“I’ll take care of it.”
Kate glares.
Lynch makes a crowing sound, like he can’t believe his good fortune.
I say, “I’ll have my people send over the documentation. Along with an account number for payment.”
Lynch says, “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Wolf.”
“Call me Cole,” I say. “Since we’re about to be family.”
He babbles something I don’t care about. I end the call just as he’s suggesting I come up to Baltimore for a drink.
I send a quick message to Nilsson, telling him to take care of the new-client paperwork, and then I slip my phone back into my pocket.
“You’re a fucking gobshite,” Kate says.
“Thank you.” My grin isn’t real until she flounces across the room.
“Are you mad?” she shouts, directly in my face. “You come in here accusing me of trying to blackmail you and then you’re back to Da’s plan like nothing ever happened?”
“I believed you when you said you were innocent. So we can get back to business.”
She huffs. “I’m notbusiness. I don’t know how many laws you’re breaking. Abduction. Human trafficking. Rape.”
“I suspect consent is a defense to all of those.”
“I don’t consent! I will never consent to being sold off to a needle-dick arrogant motherfucker.”
I laugh. “You have such a delicate way with words. It will be such a pleasure introducing you to all my friends.”
“The only friends who could possibly stand your company are ones you’ve bought and paid for.”
I show her my palms in a gesture of surrender. “You’ve got me there. I’m not really thefriendtype. I’ve always been a lonewolf. But I’ll introduce you to my business acquaintances. It’s the least I can do, once you’ve padded my bank account to the tune of twenty mill.”
She shrieks with frustration. “Ihateyou. I hate everything about you.”
“Some brides get tongue-tied talking to their grooms, but not you. Never, ever you.”
She plants her hands on her hips. Her feet are wide, as if she’s bracing for a hurricane. She raises her chin like she’s daring me to take a swing. “See if this is tongue-tied enough for you: Fuck you. And your fucking fuckhole of a fucking deal with my fucking da.”
“Every word you say is a poem. And I love the way your accent comes on stronger when you’re inspired.”
She sags like she’s finally realized she’ll never win at this. “You’re a right bastard, aren’t you?”
I nod gravely. “I am. And you figured it out so quickly.”
She collapses into the armchair. “How will this work? You’ll get me an apartment here? I mean, in Baltimore? A year’s lease should do it. You’ll finish your work for da, and we can file for divorce.”
She’s been thinking about this a lot. I’m touched.
But I shake my head. “That won’t happen. Your father wants us married so I won’t tell his secrets. His needs won’t change after a year.”
She makes a rude sound with her lips. “Da wants us married so he can get Breagha out the door. He’ll make agoodmatch for her. Get her into one of the old families.”
A good match.
It shouldn’t hurt, not after her father and I have railroaded her into this sham of a marriage. But itdoessting—a hell of a lot more than her calling me a bastard (true), a motherfucker (never), a fuckhole (whatever), and a needle-dick (she knows by now just how far off the mark she is on that).