Maggie hadn’t been able to stand the sight of his arse, and I’d kept telling her he was just misunderstood.
Feckin’ nonsense!
Following him was the woman I’d found him balls deep in.
Aoife Kelleher worked with him at his uncle’s and Da’s big-time real estate development company. Her laugh came first—high-pitched and brittle, as the manicure on her hand rested possessively on his arm. Then came her voice, as sharp and grating as a crow’s caw.
“Dee, love, how are you?”
I used to know her, and we were friendly; after all, she was my then-fiancée’s colleague.
“Feckin’ fabulous,” I replied and archedan eyebrow at Cillian. “And to what do I owe your presence at The Banshee’s Rest?”
Cillian smiled.
He was a handsome devil, even if he was every inch the smug bastard I’d spent years of my life loving and far too long regretting.
“I love what you’ve done with the place,” Aoife continued as she moved to the bar and then put her finger on it as if testing for dirt. “It’s just so quaint, isn’t it, Cillian?”
I walked to the other side of the bar. “Liam, your tea will be here in a minute,” I told him again, wanting to have something to do.
Liam turned to Cillian and Aoife. “You here to critique the décor, or are you going to order something? If not, feck off.”
I didn’t bother to suppress my smile. When it came to the people of Ballybeg, they were all Team Dee.
“Liam Murphy, why don’t you stay out of it?” Aoife snarled.
“Hey, do you see that sign?” I pointed to the one that said, “We Only Serve People We Like—Don’t Test Your Luck.”
“Stop being childish, Dee.” Cillian finally deigned to speak, his smooth slipping into the room like oil on water. “Aoife’s just admiring the…charm.”
“I’m sure she is,” Liam muttered.
I wondered how I hadn’t noticed it before, that beneath that beautiful face and handsome smile,underneath the tailored suit and blond hair, was one of the most insincere men in Ireland.
“Cillian,” I said coolly. “I thought you’d be busy paving over some other village by now. What brings you back to Ballybeg?”
He laughed lightly, as if this were a casual social call. “Business, of course. We’re just ironing out a few details before the vote.”
His tone and how he saidvotelike he had it in the bag set my teeth on edge.
The proposed golf resort project was coming up for a vote soon, and the decision would be made at the county level. The developers—Cillian included—had been trying to buy up land and sway local council members while I’d been doing everything in my power to fight them. Flyers, petitions, late nights convincing neighbors that a resort would ruin Ballybeg instead of saving it—most of us in Ballybeg were certain of it.
Ronan came in with the tea for Liam then. He probably had heard Cillian and was here to make sure he was kicked out on his arse if he as much as breathed wrong.
“Ah, if it ain’t the golden boy of the let’s-ruin-Ballybeg brigade.” He set down the tea in front of Liam.
“I see that your pitbull is still here.” Cillian’s eyes flashed anger. They’d come to fisticuffs a few months ago when Cillian had made disparaging statements about certain parts of my body.
“Pitbull with sharp teeth.” Ronan snarled for effect.
Liam chuckled.
The O’Malley brothers at the other end of the bar guffawed.
In general, a smattering of laughter ran through the place.
“No matter.” Cillian turned to me and winked. “You know the vote is all but a done deal, don’t you, Dee?”
