One month later:
“I’m sorry, what?”
Callie sighs into the phone. “Why does everyone keep reacting that way? Eilish and Kratos said exactly the same thing when I told them.”
Sitting in the lounge chair out on the penthouse balcony, I shake my head, looking out over the lights twinkling across the West Side.
“Because it’s a little crazy.”
“What? Why?”
I grin. “Callie, you can’t even legally drink in a bar yet, and you’re talking about buying one?”
“No one in my family can fly a fucking plane, either, but we own a private jet.”
I roll my eyes. “Callie…”
“Neve,” she mimics my tone.
I shake my head, grinning even more widely at her confidence and conviction.
“You seriously want to buy The Banshee.”
“No, it’s all an elaborate and badly thought-out joke.” She sighs. “Yes, I seriously want to buy The Banshee. Why is that so hard for everyone to come to grips with?”
I’ve heard through the grapevine that owners of the Irish bar want to sell. I guess they were already at the end of their rope with the place. And when their head bartender turned up dead after a drug deal gone wrong…
Oh. Yeah. That’s another part of the truth that got swept under the rug a month ago. It would have been easy enough to tell the truth—that Seamus O’Conor murdered Mike Jennings, Councilman Greg Leery, and a bartender named Jack Phillips. But that would have put me at the scene, too.
And that would have raised questions about why I was there, which would have led to more questions about Ares beating the shit out of two of the three dead men not so long ago. Not to mention the photographs.
In the end, Ares decided no part of that—especially the part where my name and any vicious rumors about me could very well get dragged into the press—ever needed to come to light.
So the crime scene was doctored to make it look like a drug deal gone bad, like Mike and Greg were trying to buy coke from Jack, but then things went south when Jack’s “business partner” decided to take the drugs and the cash for himself, shooting the other three in process.
That “business partner”—who obviously doesn’t exist—is still at large, and a person of extreme interest to the NYPD.
I wish them the very best of luck in their search for him.
Anyway, yes—the owners of The Banshee are now very keen to sell. And it would seem my sister-in-law is looking to buy.
“Look, the price is reasonable, and the place needs virtually zero money put into it. I mean it’s turn-key ready.”
I laugh quietly. “Callie, what do you know about Irish bars?”
“Enough?” she mutters. “Not as much as you, I’ll grant.” She clears her throat. “Which is why I want you to be my business partner in it.”
The smile drops from my mouth. My eyes widen.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Give me one good reason why the fuck not.”
I snort. “Because it’s fucking crazy?”
“Umm, you fake-married my brother to stop a mafia feud. You sure you want to start talking about crazy ideas?”
I grin, shaking my head.
“Okay, how about because I’ve got another semester of grad school left?”
“I’m not asking you to sling drinks. I just want your smarts.”
“Callie, Eilish is the business-minded one.”
“Oh, I know. That’s why I already asked her.”
“Well, her saying no should be a pretty good indication that maybe this isn’t the best—”
“Yeah, but…” Callie clears her throat. “She didn’t say no.”
My brows arch. “Eilish is in?”
I can hear my sister-in-law grinning through the phone.
“Yup.”
Shit.
It’s a fucking insane idea. It’s reckless, and ill-planned, and ridiculous.
It also sounds fun as hell.
I startle when the glass door to the patio behind me slides open. I turn, grinning when I see Ares step out. He nods questioningly to the phone. I cover it with my hand and mouth “Callie”.
“You’re at least thinking about it, aren’t you?”
I laugh. “Let’s just say it’s making the rounds in my head.”
“What does she want?” Ares murmurs, coming up behind me and kissing my neck. I shiver, melting into him as I always do, feeling my pulse thud before I slip away. I grin at him when he scowls and hold up a finger.
“Say yes. Please?”
“Callieee…”
“C’mon, Neve! You, me, and Eilish? We’d be amazing at it!”
“Or a train wreck.”
“Only one way to find out.”
I chew on my lip.
“Say yessss…”
“Let me think about it. Like for real think about it, maybe overnight?”
“Okay, okay, fine. Lunch tomorrow? Eilish has a business plan all drafted up that we were going to show you when you inevitably waffled on this.”
I roll my eyes. “I am not waffling. I just want to think it through.”
“Fine, fine, okay. Lunch at one at Maison Premiere tomorrow?”
“Deal.”
Callie squeals. “You’re not going to regret this. I’m so psyched!”
“Callie, I said I’d think about—”
“Yeah-yeah-yeah, of course. Okay, byeee.”
She hangs up. I do too, shaking my head and grinning as I turn back to Ares.
“What the heck was that about?”
“Callie wants to buy The Banshee with me and Eilish.”
He just stares at me.
“Crazy, right?”
Ares rakes his fingers down his jaw thoughtfully.
“I mean…” he shrugs. “It’s not the craziest idea in the history of the world.”
I gape at him curiously.
“You actually think it’s a smart idea for Eilish, your sister and me to own a freaking Irish bar?”
“I think you’ve got the know-how and temperament to deal with the liquor board and any other city agencies. I think Eilish has the business mind for handling the back end of things. And I think Callie is a fucking firecracker ready to blow, and this honestly sounds like a weirdly constructive outlet for her. Plus, I think she’d be a great bar owner. Or at least a sassy enough one.”
He grins at the gobsmacked look on my face.
“So, yeah. I mean, if the numbers work and the price is right. And of course, if it’s something you actually want to do. Then yeah, I could see it.”
He moves close to me. His left arm is still in a sling, which he hates. But the doctors and his physical therapist say he’s making huge strides in healing, and he’s got just about full motion of his shoulder back.
Sometimes, the idea that this man shot himself in order to save my life is absolutely bonkers for me to even comprehend.
It’s also frequently an insane turn on.
My pulse thuds as he steps closer to me, his hand brushing a lock of hair away from my neck before his lips descend to kiss the tender skin there.
Yeah, now would be one of those turn-on times.
My thighs squeeze together as I grip his shirt and pull him against me—needing more. Needing him. Needing all of him.
Ares groans. “We do have dinner at Dimitra’s in, like, twenty minutes.”
I start to unbutton his shirt. A low growl rumbles in his chest, and I shiver as his good hand slides around my hip to cup my ass.
“Well,” I purr, kissing around his chest as I slowly open his shirt. “Dimitra does enjoy going on about falling in love and having lots of babies.”
My hand slides down to his pants, and I shiver.
He’s so fucking hard.
And I’m so fucking wet.
“Babies, hmm?” he murmurs, taking my breath away as he yanks my skirt up. His hand slips into my panties, making me whimper as he peels them down to my knees.
“Uh-huh…”
I moan when his pants drop and his thick cock springs free into my eager hands. He sinks down onto the lounge chair, pulling me astride his hips as his lips brush mine.
“Never hurts to practice.”
“Exactly,” I whimper as I guide his cock to my eager, wet pussy and sink down onto him.
Needless to say, we’re late for dinner.
