Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97724 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“I hadn’t thought of that.” I bite my lower lip, pondering that idea. “It’s good to have as a backup plan, just in case. Also, don’t forget the recital in just three days. Most of you have little ones who will want to see you there.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Millie declares. “When do we get to see you dance?”
I shake my head. “Those days have passed. But maybe sometime I can demonstrate what I used to do.”
“We would love that,” Dani says. “Please do.”
There’s a car in my driveway when Riley and I get home. A black SUV with tinted windows and an armed man standing next to the driver’s door, hands crossed at his waist, blank expression on his face.
“Riley, Uncle Connor’s here!”
I jump out of the driver’s side and let Riley out, smiling at the bodyguard as I walk past.
“Hi, Miller,” I say. “And how are you then?”
“Just fine, miss. The boss is inside.”
The door is unlocked when I push through, running past the living room to the kitchen, where my brother sits at the island, eating a bowl of my stew. He’s in black slacks and a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, the top button undone at his neck. His suit coat and tie are draped over the back of my couch.
“I didn’t know you were coming to town already.”
“Yet you had the stew on for me, I see.” His green eyes are full of mischief as he pops a spoonful in his mouth. I run around to give him a proper hug. “Where were you tonight, a stór?”
“My book club meeting,” I reply as I pull away and grab myself some water. “It’s monthly, and I enjoy it.”
“Good. It’s glad I am that you’re making friends.” He finishes his stew and sets the bowl in the sink. “Your alarm passcode needs to be reset.”
“Why?” I frown up at him as I dish myself a small ladle of the stew.
“Because it’s the same as the last time I was in town, so it needs to be changed.”
“You’re so bossy.” I sit on a stool and eat. “I shouldn’t have this. I had a chocolate cupcake at the club meeting.”
“You can eat whatever you want now,” he reminds me.
“No more maintaining a certain weight,” I agree. “No more going hungry. But if Mik saw me, he’d tell me to take off ten pounds.”
“And you can tell Mik to go feck himself,” Connor replies easily as he types something on his phone.
“You like Mik.”
“I do, yes. Very much. But he’s not the boss of your body.”
“I know.” Despite how he used to nag me about my weight, I miss my friend. It’s the first time we’ve been apart from each other in a decade. Phone calls never seem like enough. “Anyway, how long will you be here? At least three days because of the recital.” I narrow my eyes at him, daring him to tell me he’ll miss it.
“Why do I have to go to the recital to see a bunch of children who aren’t mine twirl and fling themselves about?”
“Because it’s your sister who’s taught them to do those twirls and that flinging, and I’ll be there, too. Plus, you’re an investor, so you should see what I’m doing there.”
“You’re teaching dance, Skyla.”
I let out a gusty, dramatic sigh. “Connor.”
“Fine. I’m going.” He leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “I came here from Galway. Ma and Da send their love.”
“Is everything all right there?”
“They’re fine. I just wanted to pop in and see them. I had business in Dublin anyway.”
My brother never sits still. “Do you ever actually see the inside of your penthouse in New York City?”
Connor pushes his hand through his hair. He doesn’t love being called out on his habits, but despite being so much younger than him, I worry about him. “I haven’t been there in more than three months.”
I stop chewing and frown at him. “What? Why not?”
“Because I’ve been busy.”
Connor is a hotelier, the third generation in our family to head Gallagher Hotels and Resorts. Because of this, he’s constantly on the go, from location to location, to oversee renovations or new builds and make sure things are running smoothly. But I hate that he doesn’t have roots anywhere, that he doesn’t really have a home.
“You could hire someone for a lot of what you do. You need to learn to delegate.”
“No.” He shakes his head in that stubborn way he’s done since we were kids and pushes his glasses up his nose. “I want to be a hands-on CEO.”
“At the expense of literally never being at home?”
He shrugs. “What do I have to go home to?”
I blink at him and feel guilt set in.
“No, don’t you dare go there,” he says, then swears under his breath and paces the kitchen. “It’s not because of you that I’m never in New York.”