“I can.” I put Astor down on the carpet, allowing him to explore his surroundings.
“Sailor told me Sam asked for your number,” Persephone continued, scanning me with eager eyes, as if looking at me would inspire me to spill more information. Merde. I knew my friends were invested in my quest to make Sam Brennan notice my existence, but at the same time, I hated how they treated me. Like I was a silly, naïve girl incapable of bagging the man of her dreams.
I felt especially pathetic, considering Persephone was happily married to my brother, the catch of the century according to People Magazine, and Sailor was married to my other brother, who treated her like a queen. Emmabelle (who was Persephone’s sister) might not have been married—but it was by choice.
I was the odd one out. The doomed girl mourning her unrequited love.
And I definitely didn’t want them to know about my current relationship with Sam, which put me in a less than a favorable position.
“It was nothing.” I waved a hand around, following Astor to make sure he didn’t bump into anything or decided to stick his fingers in outlets. “He just needed some help. Something work-related.”
“Huh.” Persephone sprawled in her seat, tapping a finger over her chin thoughtfully. “But maybe it’s a start? He never contacted you before, and you’re hardly the only person he could turn to.”
Persephone was such a romantic, anything short of Sam trying to maim me with a machete would register in her mind as a prime example of his undying love for me.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re grasping at straws, Pers.”
“Weirder pairings have happened. Look at your brother and me,” she said eagerly, making her case. “You just need more patience as you pursue him.”
“Cillian always had a boner for you. He just hid it like a thirteen-year-old. Sam is not pursuable,” I concluded, feeling like a phony since I was definitely waist-deep in this cat and mouse game with Sam.
But I didn’t want to jinx things or jump to conclusions. Plus, if nothing came out of it—which was likely; my plan was farfetched—at least I wouldn’t have to deal with more pity from my friends.
“If your brothers are pursuable, so is Sam,” Persy determined, putting her foot down. “You should go for what you want.”
“But what if what I want is everything that’s bad for me?” I turned around, finding her gaze. “What if I’m stupid to want Sam Brennan? He is a gangster. A murderer. An underground boss and my father’s right hand. So many things can go wrong. If they’ll go in any direction at all …”
“You just described love.” Persy grinned. “Love is a risk. It’s a storm that either disrupts your life or clears your path. Sometimes it does both at the same time. Focus on getting the guy. Everything else will fall into place.”
An hour and a half later, the evening was in full swing.
Everyone was at the table, digging into the delicious food Cook had made.
Honey-roasted turkey, buttery mashed potatoes, pumpkin pecan bread pudding, golden baked apples, and savory sausage stuffing.
Candlelight danced around the room, casting playful glows on familiar faces, as chatter rang from all across the table.
Sailor and Persy’s au pairs sat in the far corner of the room with the children—Astor, Xander, and Rooney—gossiping and tending to the babies. Sam sat all the way at the other side of the table from me, and even though I could feel his eyes on me every now and again, assessing, daring, challenging, I made it a point to stick to conversations with my mother, Sailor, Persephone, and Emmabelle.
Normally, I would try to talk to him, ask him questions, form some sort of a connection. Not right now and not today. I was no longer the girl who chased him. Or so I wanted him to think.
“The concept of Thanksgiving is still jarring to me,” Devon complained from the other end of the table, next to Sam, in his imperial, posh English drawl. He cut his turkey into frighteningly even pieces and looked entirely too good for a man who didn’t model for a living. “Who exactly are you lot thanking?”
Devon was what Belle referred to as appallingly gorgeous. All soft blond, sandy curls twisting at the ears and the nape of his neck, piercing blue eyes, and the bone structure of a deity.
“Um, God?” Hunter threw a piece of sweet potato into his mouth, chewing. “You’re just bitter because we have stuff to be thankful for. Big-box stores, the First Amendment, Jewish deli food, and, of course, Scarlett Johansson. What do you have to be thankful for?”
“Footie, brown sauce, and being generally intellectually superior to the Yanks,” Devon deadpanned, regarding all the food at the table like it was suspicious.
“By footie you mean soccer?” My father frowned. He’d been fairly quiet the entire night.
“No, by football I mean football. The one where you kick the ball with your foot…” Devon patted the corners of his mouth unnecessarily with a napkin “…as opposed to holding it in your hand while running, crashing into random people like a barbarian trying to sneak the rival village’s best-looking maiden.”
“Keep trashing football, and the only thing you’ll be thankful for this Thanksgiving is getting out of this meal in one piece.” Troy offered a stony smile, swirling his whiskey in his hand.
“So, Sam, you’re the last single man standing. Up for a quick trip to Sin City to play blackjack at the casino this weekend?” Devon changed the subject.
“You’re still doing that?” Sparrow darted poisonous arrows at her son through her jade-green eyes. “It’s dangerous, not to mention reckless. You’re already blacklisted from three hotels.”
Sam smiled, eating and pretending like the conversation didn’t swirl around him.
“Not surprised.” Hunter chuckled, raising his virgin Bloody Mary to his lips. “Do I want to know what for?”
“Winning too much money.” Devon laughed, pouring himself another drink. “Sam is the best blackjack player I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. A wizard with numbers, really. He makes all the calculations in split seconds.”
I thought back to the finite mathematics homework he’d worked out for me when I was still a teenager. Devon wasn’t exaggerating.
“What a great way to utilize your analytical talent,” Cillian drawled sarcastically.
“Better to waste a talent in the wrong place than not have one in the first place,” Sam pointed out.
“Your main talent is to find your way into rich people’s inner circle,” Cillian countered, his tone easy. “Which you’ve been doing very well since childhood.”
“Anyway, cards at Badland tonight,” Hunter said. “Right after dinner.”
I wanted to hear more about Sam, but my mother was desperate to draw me into the conversation she was having. She did that often. Lured me into small talk to save her from awkward lulls. She said she found socializing tiring, yet she threw events all the time and counted on me to do all the talking and fundraising on her behalf.
“I’m so lucky to have Aisling…” Mother patted her eyes with her napkin, sighing heavily “…I don’t know what I would have done without her. She is my anchor. No wonder she works at bringing life into this planet. She is my perfect angel.”
“She sure is saintly, ma’am.” Emmabelle flicked up a brow in my direction, giving me the stink eye. I knew Belle would love nothing more than if I showed my devilish side a little more often. “Too good to be true. Almost.”
“Right now, she is working day and night to help me with a charity event this month,” my mother started, and I could see the rest of my friends had already trained their face to stoic politeness, knowing she was going to yap about it for hours.
I felt my phone buzzing under the table, in my lap, and looked down. The number flashing across the screen signaled it came from the clinic. Merde.
I ducked my head down, swiped the bar to the green circle, and answered. “Yes?”
It was the call I dreaded. The one I didn’t want to receive.
A patient who had been struggling pretty badly.
“Yes. Of course. No, it is not a bad time at all. I’m on my way. Thank you.”
I hung up the phone, smiling brightly to everyone at the table, realizing for the first time the phone call drew everyone’s attention. Sam’s eyes rested on me lazily, swirling the whiskey in his tumbler as he watched me with a mildly entertained look I wanted to wipe off of his face.
The whole night he’d been looking at me like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted another round in the sack with me or wanted to kill me. I wished he’d just make up his mind and put me out of my misery.
“My apologies, but I have to run. Something important at work.” I stood up abruptly, patting my mother’s shoulder. Everyone’s attention made my ears hot and my fingers tremble. “Compliments to our chef. I will send her flowers tomorrow morning for her troubles. Thank you, everyone. Have a good evening.”
With that, I dashed out, running straight to my Prius, not even bothering to grab a coat on my way. I made a beeline to the address I punched into my phone.
It took me an hour to get to the residential building in Westford. A newly built apartment complex with a tennis court, a pool, and an indoor gym. There wasn’t security or anyone manning the reception, though, something I’d asked about in advance, just to be on the safe side.
I went to my patient’s house, did what I had to do, and got out of there three hours later. All thoughts about the Thanksgiving dinner I’d left behind were now demolished and gone. All I thought about was my work, my patients, and her.
Oui, mon cheri. It’s not easy doing what you do.
My knees were wobbly and my breath erratic as I made my way to a gas station across the road, trudging over the half-melted, dirty snow. I pushed the door to the small mini mart open. I bought a Coke for myself and a cake and drink for the old man manning the register, which he thanked me for. I poured myself out into the bone-cold November winter in Massachusetts, pressing the back of my head against the wall and taking a gulp of Coke.
Sometimes I hated what I did.
Most times, really.
But then I remembered Ms. B and how I failed her and convinced myself that I deserved it. My occupation. My choices.
Staring down at the Coke in my hand, listening to the faint hiss of fizz coming from the liquid, I suddenly burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably as I dragged myself down the length of the wall, crouching to my feet and burying my face in my satin Givenchy dress.
“It’s not fair.” I shook my head, seeing the black splotches my mascara left on my gown through blurred tears. “Nothing about this is fair.”
“Tell me about it,” an edgy tone that could cut glass made me snap my head up.
Sam.
Sam wore a pea coat, looking like a dashing eighteenth century earl, and leaning on the wall opposite to the one I was sitting against, an unlit cigarette stuck between his gorgeous lips. Thank the lord he didn’t pull a Zoolander and light it up next to a gas station.
“Fair is where you get cotton candy. It has nothing to do with real life. Now, tell me how you found yourself in Westford as opposed to Brigham Hospital, where your ass should have been tonight.”
He’d been following me here.
But how?
And more importantly … why?
Because you got his attention, and now he is waiting to see what you’ll do with it. You burned his cash in front of his establishment, had anal sex with him in a wig and a hooker costume, and operated on his soldiers in an underground clinic. He just discovered you are a monster, too, and now wants to know how deep your darkness runs.
I quickly wiped the tears off my face, straightening my spine, and stood up.
“Shouldn’t you be playing cards with my brothers at Badlands right about now? Or are you missing Cook’s famous apple pie to be here?”
“Shouldn’t you be answering my fucking question?” he retorted.
“The answer is none of your business,” I bit out harshly.
“This old tune again.” He chuckled, looking sideways as he shook his head. “You are my business. My boss’ daughter. I should have kept tabs on you and tailed your ass earlier, but I didn’t. So here we are. Now let’s cut the bullshit, shall we? I checked everywhere worth checking and cross-examined my sources. You are not a resident at Brigham and Women’s Hospital.”
Merde, merde, merde.
Triple merde with a cherry on top.
He was on to me.
“Been checking on me, Brennan?” I plastered what I hoped was a teasing smile on my face. “I’m flattered, but not surprised. Still, that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure it does. For starters, it means you are a fucking liar. My least favorite trait in people. But then I thought to myself, maybe the lie isn’t so big. Maybe it’s about prestige. Little, perfect Aisling didn’t want her parents to know she didn’t get accepted to one of the most respected hospitals in the country…” he took another step toward me, his nostrils flaring, his jaw hardening so sharply it looked like it was carved in marble “…so I went and checked with all of the hospitals in Boston, every single fucking one. Guess what?”
I didn’t have to guess. I knew.
“You’re not registered anywhere as a doctor. You turned all of them down. Every single fucking offer. At this point, I got suspicious. Did you even finish med school at all?” he asked theatrically, taking yet another step, getting closer to me, crowding me, pinning me against the wall. “So I sniffed around that angle, too. You did, in fact, graduate from Harvard Medical School. So it’s not that you aren’t a doctor.” He took the final step toward me, and now we were so close his scent and air and menace seeped into my body, hitting roots, conquering me. “Whatever you do, you’re doing it under the radar. What the fuck are you playing at, Nix?”
His body was flush against mine, big and strong and threatening. My thighs clenched together, the space between them empty and needy. I drew a deep breath, trying to steady my pulse. I had to find my voice.
“You really want to know?”
He stared at me expressionlessly. Of course he did. Sam Brennan knew everything worth knowing about everyone, and I piqued his interest.
I curled my index finger, signaling him to lean down so I could whisper in his ear. He complied, his scowl deepening with annoyance. I pressed my lips against his ear, feeling his cock, hard and thick, pressing against my stomach.
“None. Of. Your. Business,” I breathed.
He jerked back, his thunderstorm eyes dark and depraved, and suddenly, I had a feeling I did a very, very foolish thing taunting this man, and I was going to pay for it dearly.
“Don’t play games with me, Aisling. I will win. Easily. And I’m a bad sport and notoriously unfair, just like your miserable life.”
I stared at him defiantly, keeping my mouth shut. My teeth chattered. My whole body hummed with energy, but I didn’t back down.
“Do you want to be humiliated?” He grinned, starting to enjoy this game.
“No. I want you to make up your mind about what you want to do with me,” I said quietly.
“You’ve been running after me with your skirt up, begging to be fucked since before you got your period.”
He chuckled, producing a Swiss knife from his pocket, running it up my dress and slashing a deep, long slit through its middle, right between my thighs. The dress ripped noisily. He tucked his knife back into his pocket, dipping his hand in and brushing his finger along my slit through my underwear.
“You … you … you …” I panted, a mixture of rage and desire swirling in my stomach. I knew none of this was healthy or normal, and yet I craved it so much it hurt to breathe.
“Tore your pretty designer dress? Don’t worry. Daddy’ll buy you a hundred more. The pathetic part is you’re not going to deny me because you and I both know I can fuck you whenever I want, however I want, however many times I want. Bend you over—the jewel of the Fitzpatrick crown, Princess Aisling of Avebury Court Manor—and ram my cock so deep inside your ass you’ll see stars.”
I turned my face away from him, squeezing my eyes shut. I hated him in that moment. Hated him beyond belief. But he was right. That didn’t stop me from letting him slip his hand into my underwear, right there, in the middle of the street, behind a slimy gas station. He dipped two fingers inside of me to find me soaked and ready for him. His lips were close to mine when he spoke, but I knew he wasn’t going to kiss me.
This wasn’t foreplay. It was punishment.
“What do you do for a living, Nix?”
“Fuck y-you,” I stuttered, feeling my hips bucking, searching for more of his touch.
“I wouldn’t call that a full-time job. I usually grow bored of my fucks after a few hookups.” He shoved his fingers in and out, thrusting deep, filling me while his thumb rubbed my clit in circles. My skin felt warm and tingly. My knees turned to jelly. I was suspended over the brink of disaster, about to jump headfirst into the flames he lit just to destroy me.