“No, he’s a good man, Bran. He knows . . . about Seattle,” I reveal, and that seems to throw a wet blanket on my brother. He deflates like a popped balloon, walking to the small island to hang over the top. Pressing his forehead against the tiles, Bran grips the edges of the island tightly. “Not all the details, but he knows enough. And he’s been really good to me, very respectful. Very understanding. And honestly . . . maybe it’s because of how Eamon and Keenan turned on me, but everything happened so fast . . . so naturally. I told my therapist . . . no matter what other ugly things I feel, I don’t regret being with Baron. It’s not once crossed my mind that it’s a bad thing.”
“Does he know?” Bran tilts his head to look at me, and he inhales deeply and straightens. The answer is all over my face, I know, but Bran tries to reign himself in. The silence drums in my ears while he gathers his thoughts. “Are you going to tell him? Are you going to not abort? Delaney, you’ve thought that much through, right?”
“I came back early to gather my courage. I’ll see him tomorrow,” I reply. “I have a wedding reception to coordinate. I thought . . . I could tell him beforehand, and then we won’t be around each other, and it’ll give us both some time to think without—without being right there, aye?”
“Delaney . . . I don’t want you going into this thinking that Keenan sets a high bar for what a man should be,” Worry colors Bran’s voice and dribbles from his expression like a thick sap. It leaks from his eyes and ears and nose, an almost palpable smoke. Graveness blazes from his stare so hot that my mouth dries, and my nostrils sting when I breathe a shallow breath. “You need to do what’s best for you, Delaney, not just to spite Keenan and Eamon. Living your best life doesn’t mean doing reckless or thoughtless things.”
“I’m going to tell him,” I declare, but who am I trying to convince, myself or my brother? “I know it sounds like an excuse, but the past week . . . it made me realize that Baron w-was never just my boss. He wasn’t just . . . my lover. Not simply a pillar and a hand reaching into the depths, Bran. Being with Baron . . . reminded me that there are good things back there. And no matter how hard it may be for me to remember those good times, they’re still there. Even if I need some help . . . I can reach them. Isn’t that why you’re with Luna? She makes you a better person.”
I pause, watching Bran expectantly as he rubs his jaw and nods reluctantly. “Baron makes me better. And I don’t know if I help him to the same magnitude, b-but he knows about my rape, and he didn’t run the other way. He’s courteous, Bran, and respectful, and he’s horrified, and, and, and even though it’ll always be there, he makes me feel like it’s not the singular event that’ll shape my life.” Clamping my mouth shut, I pant slightly from the force of my own declaration. No, I am doing the right thing. For once, I’m not doing something wrong. All that’s happened, I don’t regret it. I can’t when Baron is the one involved.
He’s good for me, and I have to trust that I’m good for him. Otherwise . . . he would’ve left me long ago. But for both of us, escaping this enmeshment isn’t an option. Maybe from the moment we met, we were drawn to each other. I stare at my brother, begging with my eyes that he understands, and he heaves a massive sigh and nods.
“I understand, Delaney. I understand this is something you need to think through, and it’s not like you can call him and tell him over the phone.” Relief slumps my shoulders as Bran’s voice scrapes my ears painfully. I lean to rest my chin on my arms, watching him rub his cheeks raw with his palms before raking his hands through his hair to tug the strands. It’s rough seeing him like this, but Bran won’t go back on his word. “I’ll support you if you think you’re doing the right thing for yourself, Delaney. If you’re telling me . . . you’ve already made up your mind.”
“I know it. I know I’m not wrong about Baron,” I’d never been surer of anything in my life. My confidence eases some of the tension in Bran’s face. “I know . . . it may look complicated. Baron’s my boss, and I—maybe I’m not as close to being in a good place. Maybe, this pregnancy might fling me back into a bad place. But Baron—Baron will stand by me. I know he will.”
“Eamon said that once, too, but look at what he did to you,” Bran says sharply, his eyes flaring with anger that pinches his brows. I tense, and he forcibly shakes his shoulders in an effort to calm down. “But I hope you’re right. Delaney, I really hope you’re right about this guy.”
My breath catches at the mention of Eamon’s name. No. Baron would never betray me like that. If there’s one person I can trust, it’s Baron.
CHAPTER9
BARON
Ihold my phone to my ear with my shoulder as I take the elevator up to Eamon’s office. Anxiety flows through my veins as Delaney’s text flashes behind my lids when I blink. She’s flying back to London in the morning. Which, for me, means I have to book a red-eye, emergency flight back and hope I get there before her.
Fuck, I’m really regretting not telling her about this little trip my mother sent me on.
“The number you’re trying to reach has a voice mailbox that is full . . .” I scoff sharply and hang up. Tapping my heel on the floor of the elevator, I stiffen when it suddenly stops. The doors slide open, and I step off before slipping my phone into my pocket. Walking over to the receptionist’s desk, I hold my breath anxiously.
“Name?” The woman asks without looking up from her computer screen.
“Baron Hollander. I have an appointment with Eamon Gallagher on behalf of Petra Frey.” The woman glances up sharply at me at the mention of my mother, instant disdain swirling in her eyes. She clacks around on the computer keyboard before shaking her head.
“You’re not on the schedule. That meeting was canceled months ago,” she says and proceeds to lock her computer swiftly and stand up to walk away. Leaving me here at her desk, the receptionist disappears down the hallway. I rock back on my heels, unsure of what to do now . . . and positively seething.
Of fucking course, it was canceled. My mom sent me on a wild goose chase just because she could. A narcissistic control freak who’s gradually losing her mind to the paranoia, but not fast enough. I grimace before turning on my heel.
“Baron.” Twisting at the call, surprise weaves between my ribs. Eamon Gallagher isn’t much taller than me, but he’s broader at the shoulders. His face is a perfect expression of neutrality as he holds out his hand, reaching me to pause. I take it; his palm is about the same size as mine, and something in his face seems vaguely familiar. “I wasn’t aware you were coming. It went without saying, but I made sure to notify Petra that the deal was off months ago.”
“And yet, she still went about sending me here,” I remark coolly. Does he not recognize me? Thank fucking God. “I’m not happy about being here, either, Eamon Gallagher. Trust me, I have far more important things to worry about than satiating Petra Frey’s paranoia.”
“Let’s go to my office,” he offers, and I reluctantly follow him. I check my watch. I need to get to the air strip. At least waiting there would be preferable to being late. “You’re aware of why I won’t deal with her, right?”
“Who isn’t? And honestly, I’ve read through Hans’ attempts to create a presentation, and I wasn’t impressed in the least. The hotelier where I’m staying was right in warning me that the entire thing was a template for gross mismanagement.” I rub my palms against my jeans absently and force myself not to worry about London or Delaney. This is my element, dealing with people in this business. Cutting good deals. I nod in thanks when Eamon gestures me into his office before pausing. A woman sits on the sofa, head buried in a laptop.
“Don’t mind her. Keeva’s like a dog—she doesn’t like being left home alone when her man is at work,” Eamon sniggers, and the woman, Keeva, flips him the finger without looking away from the computer screen. She glances up at me, and I’m struck by how strangely familiar she looks. It’s the nose, I’m sure. The shape of her face? I clear my throat roughly and sit across from Eamon’s desk before he continues. “So, I can’t help but wonder why you bothered to show up knowing the outcome?”
“I thought you’d do me a favor and lock me away, so I don’t have to go back,” I reciprocate Eamon’s attitude, and I can see he likes that. He scans me, and a chill races down my spine. I’ve felt that glance before, but where? When? “I’m sure you’re aware of the rumors running around. I figured . . . even if you don’t arrest me for my association with Petra Frey, maybe I could get some answers. I’m quite frustrated with all the conflicting reports. If I have to jump ship, I would like to know for sure.”
“It’s simple. Her piece of shite son raped my sister, and then after we killed him, she doubled down and went after Liam Mackenzie. I can’t attest to her thoughts. It’s beyond me how Petra could convince herself that would end well for her,” Eamon remarks, his eyes flashing as he cocks his head. “Why haven’t you left? Surely, you didn’t travel all this way just to verify some rumors, Baron.”
I shake my head mutely, leaning back to take a moment and gather my thoughts. Eamon’s smart. He doesn’t let his experience get in the way of that. He trusts his instincts. I have to use that.
“Petra and I have a complicated relationship, and despite the turmoil in her mind, she’s still powerful enough to come after me should she choose to do so. Those Mexicans aren’t the only ones stupid enough to take jobs no one else will,” I answer cautiously, and Eamon’s eyes narrow considerably. “While I highly doubt, she’ll set aside her ego and walk away with her legitimate hotel business, Petra does have it in her capacity to surprise me. She seems to think that she can smooth things over if she tries hard enough. It’s made me wonder how much she bothered to know about Hans’ rampages.”
Briefly, I worry that Eamon realizes I’m talking about my own mother as he strokes his chin thoughtfully. “You know her quite well.”
