I slapped his shoulder. “I’m not interested in your blasted money.”
“Sounds like you are, since you keep asking me to save it.”
Did he just say marry? Shite!
I made an infuriated sound and saw Ronan smiling at us.
“You are a very cute couple,” he remarked.
“I’m a woman of thirty. I’m notcute,” I dissented sharply.
“Well, woman of thirty, we need to present this to the villagers,andI need to talk to Brad and get his social media people to start working on putting out some stories.” Jax looked me straight in the eyes. “So, we’re doing this?”
I held his gaze.
I thought about how he held my hand when we went for a walk.
How he made love to me, gentle and demanding.
How he forced me to relax.
I smiled. “Yes, we’re doing this.”
CHAPTER 31
Jax
Brad called at seven in the morning, which in Brad-time meant it was the middle of the night and he hadn't slept.
"The ESPN piece goes live in two hours," he said without preamble. "I need you to know that Twitter is already?—"
"Brad."
"—going feral about the Ballybeg thing, and I've gotten three calls from Irish news outlets who want?—"
"Brad."
"—access to the village, and one very angry call from your father, and one very confused call from the shoe guys, they want to know if there's anything that's going to?—"
"Brad. Breathe."
A pause. "I'm breathing."
"Good. Send the Irish newsoutlets to Dee. She can decide who gets in and who doesn't. She knows her people better than I do."
Another pause, longer this time. "You trust her to vet the media?”
"Yes. And it's her village."
Silence on the line. Brad had been my manager for six years, and in that time I'd watched him develop a particular kind of silence for moments when he'd decided that arguing with me was more trouble than accepting reality. This was that silence.
"Fine," he said. "I'll send them to her. But, Jax?—"
"I know," I cut him off. "Thank you."
I set the phone down and looked out the window of the pub. The hills were doing what the hills of Ballybeg always did at this hour—looking like they'd been painted by someone who'd overdone the green and didn't care about the feedback.
The sun was making its grudging Irish appearance, all pale and noncommittal, but it was there.
