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“Brioni.” My response is a reflex, and I regret it immediately.

My headache pounds, and the screech of the approaching train slices through my head. Once we’ve boarded, Scott chats to me about the autumn weather, his Blackhawks season tickets, his recent divorce. I smile when expected, but I say nothing more as we stay on through the next several stops.

When we finally reach my station, I try to bid him goodbye. But he gets off the train with me.

“Where’re you headed?” he asks again. “I’ll walk you.”

My stomach is frothing now, and I mumble something incoherent. I don’t know how to shake this increasingly insistent man. All I can think is that I’ll be safe once I get to the pub. It’s too early for it to be open, but if Erin’s working, she’ll help me get rid of him.

If she were in my shoes, she would’ve told him off by now. But with his CTA card in my pocket, I feel beholden to him in the worst way. With an awful sensation in my gut, I realize my pepper spray’s missing. It’s probably with my wallet at the pub, and this man seems intent on following me all the way there.

I stick to the main street, panic in my throat, the nausea of my hangover hitting full force. Beside me, the man walks so close he constantly bumps my shoulder with his. It feels more aggressive each time. He maintains his one-sided conversation, but I’m not listening anymore. The pub is my sanctuary, if only I can reach it.

Finally, its green exterior comes into view. I gesture toward it, interrupting the man as he’s trying to pressure me to attend a hockey game with him.

“This is me.” My voice doesn’t come out as firmly as I’d hoped, but his eyes go wide.

“You’re— You’re with the O’Sullivans?” He checks his expensive-looking watch, confirming that it’s well before opening time. If I’m headed into their pub right now, then I’m definitely associated with the powerful family.

“Yes,” I say, pleased to hear my voice gain confidence. “I’m with the O’Sullivans.”

“Er, right.” He gives me a strange little salute, then turns on his heel and heads back the way we came. Though not unusual, his reaction seems a little strong. He must be one of those Chicagoans who believe the worst of the rumors.

As I watch his retreating form, I let out the breath I’ve been holding. Another man stalking me is the last thing I need. Standing in front of the pub, I blink several times as I watch the well-dressed man round the corner out of sight.

The O’Sullivan name made the harasser go away.

My panic settles slightly, but it doesn’t disappear. I still have Harrison to deal with. Unlike the man just now, he already knows I’m close with the O’Sullivans. When we were dating, some of Harrison’s worst tirades against me were over my friendship with Liam.

But what if Liam and I were even closer? Or at least appeared that way.

I can’t deny Liam’s logic. A public engagement between us could keep Harrison away. I think of my dead phone in my pocket, the one my ex can hack so easily. My scalp prickles. Right now, Harrison pervades my life. An engagement to the soon-to-be most powerful O’Sullivan could stop that.

But such an arrangement would only benefit me.

Shaking my head to myself, I turn toward the pub to peer through the darkened windows. There’s no one inside, and my shoulders sag. I could, theoretically, pound on the door until Erin answers. But if she’s as hungover as I am, she needs all the rest she can get.

I slouch toward home, grateful I still have my keys with me. Walking away from the pub doesn’t feel good, like I’m abandoning Liam somehow.

He tried to convince me that a fake engagement would be to his benefit too, but I can’t believe that. It doesn’t make sense that marrying me would help him find his true wife. My best friend is simply being as selfless as ever.

Up ahead, the sight of his childhood home next to mine reminds me of our close history. It’s both comforting and not. An engagement could ruin our lifelong friendship. And it isn’t worth the risk, just for the sake of me feeling safer about Harrison.

After I’ve showered and changed and blow-dried my hair, my phone’s charged enough for me to text Erin. She replies right away, confirming that I did leave my wallet at the pub, and she’s got it in her apartment for safekeeping.

I tell her I’ll be right there, then bundle up for the walk back. This time, the pub’s lights are on, and I can see Erin readying to open for customers. When she unlocks the front door for me, she’s got a dish towel on her shoulder and a grin on her face.

“How ya feeling?” she asks, with no sign of a hangover herself.

“I’ve been better.”

“Help yourself to a hair of the dog. I’ll be right back.” She flaps her dish towel toward the bar, then disappears, headed for her private stairs.

I move toward the bar, but just so I can sit down after my brisk walk. There’s no way I’m touching any of the liquor we had last night. Shots of Jameson, if I remember correctly, followed by martinis, then even more shots of Jameson. My nausea rises again just thinking about it.

Laughter bursts from the back hallway. It sounds like Brady and Finn, but I can’t be sure. I wonder if Liam’s with them, and I find myself hoping he is. I double-check that Erin’s gone, then tiptoe into the back hall and hover outside the O’Sullivans’ meeting room.

“…Russian princess is hot as fuck,” Finn’s saying. “I’d go for her if it were up to me.”