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“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, lass,” I replied softly.
Stepping away from her, I rounded the table and sat down. A waiter appeared a moment later, handing us the menus. “Welcome to—”
I stopped him. “The chef knows what to prepare for us,” I told him.
“Of course, Mr. Kent.” He nodded to me, then to Sloane, before disappearing.
Sloane’s eyes were alight with humor. “And I thought my father was abrupt and arrogant.”
“Arrogant? You think I’m arrogant?”
She gestured in the direction the waiter had gone. “You don’t think talking to him like that, then dismissing him was rude?”
“No.”
“You just expect people to do what you say.”
“Aye.”
Her platinum hair fell over her shoulder as she shook her head. “You’re just like my father.”
“If you think I’m arrogant, lass, wait until you meet Finnan.”
She pursed her lips. “What does he look like?”
“Finnan?”
She nodded.
Sitting back in the chair, I stretched my legs out under the table and thought about how I would describe my boss. “He’s got dark hair, a beard. He’s a few inches shorter than me.”
“Is he built like you?”
“No.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “How old is he? I don’t want to be marrying a guy who’s ancient. I don’t want to have to open my legs for him.”
“Twenty-nine.”
Her eyes widened. “So young?”
“He came into power after his father was assassinated.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Nine years.”
“He was only twenty when he became head of the mafia?”
“Not the head of all the Irish mafia, lass. The Irish aren’t organized like the Italians in the US. Or even the American-Irish. There are clans all over the country. Each of them runs independently.”
“If that’s true, how in the hell did I become part of a deal between Finnan and my father?”
“They had a private arrangement.” The truth was, I had no idea how it had all come about.
Before she could ask any more questions, a waitress appeared with a bucket of champagne on ice, placing it next to the table. With a flourish, she set the champagne flutes onto the table in front of us and offered to pour.
