“Ronan Cox.”
Ronan would not be the worst match, he’s a smartass, but he’s always been nice to me. He’s from the Cox Irish Mafia in Boston.
“I thought Dad hated the Irish?” I ask.
“The Cox Mafia’s been making some moves into all those rectangular-shaped states in the middle of the country,” he says, propping his feet up on the Dean’s antique cherrywood coffeetable. “They might be stepping on our toes. Since Ronan’s in the running for your hand, fair maiden, it won’t look too suspicious if you cozy up to him.”
He’s grinning at me, but I can see how much he hates me. I can practically smell it. “I’m hoping Dad goes with Accardi,” he says. “You won’t get to prance around your precious little college anymore. You’d have to actually do some work for the family.”
“Like you?”
Oh, shut up shut up do not engage…
“The fuck?” He’s up on his feet, fists clenched.
Shut up, shut up you fool…
“Who you think you’re talking to, bitch?”
“Dick, you’re not some badass rapper, so stop talking like it. You’re a rich white boy from Napa Valley and you do nothing but hang out in strip clubs and chain smoke,” I snarl, knowing that I’m going to pay for this but… there’s something about being on my turf that’s making me stupidly brave and forgetting that The Dick, my younger brother and eventual heir to the Chandler throne will make me pay.
His hand flashes out in a second, the signet ring glinting in the light. I pivot to the left, seizing his wrist before he hits my face and twist it up behind his back, enjoying his startled yelp.
“Oh, bitch- I was gonna be nice but now I’m convincing Dad to marry you off to Accardi. He’s old-school, he’s gonna beat the shit out of you on your wedding night, teach you how to be an obedient wife.” The Dick is chuckling and the sound of it makes me sick.
“You were never nice,Dick,”I emphasize, “but I’ll keep an eye on Ronan, just like our father wants. And you’ll do your best topoison him-” He jostles violently, trying to kick my leg out from under me, but I pull his arm up a little higher, enjoying his bark of pain. “And you’ll do your best to poison him against me, just like you always do. Now get out. We’re not having a fight in the Dean’s office.”
Letting go and stepping back out of striking range, I shake my head when he still comes after me.
“Now, now, that’s no way to behave.”
The deep voice is cold, clipped and I close my eyes. Cormac. Of course. In the middle of a humiliating moment with The Dick.
His tall form blocks the light from the antechamber to the Dean’s office, casting his face into shadow, but I can tell by his solid stance that he’s not happy.
“I’m meeting with Dean Christie in a moment,” Cormac makes a show of looking at his watch, a nice stainless-steel Rolex, I notice. Good quality, unfussy. A lot like him. “I’m thinking she doesn’t want to return to a brawl. So you, lad, should be on your way now that you’ve imparted the news to your sister.”
“I don’t have to suck your ass the way the kids here do,” The Dick sneers, but when Cormac steps into the light, I see my brother’s low lip quiver. Cormac’s eyes are cold, and the tight set of his jaw tells me he’s tempted to punch The Dick in the face. Of course, I’ve always wanted to punch him in the face, so maybe I’m projecting.
Shooting me a nasty glance, The Dick picks up his jacket. “Just do what you’re told. I’m gonna enjoy telling Dad about what a bitch you were tonight.” He rotates his shoulder unconsciously, and I smother a grin as he winces.
“I'm sure you will.”
My face flushes a painful pink as he storms out the door. I’m humiliated that Cormac saw that ugly exchange, that he knows what my family’s like.
“You’re okay then?”
“Oh! Um…” I push my hair back, looking anywhere but at him. “Just fine. He’s… Nothing. I’m fine.” I hate how closely he’s watching me, noting all my micro-expressions that I should know how to control by now.
“My brother Cameron, he’s an arse,” he volunteers. “He’s used to be a huge twat, but he’s downgraded to an arse now that he’s in his twenties. Maybe your brother will, too.”
A shocked little laugh bursts out of me. “Did you call him a twat?”
“Aye. It was his nickname for a good decade.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Three brothers, a sister,” he says, walking a bit closer.
