Finn briefs me on a shipment issue. Standard problem, standard solution. I handle it in twenty minutes.
When our meeting concludes, all three of them remain in my office.
“So,” Declan says. “You want to explain what you’re doing with Seamus Murphy’s daughter?”
“No.”
Jesus fuck, gossip travels faster in this organization than it does in a geriatric knitting circle.
“Cillian—”
“I said no.”
Ronan leans against the wall. “Ma’s losing her mind. She called me four times last night.”
“That’s her problem.”
“The Sullivan alliance—” Declan starts.
“Has nothing to do with Nora.”
All three of them stare at me in silence for a long moment.
“Nora,” Ronan repeats slowly. “Uh-huh. So, what are your plans with her?”
I don’t answer. I’m thinking.
Option one: keep her as a temporary houseguest. But then what? For how long? She’s vulnerable. I can’t stand the thought that Seamus Murphy will get his hands on her again. Or, if not him, some other lowlife scumbag will. Lord knows Chicago’s full of them. She’ll be easy pickings.
Option two: Set her up somewhere safe with money.Similar problem. And I’m realizing I don’t want her somewhere else.
Option three?—
The idea takes shape.
It will guarantee her permanent protection. It will also get my mother and her nagging about heirs and alliances off my back.
It’s a strategic solution. And practical.
It has nothing to do with the silky smoothness of her skin when I touched her this morning.
“Boss?” Finn’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“Get me a meeting with my lawyer. Today.”
“What for?”
“I need a marriage contract drawn up.”
The room goes silent again. Jaws fall open. Eyes widen.
Declan recovers first. “You’re getting married?”
“To whom?” Ronan asks, but they all see the answer to that question in my eyes. “No fucking way. You’ve known her for one day.”
“I’ve made bigger decisions faster.”
“This is insane.” Declan shakes his head.
