“I said no kids, and I meant it. Not in ten years. Not never.”
“Up to you, pet. Seems a minor concession to me.”
“You would think that.”
“You’d like sharing a bed with me. I’m an excellent snuggler.”
I snort. “That, I highly doubt.”
“How would you know? You’ve never actually slept with me.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. Even if he’s right. “Please, Aiden. They’re driving me insane. I can’t concentrate with them following me around everywhere, and I’m behind enough as it is.”
That’s not to mention the fact that I can’t continue my search for information about my mother with two of Aiden’s henchmen glued to my ass. They’d report my movements back to him in a heartbeat, and I don’t want to explain what I’m doing to him. Or defend what I’m doing. He’d probably tell me it’s too dangerous or fruitless to continue, and I’ll be damned if I have him tell me what to do about this.
This is the one thing I won’t let him take from me. I wanted to do a more thorough search through the house, but the thought of them seeing me on security footage stops me. How am I supposed to meet with Mr. Broussard if they’re attached to my back?
“You have my answer, Catriona. Besides, you’re almost done for the day, and Mara will be waiting for you at the library to take you to try on clothes for the reception tomorrow.”
I nearly groan out loud as my feet practically skid to a stop. “Mara, right,” I repeat faintly. “Who exactly is Mara? Is this another assistant?”
His laughter fills my ear, and I resist a shiver. “Please call her my assistant to her face. Record it when you do. You can claim it as my birthday gift for the year.”
“I’m hanging up now,” I threaten, so I don’t hear more of his laughter, which is unsettling. Keeping my distance is the only way I’ve found I can put up with him for any length of time. I stay busy with classes and studying, spending most of my time on campus or in the library, so I don’t go back to his house, where space seems to be shrinking with each passing day.
I’ve learned far too much about him in a short span. Like that he goes for a jog in the morning while listening to golden oldies. That he calls his mother every few days. He said he had a mother, but the evidence confirming it shakes me to my core. The first time I heard him talking to her, I sped away as soon as I realized. The last thing I want to do is make him seem more human.
“Mara is one of my closest friends. She was at the wedding,” he continues as if I haven’t said a word.
“You have friends?” I blurt.
There’s a pause. “Yes, Catriona, I have friends. Mara is obsessed with haute couture and has agreed to pick out a dress for you to wear tomorrow. Unless you’ve had time to pick something out yourself?” He barely waits a second before continuing. “That’s what I thought. Besides, I think you two will get along.”
“What makes you think that?” I grumble in response.
“She also has an unwanted fiancé she wishes she could castrate.”
Well.
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I say, “Do I have to? I know how to dress myself.”
“Of course you do. We signed an agreement. However, if you want to renegotiate, I’m open to a discussion.”
I press a hand to my head. Between catching up on all my assignments and dodging O’Connor when he’s at the house, I haven’t had time to think about the reception. And if he mentions negotiation or concessions again, I may resort to mariticide. “Fine. I’ll let your friend play dress-up.”
“Please, call it that when you see her. And record that, too. Better yet, record the whole thing so my other friend Eamon and I can both watch.”
“Goodbye, O’Connor.”
“Goodbye,Mrs. O’Connor.”
I would chastise him for calling me that, but he’s already hung up the phone. The man always has to have the last word, and it’s infuriating.
By the time I’m finished with classes, I give up trying to hide and cross through campus to get to the library with my guards in tow. I’ve attempted to speak to them, but they mostly grunt in response or don’t speak at all, so over the past week, I’ve learned to ignore them. I’m hoping O’Connor will eventually give up the whole concept, and I’ll be free to walk around unencumbered. There has to be something other than kids—God—or sharing a bed he’d consider.
I see Mara parked outside the Howard-Tilton Library and recognize her instantly. Mostly because she’s leaning against a blood-red vintage Mustang Fastback. Of course, one of O’Connor’s closest friends would be drop-dead gorgeous with a smile as sharp as a knife and hair that’s simply cut in a bob, but looks like it cost a thousand dollars. Maybe if I’m nice to her, she’ll give me the name of her stylist. I can never seem to find one I can tolerate for more than a few sessions.
“Mara?” I ask when I get close enough. “I’m C?—”
