I parked outside The Banshee’s Rest and all but ran inside, like a golfer chasing the perfect drive down the fairway—straight, sure, and desperate to see where it would land.
But the second I walked in, I knew something was wrong, especially when no one responded to my greeting.
The usual warmth of the pub wasn’t there. The regulars barely looked up at me from their pints, and Ronan—who was usually quick with a grin or a sarcastic remark—just gave me a curt nod before disappearing into the kitchen.
Fuck! Did something bad happen? What did I miss? And why the hell was Dee not behind the bar?
I set my bag down near the door, my chest tightening as I scanned the room. “Where’s Dee?” I asked Saoirse, my voice sharper than I intended.
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re back now, are you?”
I looked at her, baffled, and then turned to Liam Murphy, who had stood up from his stool. The man didn’t look good. There was a gray pallor to his face. “Maybe it’s best you head back where you came from.”
What the fuck was going on?
“Liam, where’s Dee?”
“She’s in the back,” Seamus said almost pleasantly. “And just to let you know, I don’t believe any of that shite Cillian dropped here about you.”
I gaped at him. “What?”
“Why don’t you ask her yourself, Yank?” Liam muttered.
I didn’t bother responding.
Instead, I headed toward the kitchen, my boots echoing on the worn wooden floor.
When I pushed open the door, I found her standing at the counter, chopping vegetables with a fierceness that made me think she was imagining the cutting board was someone’s face. Her fiery hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing her usual apron—just an oversized sweater that looked like it had been through a war. She was a sight for my sore eyes.
“Dee.” I stepped closer.
She didn’t even look up. “What do you want, Jax?” Her tone was clipped and cold. Not prickly, not sassy, just devoid of emotion.
I stopped in my tracks, frowning. “What’s going on? Did something happen while I was gone?”
She let out a bitter laugh, finally setting the knife down and turning to face me. Her green eyes were blazing, but there was something raw and painful in them that made my stomach twist. She was hurting. Fuck!
“You could say that.” She crossed her arms as if protecting herself. “Cillian stopped by.”
My frown deepened. “I heard.”
“He showed me some pictures,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Pictures of you with the developers. Smiling. Shaking hands. Made any good deals, did you?”
I kept staring at her. “What?”
“Aye, you thought you could just meet with freaking Shamrock Global Ventures, and no one would find out? You’re all over social media.”
None of this was making sense.
I knew who Shamrock Global Ventures was. I’d done my research. It was a company that Big Gil had created along with other investors for his Irish projects.
“Baby, I don’t have social media…I mean, I do, but I don’t look. Someone from Brad’s team manages that shit.”
I wondered if I was imagining, but her eyes softened.
She pulled out her phone, tapped a few times, andhanded it over. I looked at my Instagram profile—the one I had nothing to do with.
I didn’t use any of it. Stayed away from that shit entirely.
