Page 408 of Manhattan Bossholes

After my initial apology, I’d tried wooing Olivia out of her shell with family movie nights, skinny-dipping in the pool after we put Catie down for the night, and—of course—plenty of sex. For a moment or two, I’d have her with me entirely, like it used to be. And then she’d draw into herself and slip away from me. It felt like there was something on her mind she couldn’t tell me.

If I were in a cheesy romance like The Deer and the Warrior, I would have grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her, and demanded she tell me her secrets. Then I could have given her a punishing kiss and crushed whatever demons were haunting her.

Unfortunately, Olivia didn’t want me to slay her demons. She wanted me to be civilized.

Damn it.

I grimaced. Then I dug around in my inbox until I found the most recent missive from Seamus O’Rourke. If Olivia needed me to meet with Seamus to prove I was the bigger man and not some raging beast she needed to fear, than I could do it.

I would meet with Seamus, he’d be an arse like always, and then I could hate him for being an arse instead of solely for his last name. I hoped the distinction would be enough for Olivia.

I dashed out an email telling Seamus I could meet him in three hours at a hotel bar in Galway, but only for fifteen minutes. It was mostly frequented by travelers and tourists, so I doubted anyone from Ballybeith would see us.

Seamus’s confirmation was embarrassingly grateful. He used three exclamation marks.

“Have some dignity, man,” I muttered.

Three unfortunate hours later, I stepped into the hotel bar. It was a historic hotel, with low ceilings, dark wood tables, and unremarkable oil paintings on the walls. I spotted Seamus sitting at the bar, twisting a pint of beer nervously in his hands. He’d already drunk over half of it.

“Fuck it,” I muttered, and headed over to him.

Do it for Olivia, I told myself.

When Seamus spotted me, he nearly fell off his stool in his enthusiasm to stand and greet me. When he found his balance, he held his hand out to me to shake. “Declan.”

“O’Rourke.” I didn’t shake his hand. I sat down at the bar next to him.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked.

As if this was a bloody social call.

“What do you want, Seamus? Are you here to warn me away from interfering in Mark’s efforts to sell your buildings?” I asked.

“What?” Seamus shook his head, confused. “This isn’t about business. It’s personal.”

I laughed, the sound cold and callous even to my own ears. “There’s nothing personal between us. Nothing.”

Seamus twisted his glass nervously, but stubbornly. “How’s Sinead?”

I all but growled. “Keep her name out of your mouth.”

Seamus held up his hands in surrender. “Jesus, you’re jumpy. I meant no disrespect. It’s just that she hasn’t been answering her phone.”

Because she’s in rehab, your arse, I thought. But what I said was, “That probably means she doesn’t want to talk to you, Seamus. And if you think I’ll put in a good word for you with her, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Seamus clenched his jaw. I could see my taunts were getting to him. He was flushed.

Go on, I thought. Show me your true colors.

Seamus met my gaze squarely. “I wanted talk to Sinead and you because I’m Catie’s dad. And I want to be a part of her life.”

“You what?” I could feel the blood rushing in my ears. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t possible. I simply couldn’t believe that Sinead would have ever taken up with this bastard.

On the other hand, it suddenly made sense why she wouldn’t want to tell me. And it was completely in fucking character for Seamus O’Rourke to abandon my sister and leave Catie to grow up without a dad.

And now he wanted to be involved, after all these years?

That was fucking rich.