you lads are going to buy this lass a drink?"
Bartholomew spun on his barstool, dumbfounded. Maggie stood at the fringe of the raucous crowd, her body swaddled in a floor-length, emerald gown with spaghetti straps. Her black curls flowed down around her shoulders. Her ice blue eyes sparkled mischievously.
He looked at Sloan, amazed, catching the knowing smile tugging at his friend’s lips as he downed the second whiskey. He laughed in acknowledgement as he ordered a glass of wine for Maggie.
Sloan slowly turned to his sister. "Where’s Abigail?"
"She’s giving last minute instructions to Gordon and Mary," Maggie answered. "It's her first time leaving Amelia for a long period of time. If I remember correctly, you nearly didn't get on that plane for Las Vegas at the thought of leaving your wife and newborn daughter."
"I need her here before this meeting starts."
"She’ll be here."
Bartholomew cocked his head in the direction beside Maggie. Abbey trotted brea
thlessly to her side after pressing between two very drunk men scrambling to take advantage of the situation. He heard a dangerous, low growl from beside him. Here comes the bloodbath.
One raised finger from Abbey kept Sloan on his stool. "I'm fine. Let it be."
Bartholomew watched as Sloan's ice blue eyes raked over Abbey. She wore a silver gown identical in style to Maggie's. Her brown hair was pinned to her head with ringlets of curls cascading down.
"You’re beautiful, Abigail," Sloan breathed.
Abbey smiled as she kissed Sloan, pressing her hands against his broad chest to steady herself. As their lips parted, Sloan stood. "Let's go."
Sloan ushered the girls ahead toward the back rooms. He motioned for Bartholomew to walk with him.
"Now I understand why you wanted me to put the ring away." Bartholomew spoke quietly so that only Sloan could hear him. "But why are Maggie and Abbey here?"
"These men we're dealing with have their vices, their weaknesses," Sloan instructed. "You have to take the time to study them to discover those weaknesses so that you can exploit them. I gave you the watch in Las Vegas. Damien Rex has a weakness for objects of wealth. Arthur Hall's weakness is women. I provided the two most beautiful of them all."
"And the girls are all right with this?"
"I have spoken to them, and yes, they are, as a favor to me. Hall disgusts me. He treats women as a commodity, not as living, breathing, beautiful souls. He’s offered me fifteen million for Abigail multiple times."
Bartholomew fought the look of disbelief from his face. The thought that someone would pay for Abbey. It was modern day slavery. "Are you serious?"
"Yes. I'd love to see the maggot seethe."
Sloan nodded curtly to the large, burly bodyguards blocking entry to the back room. The two men parted simultaneously, the one on the right opening the door to allow entry as they did. Sloan gently nudged Abbey on the hip, urging her to enter. With a tilt of his head, he silently ordered Bartholomew and Maggie to follow. Bartholomew wrapped his large hand protectively around Maggie's as they stepped inside.
The room was painted black and draped in midnight blue curtains. The tables that once dotted the marble floor had been removed. Three dark-stained, wood chairs sat in the middle. Arthur Hall reclined in one of them, his thinning gold hair accented with evil green eyes. His crème-colored suit and black tie looked like elegant rejects from Miami Vice. He was surrounded by at least a dozen women—brunettes, auburns, and blondes. Although their heights varied, each was terrifyingly thin. Their skinny bodies were draped in wispy, gauze-covered evening gowns.
The whole thing seemed like a gothic Grecian nightmare. Bartholomew squeezed Maggie's hand tighter.
"This is bizarre," she whispered in his ear.
He fought to suppress a chuckle. "Welcome to your brother's world. Personally, I try to get out of places like this as quickly as possible."
"This is Sloan's thing? This is what he's into?"
"Maggie, sweetheart, he didn't make his billions on a paper route."
She pressed her free hand to her mouth to hide her giggles.
Arthur’s voice cut through the room. “Gentlemen, have a seat. Let’s get to business,” he purred.
Bartholomew shot a glare at Sloan. Gentlemen would let the ladies sit. Sloan returned his stare. Bartholomew could read in the icy blue depths that Sloan shared the same thought. After a moment, Sloan nodded to the chairs and then took a seat in one himself. Bartholomew exhaled slowly as he sat in the other.
“I heard you now had your own personal broker,” Arthur began. “You don’t need him for this transaction. You asked for two million. I will pay you five.”
“Under what condition?” Sloan demanded.
“You accept my other offer. I won’t drop the offer, either. Let’s set a meeting date to finalize our deal. Just you, me, and Abigail. I’ll buy your painting tonight.”
Sloan lunged forward in his chair. “Get it through your thick skull. Abigail is not a commodity. She is my wife and my child’s mother.” He stood as he glared down at Arthur. “Let’s go,” he commanded Bartholomew. “We’re done here. For good.”
“Can you afford that sort of move, Sloan?” Arthur questioned.
Sloan laughed incredulously. “I believe I can. This may not be my club. You are, however, sitting in my building.” He pulled Abbey close. She wrapped her arms around him as she laid her head on his chest. “So do me a favor. Put the tables back and get yourself and your entourage out. Do not force me to demand it of my tenant.”
Arthur stared at Sloan with a dumbfounded expression. Sloan wrapped his arm around Abbey and led her from the room. Bartholomew pressed his hand to Maggie’s lower back as they followed the other couple through the packed bodies on the dance floor to the club’s exit. They both stayed silent as Abbey turned to Sloan on the sidewalk outside.
“Sloan,” she began.
“Abigail, stop,” Sloan interrupted. “I’m done with Hall. I have a right to choose who I do business with. And I will not do business with any man who does not show the proper respect to you. You are not my possession. You are my breath and soul. Am I supposed to put a price on my breath and soul?”
Abbey let loose a lovesick sigh as she wrapped her arms around Sloan’s neck. “You sure are a smooth-talker, Mr. O’Riley.”
“You have no idea, luv.”
Bartholomew squirmed at the love scene unfolding in front of him and Maggie. Sloan and Abbey’s declarations of love didn’t bother him. But it was time to start a love scene of his own. With Maggie.
“Do you want to take a walk on the beach?” he asked, his heart thundering in his chest as he waited for her answer.
“Sure.”
He took a step off the sidewalk into the sand that ran along the complex. He held Maggie tightly as she slipped free of her stilettos and sank her feet into the sand. He glanced one more time at the happy kissing couple they were leaving behind. Sloan flashed him an encouraging grin before placing another kiss on Abbey’s lips.
As they walked along in silence, the moonlight illumined the white sand. Bartholomew held Maggie’s hand tightly in his. They dodged drunken partiers and nodded in greeting to those gathered around bonfires. She watched him, obviously puzzled at his uncomfortable silence. She lifted the hand holding the stilettos to glance at her watch.
“It’s getting late, Bartholomew,” she informed him. “Maybe we should get back to the hotel before Sloan comes looking for us.”
He glanced around the beach, finding it deserted. “Not yet.”
Maggie looked around at the empty shore with an uneasy expression. “All right.”
He pulled her to him, taking her shoes and dropping them onto the ground. Then he took both of her hands in his.
“Maggie Morrison, I love you,” he breathed.
“I love you too.”
“I never knew where my place in the world was. Not until now.”
“Your place is here with us.”
“With us? Or with you?”
She stared at him in shock.
He continued, “Because I believe my place in the world is with you.”
She struggled to find her voice. “That’s where I’d like it to be.”
Bartholomew’s lips slowly curved into a smile. He let go of her hand and then reached into his pocket. As he did so, he fell to one knee in the sand. He pried open a small black box. “Then be my wife, Maggie Morrison. Marry me.”
Her eyes flew open wide. She pressed her hands to her gaping mouth.
“Maggie?” he pressed.
“Yes!” she squealed.
Bartholomew’s grin spread across his face as he pulled free the diamond solitaire and slipped it on Maggie’s left ring finger. She lifted the diamond to her eyes to admire her new gift.
“Now,” he murmured, “I’m ready to go back.”
Her smile faded as her hand fell to her side. “Oh, Bartholomew.”
“What is it?”
She pulled the ring off her finger. “I can’t accept this. Not yet.”
He felt his brow crease as his eyes darkened. “Why not?” he demanded.
“My brother. If I wear this and he sees it, he’ll flip out.”
He grinned at her. “I thought you were your own woman. I thought you didn’t have to answer to your brother.”
She shrugged wordlessly.
He pulled her to him and held her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I told you how much I respect your brother, Maggie. I already talked to Sloan. I asked for his blessing. He gave it.”
Her head snapped up as she stared at him, clearly amazed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her for a deep, long kiss. She pushed the ring on her finger again and then picked up her shoes. “Let’s go back, then. I can’t wait to show my new ring to Abbey and Mary.”
Bartholomew laughed as he took Maggie’s hand in his. They talked and kissed as they stumbled through the sand toward the complex.
»»•««
Maggie sat at the desk of the nurses’ station, jotting down notes in the chart of her latest patient. She smiled as the sound of an infant's cry reached her ears. I love my job. She stopped writing in mid-sentence and set her pen down. Lifting her left hand to her face, she gazed at her diamond ring.
She sighed, lovesick, as her smile grew. This had to be the dozenth time she had stopped to look at her new treasure, and she was only three hours into her shift. Her eyes wandered from her engagement ring to the picture of her and Bartholomew she had taped on the wall behind the desk.
She felt her heart flutter. She couldn't believe how much she loved him. No man had ever treated her as he did. He cherished her, he trusted her, he believed in her, and he listened to everything she had to say. I’m an idiot for not seeing it before.
She sighed. She felt like a bigger idiot for listening to those bridal magazines and holding off the wedding for a year and a half. Just because I might not get the perfect caterer…
She was jostled from her thoughts by a body in an office chair colliding into her. "Hey, girl."
Maggie glanced up and grinned at the tiny blonde giggling at her. "Hey, Wendy. What's up?"
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