“WANT the good or the bad news first?”
That greeting has me groaning. “Man, that’s how this is going to go, huh?”
She smiles at me and somehow, that smile makes everything so much better.
“I’m giving you a choice. That’s more than I need to do.”
“Good news first.”
“Bradley’s going to get Ollie Nolan into the program.”
It’s hard to be happy about that when the kid hurt Gracie, made her cry, took her bag, and destroyed her stuff, stuff that put another massive smile on her face when she bought it…
But he’s a child.
And kids make mistakes.
So, all I say is, “I’m glad.”
I don’t know how Ollie’ll respond to Gracie’s offer, but only time will tell. She’s being generous when I don’t know if I would be.
For her sake, though, I hope he doesn’t fuck up.
She shoots me a knowing look. “Things will work out. He’s only a baby, Liam.”
“A baby with street smarts. But I understand why you’re doing this.”
“You do?”
I shrug. “I saw him in the lineup. He was the youngest there.”
“Too young for that life. We have an opportunity to right a wrong. We have to try!”
“Hmm, so what’s the bad?”
“Your father’s putting his foot down. He wants us to come to Sunday dinner at his place this week.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
My brow puckers. “Us?”
“Huh?”
“You said, ‘He wants us.’”
“Apparently, I’m one of the reasons he wanted you to be in New York.”
My head whips to the side at that piece of news.
I haven’t spoken to my dad since I came here. Gracie was the only reason I was willing to move to the city, but the letter from him that was included in the contract package, for my eyes only, irritated me to hell and back.
Him attempting to use evidence of my purchase of a ghost gun to force me into the trade was a low blow.
Still, her answer has me demanding, “Are you kidding me? He wanted me here because of you?”
“Nope, no joke. He told me before but he said it again—he thinks I’m good for you.” She graces me with another smile but this time, it’s softer. Her hand reaches for mine over the console that separates the two seats in the back of the SUV. The gesture is hesitant. Unsure. My fingers instantly entwine with hers. “Do you think I am?”
“I know you are. No ‘think’ about it.” Her blush is so cute that I could bottle it and drink from it every damn day. Reaching out, I trail my knuckles over her cheek. “You embarrassed?”
“No,” she mumbles, but she ducks her head which tells me she’s lying.
Taking the heat off her, I drawl, “So, what you’re saying is that my old man decided to act like a father for once in his life?”
“Well, that’s what he implied. He also implied that he wants you to know your family because they care about you.”
“They don’t know me,” I dismiss.
“Isn’t that the point? They want to. I want us to go.”
“Why?”
“Shall I answer honestly?”
“Why would I want you to lie?”
“Your aunt is Irish,” she informs me with faux innocence.
“So?”
“And the offer was for Sunday dinner.”
It hits me.
Groaning, I demand, “Please tell me you’re not asking me to sit through some fucked-up Donnghal reunion because you’re craving a family get-together?”
Her eyes are practically twinkling. “It’s more than just that. Food cooked by moms is always better than anything you can make yourself.”
“Lies.”
“In my family, it is.”
I huff. “I don’t want to meet them.”
“Why? Why wouldn’t you want more people around you, Liam?” she asks earnestly. “He made a point about you being isolated in Montréal and that’s when you bought a goddamn gun.
“I’ve always cared about you, Liam. I knew you weren’t doing well in Montréal, but I didn’t think things were that dire, and looking back, I should have. That’s on me.
“So, if forcing you to attend a family dinner is what I have to do, then I will.” Her gaze turns merciless. “I might even talk Kara into giving you some time off from the PR shit for good behavior.”
I narrow my eyes back at her. “You’d do that?”
“I would.”
“For a family dinner?”
“Yup. And while we’re talking about family, your half-sister approached me as well.
“You’re going to start talking to her too. You have nieces who should have a cool Uncle Liam in their lives because their mom’s prissy as fuck.”
“You’re so bossy,” I complain, but her words resonate more than I’d like.
Maybe that’s why I don’t argue, why I don’t bitch at her. I just rub my hand over my face and think about how shitty the last couple of years have been.
I was alone.
So fucking alone.
It’s hard to think back to that time, mostly because I haven’t been alone since New York and Gracie’s personality is so big that I pretty much forgot about Montréal when she agreed to work with me.
She eclipsed the misery of that time in less than a week.
Because I don’t want to think back to those days, I force myself away from them. That shit is for my session with Mike.
Suddenly, a soft hand is cupping my chin and it’s urging me to look at her. I don’t fight the hold.
“Hey,” she soothes. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Takes more than that to upset me,” I mumble, but my gaze locks on hers. “Thank you.”
Her brow arches. “Huh?”
“You heard me.”
“What are you thanking me for when I’m making you do shit you don’t want to do?”
“For giving a fuck.” I swallow. “And while we’re doling out bad news, Kara’s decided that controlling how our relationship is outed to the press is the way forward. We have to attend a charity function next week.”
Her mouth gapes.
Despite myself, I smirk at her. “Fair’s fair, Gracie.”
“Don’t you want to attend alone?”
I scowl. “No. Why the hell would I want to do that?”
“I won’t wear a dress.”
I sniff. “As if I’d make you.”
The tension in her shoulders lessens, but she grumbles, “I’m going to have to wear heels because you’re ridiculously tall.”
“Hey! Maybe you’re ridiculously short.”
“We’re both ridiculously incompatible height-wise.”
My grin is wicked. “I disagree. We’re very compatible when we’re horizontal. I already know that you’re the perfect size in bed.”
“Shut up!”
“Hudson’s not interested in our conversation,” I counter. “He’s wearing AirPods to avoid the emo rock.” When she sucks her bottom lip in to bite it and doesn’t pick up on my comment, I muse, “Every time you do that in the future, I’m going to have to kiss you.”
“Shut up.”
“I won’t.” Resting my elbow on the center console, I lean into her. “You’re not a lip-biter, Gracie. You weren’t made for nerves.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that if you’re nervous, I need to make it better. I figure a kiss’ll take your mind off of whatever’s bothering you.”
She blinks. “That’s some logic.”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I rumble, moving deeper into her space so that I can press a kiss to her lips. As a soft breath soughs from her, I whisper, “Go on, Gracie. Tell me.”
She doesn’t.
And that says everything.
