She exhales heavily. ‘I wish. My boss is the devil in a three-piece suit. He could have given this case to anyone other than me. I swear he did it deliberately because he knew I’d booked annual leave.’
‘He gave it to you because you’re the best.’ I don’t say that out of loyalty. It’s a fact. Livvie comes from a long line of lawyers. It’s in her blood. She’s smart, savvy, sassy, as well as sexy in a suit.
‘He gave it to me because he’s an asshole.’ She rolls her eyes.
‘Want me to have Killian hunt him down?’ I offer, only half joking. Killian is the third youngest Beckett brother, but easily the most formidable. As head of Beckett Elite Security, he’s a lethally trained killer with an army of men at his fingertips. I don’t like to dwell on the things he does for our family. We have a lot of enemies. Many want what our family has—power, wealth and position—privileges which come at a high price.
She throws her head back and laughs. ‘Maybe not hunt him down exactly, but if he could stop by my office sometime, it wouldn’t do any harm. Especially not to my eyes.’
‘Don’t let Avery hear you say that,’ I warn. ‘Or you won’t have any eyes.’ I’m not even joking. My sisters-in-law are as possessive of their men as their men are possessive of them. Being around them all… being the only single Beckett sibling is… an experience.
My phone chimes from my black patent Christian Louboutin clutch beside me. I reach for it, opening the clasp. ‘What part of, I’m on annual leave from five p.m. today do people not respect? I warned Nico not to bother me unless someone is dying.’
Nico is my PA, my personal stylist, and occasionally my therapist. We met in the first year of college. He sat next to me, took one look at my Pinterest board and announced that we were going to be great friends. He wasn’t wrong. When I pitched Beckett Deluxe Design Agency to the board, he helped me design the entire proposal right down to the colour coded presentation. When I said I needed a PA, he volunteered, and I hired him without hesitation.
I squint at the screen.
NICO: Sorry to bother you. It’s the Yank again. He’s very persistent. He wants an answer by midday tomorrow. Apparently he’s going to be out of the office for two weeks, and he’s determined to lock you down before then. He’s offering double your usual fee. It’s a no-brainer, Zara. The exposure this will give the agency is mind-blowing.
I blow out a frustrated breath. Cole Hartmann, the fucking yank, has been breaking my balls for the best part of a year, and that’s no mean feat. He’s desperate for me to design the interior of his new five-star hotel overlooking St Stephen’s Green, directly opposite my brother’s flagship hotel. Hartman’s bespoke chain of hotels all boast a signature state-of-the-art casino, bar and nightclub. This hotel will far surpass anything this city has ever seen before—even my brothers’ portfolios of opulent establishments.
Which is why they’re so fucking openly opposed to it.
And to me taking on the project.
If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t even hesitate. I want this project. It has the potential to put Beckett Deluxe Design Agency on the international map. The Yank might be obnoxious and demanding in his emails, but Cole Hartmann has a serious portfolio to support that arrogance, scattered across the world: Vegas, New York, Paris, London. Now he wants to take Dublin by storm too.
My brothers’ power only extends so far. They successfully blocked his planning application for months, but last June, it finally went through. And Cole Hartmann has wasted no time with his iconic rebuild.
Having never met the man in person, I have no idea if he wants to use my agency to piss my brothers off further, or to win them over and stop the feud brewing between them.
Either way, it’s futile.
Once my brothers make their mind up about something, they rarely change it. And all five of them are in agreement that Cole Hartmann’s casino hotel is direct competition for all the Beckett businesses.
I narrow my eyes at the phone.
It’s decision time.
My business.
Or my brothers’ approval.
‘Everything okay?’ Livvie asks as I start typing out a text.
Tell him I’ll do it. But it’ll be June before I even look at the place. He can take it or leave it.
Nothing like leaving things to fate.
‘It will be—I hope.’ I toss my phone back into my bag. ‘Now, I better get moving. I have a date with a pilot, a bottle of Beckett’s Black Label, and my Kindle, first thing in the morning.’ I knock back my cocktail and stand.
Livvie pushes her chair back and hops onto her five-inch heels. She drapes her arms around me, hauling me against her chest. A cloud of familiar Dior perfume assaults my senses. ‘I’m absolutely devastated I can’t go with you. I’ll call you every day so you can sicken me with the views.’
‘There will be other holidays.’ Besides, some alone time might be exactly what I need after yet another busy Beckett Christmas.
At least this year, no one was kidnapped.
If I’m honest, I’m exhausted. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. No wonder, given I haven’t taken a proper break since I launched the business.
