by Kathryn Shay
“You’re an O’Neil, man. Somewhere under that Count of Monte Cristo thing you got going for you, you’re blood. We don’t take vengeance on the elderly.” Aidan walked into the pub.
Kinley wanted to run away from these guys. He didn’t know why, but he had the urge to do so. As he walked to the car, another freaking one arrived and parked behind the others. A young man got out. He was an O’Neil, but Kinley couldn’t tell who he belonged to.
“Hey, there.” The kid came close. “I’m Sinead O’Neil. Pat’s son.”
“I’m Kinley Moran.”
Sinead’s face brightened. His grin would be infectious to anybody else. “You’re my new uncle!” Before Kinley could stop him, he stepped into Kinley’s personal space and hugged him. “Welcome to the family.”
Jamie was sidelined for three days from the pub though she was healing quickly, which confirmed what she already knew— Kinley had pulled his punch. She went to class and was able to cover the bruise enough and wear a baseball cap so people didn’t gawk. In the meantime, she cleaned their house top to bottom, cooked and froze dinners and when she started raking up the yard, her grandmother made her stop. “I’ll call the O’Neils if you don’t rest this afternoon,” she warned.
Because the boys would make a fuss, Jamie went upstairs and sat on her bed after Ben went to school. But she wasn’t sleepy. She had some decisions to make. Kinley Moran asked her to come to work for him—well, he practically ordered her to—because he didn’t want her tied to the O’Neils. He said he wouldn’t give her more hours at the pub, which pissed her off.
Find something else. She grabbed her computer and called up a site which listed jobs. Located one.
Construction workers needed on a new building. Just the thought of it made her tired.
A nanny for two kids. Right in the area of her expertise. But she couldn’t work full time. Though maybe she could bring Ben with her. But she wanted a temporary job only until she got her teaching credentials at the end of the summer.
The list went on. There was a waitressing job in a diner south of Bailey’s. But that didn’t feel right.
Screw this. Pushing the computer away, she picked up her phone and dialed the private number Kinley had given her.
“Moran.” His voice was deeper on the phone, sexy, in fact. She bet he made women swoon.
“Kinley, this is Jamie Ralston.”
“Jamie. I was hoping you’d call.”
“I’d like to come in for an interview.”
“You already have a job here.”
“I know. It’s not me who’s interviewing. It’s you. I’ll need details on your work, what I’ll do, salary, hours.”
He chuckled. “Sure, when can you come in?”
“As soon as possible.”
“How about now?”
“Um, yeah. Ben’s in preschool.”
“I remembered that.”
“I’ll be over soon.”
“I haven’t eaten, have you?”
“No. But—”
“I’ll have lunch sent up. We can talk over a meal.” He waited. “And I’m sending a car. The weather in March is freezing cold.”
Instead of arguing, she acquiesced.
After a quick shower, she combed her hair and secured it back in a soft knot, used some makeup and found she could cover most of the bruise. She had only one navy suit, which she hadn’t worn in a while, but it was a timeless piece and would work with a silk T-shirt. She owned no shoes but flats and sneakers. The flats would have to do.
Soon, the high rise where Moran Associates was located loomed before her. Of course, he’d have impressive offices. Everything about him was expensive. She thanked the driver, whose nametag read Michael, then left the car and walked inside brusquely. She gave her name to the building receptionist who called up to Kinley’s assistant. When she clicked off, she said, “Mr. Pembroke is coming to get you Ms. Ralston.”
A thin, wiry little man, who resembled skinny Jack Sprat in one of Ben’s books, greeted her, then brought her to the elevator. The car stopped at the penthouse. Of course. Pembroke nodded to the woman at a desk which sat in a small alcove, then he knocked on the first door. It opened with Kinley on the other side.
He smiled when he saw Jamie, making her heart trip a bit in her chest. What was that all about?
“Hello, Ms. Ralston. Come on in. Nigel, could you tell the restaurant on the first floor we’ll have the lunch I ordered now.”
“Of course, sir.” He turned and left.
Jamie walked inside. And whistled softly. “Wow, I don’t think I ever saw an office this big.”
“It’s a suite. This is the main room. Off to the side is a small bed/bath area. Sometimes I sleep here when I’m working late. Let’s go over there.” He motioned to the right where an archway gave way to a big conference table, facing another wall of windows. She walked into it and they sat adjacent to each other.
“What would you like to drink?”
A pitcher sat on the sideboard. “I’ll have some of that ice water.”
After he served them both and sat again, he said, “Let me tell you what I had in mind.”
“I’m dying to know. Because I certainly don’t fit in here.”
He ignored her comment. “Right now, we have an opening for the assistant outside my door. You’d be filling Linda’s position.”
“Are you firing her for me?”
“No, if she was sitting down, you couldn’t tell, but she’s seven months pregnant. She was planning to work until the baby was born, but I persuaded her to take a part-time assignment as soon as I hired someone else to cover the rest of the days.”
“I can’t take that poor woman’s job.”
“No worries. I’m paying her full salary before the birth and eight weeks after. She jumped at the chance.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“Being generous with employees is good business.”
“Won’t somebody else in line feel slighted?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What does Linda do?”
“She answers my phones. She transcribes my recordings into the computer. Keeps an agenda for my day.”
“What does Mr. Pembroke do?”
“He’s in charge of my larger calendar and cleans up my files on the computer after every work day. He enters the daily profit and loss statements. He highlights important memos. Keeps track of the taxes.”
“I work at the pub three days a week from 11:30 to 3. I like to be home when Ben gets there.”
“Then you can fill in two days a week. Could you work from ten to four?”
“On days I don’t have class at night.”
“You said you had two courses that end in May. We’ll talk more after that.”
“Kinley, I’m going to get a teaching job for the fall.”
“I hope so. But I have you until then.”
A phone buzzed, Kinley pressed a button and told Nigel to send in the meal. A waiter brought two salads, one Caesar, the other cobb. Juicy looking grilled chicken topped them both. “Which would you like?” he asked when the waiter left.
“Caesar’s my favorite.” After she tasted a bite, she said, “I need to know exactly what you do, Kinley. A…day in the life of an investment broker.” She glanced at his meal. “Have some of that first.”
After he ate half, he set down his fork. “As a broker, I help to bring a buyer together with a seller of investments. This includes stocks, for which I need a special license.
“I’m representing mostly high-end clients and make deals with a half-million minimum. My associates take the less lucrative clients.”
“Seriously?”
He gave a small smile. “Yes. I worked my way up to this, of course. I started with a large firm, Harrison Swartz. Then I decided I wanted to take a more entrepreneurial approach and went solo. Eventually, I formed my own company.”
“How many people work for you?”
“Fifty. Five
brokers interning in a way I did. Again, Nigel who’s my personal assistant, my desk concierge, a human resources guy, two couriers who are kept busy all the time. I have two accountants, researchers who analyze financial statements in order to recommend investments. I need a communications section, customer service and sales departments, though everything is on a smaller scale than with a huge firm like Swartz. Security makes up the rest.”
“Okay, so a day in the life…”
He took a couple of bites of food. “I arrive at the office two hours before the stock market opens, I make a checklist of what I need to do that day—consulting my calendar, which Nigel will send to you every day and you can make a daily agenda. I also catch up on market news for the clients I represent. When the iconic bell rings, I check my clients’ accounts, and decide what I need to sell or buy for them. Although I do other kinds of investments, too.”
“What else?”
“Retirement planning, buying and selling companies, things like that.”
Jamie was amazed at the scope of his organization.
“I spend some of the day writing memorandums. Actually, I dictate them and you’ll be on a deadline to type them up and send them back to me and the client.”
“I can handle that.”
“I meet clients often, many times for lunch, to talk about their investments.
“In the afternoon, I have a staff meeting with my broker team and if HR has called, I deal with complaints or requests from the rest of the group. And last, even though we’re successful, I’m always on the lookout for, or approaching clients I’d like to take on.”
“Wow. When does your day end?”
“Normally, at six. Unless someone wants dinner meetings. That doesn’t happen often, either, as most of the people I represent request workday hours.”
While they were talking, they finished their meal and the table had been cleared by the waiter and coffee service given. “Any other questions about your job or mine?”
“No, thanks for explaining everything to me. I find what you do fascinating.”
He took a paper out of his suitcoat pocket and slid it across the table to her.
She picked it up. “What’s this?”
“Your salary.”
She took a peek. “You’re kidding, right? For two days’ work?”
“Yes.”
She slid it back to him. “No way. It’s twice what I make at the pub.”
“It’s less than half of what Linda makes.”
“Are you serious?”
“Very. I pay my employees well. I expect excellent work in return.”
“If I accept this job and Ben gets sick, I can’t come in.”
“We have a temp agency we use.”
Jamie’s gaze narrowed. “Why, Kinley? Why are you being so kind to me?”
“For one thing, you were kind to me when I hung out at the bar those months.”
“I wouldn’t have been if I knew what you were planning.”
“Fair enough. But we shared some space and time, and then when I asked you to come work for me, I told you my deep and dark secret. I don’t want you depending on the O’Neils for everything. It’s not a healthy way to live your life.”
“You own most of the bar.”
“They’re still there, all the time.”
Sitting back, she folded her hands in her lap. “I won’t be used for revenge.”
His dark brown brows formed a vee. “I’m not using you.”
She stared hard at him. She shouldn’t trust this man, but if she took the job and he had ulterior motives, she could always quit. “All right. I’ll work here then.” She shrugged. “Thank you for the employment.”
Chapter 4
* * *
He felt stupid. Absolutely stupid, lurking outside of Guardian. After their meeting, and without him asking, Bailey had texted the address of the undisclosed location—a huge gray sided behemoth of a house, rising up three stories, with a front porch and a sidewalk leading up to it. Better yet, the building was tucked into a less frequented part of the city and protected by a security gate. This was a shelter for gang kids. A pang shot through him as a vivid memory of Moira besieged him…
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Moira?” he asked her when they were thirteen and he’d found out what she was up to.
“Same thing as you are, bro. Joinin’ my homies.”
“Girls in gangs have a shitty life. You gotta jump in. They beat the crap out of you and make you do things…sexual things.”
“I’m not a virgin, you know.”
He didn’t know. “Girl, they train you. Do you know what that is?”
“Boys fuck you one after the other. So what? Everything will be easy after.”
“That’s so not true.” He’d joined when he was eleven, and all they did to him was beat him almost to unconsciousness for initiation. But what the gang had done to him or made him do in the past two years was anything but easy.
“I’ll tell Ma.”
“When? She’s always out with some guy. I want a family.”
“You got me!”
“No I don’t. You’re always with the Bad Boys and the GG’s is their sister gang.”
“I don’t care.”
“Kin, I’m gonna do this. You can’t stop me…”
And she had. And eventually, it killed her.
Leaning back in one of his personal cars, a Mercedes, he was hit with the realization that he couldn’t help out at Guardian, because he hadn’t been able help his own sister.
The knock on his window sent him jumping. He’d forgotten where he was! Another knock. He buzzed down the glass. The guy outside said, “Hey, mister. What are you doin’ sitting on the street here?”
Bailey had mentioned in the text that security was essential and there would be a guard before someone reached the gate. “Um, my car overheated. I’m waiting for it to cool down.”
The man shined a light in. “Are you Kinley?”
“How on earth would you know that?”
“Bailey said to watch out for you. She said you’re an O’Neil, so I recognized you. I’m Joe Natale. I work here. So, you comin’ in to see the place?”
“No, I’ve changed my mind. Thanks.” He pushed the start button, made a turn and sped away. But he couldn’t escape the memories that would haunt him for days now.
The city of New York sprawled out before her from where she stood by the window beyond her desk. Behind her, she heard, “The view’s breathtaking, isn’t it?”
His rich voice curled over to her. She turned. “Absolutely.” She held up her cup. “I was taking a coffee break. Can I get you some?”
“No, thanks. I can do it.” He walked to the pot in the alcove, poured his own and joined her. “So, I haven’t seen much of you.” Kinley gave her a half smile, though there were lines around his mouth and eyes. “How are you doing?”
“You’re the boss. You should answer that.”
“Your work’s been perfect. Linda said you can be on your own.”
“Then she gets to go home and put her feet up. The last trimester is hard.”
“I know nothing about your past. Were you married, was it an easy pregnancy with Ben?”
“No marriage, and yes, the pregnancy was easy. The birth not so much.”
“I hear it’s bad.”
“Like pulling your bottom lip out then up over your head.”
He winced, which was cute. “Who took care of you?”
“Nobody. We had a small apartment of our own. As soon as Ben’s father heard I was pregnant, he stopped seeing me. My mother died before I had him, and grandma offered to take me in but I said no back then because I thought it would be too much for her. When Ben got older, I did move in.”
Her phone rang. She was grateful for the interruption. But he didn’t leave. He leaned against the wall and took in the view of her. Listened. “Moran Associates. You’ve reached Mr. Moran’s office.”
“Hi, th
is is Nigel. I need ten minutes with Kinley.”
“Okay.” She covered the mouthpiece. “Nigel needs to see you for ten minutes.”
“Tell him to come up in fifteen.”
She did and hung up. And frowned. “He doesn’t like me.”
“He resents that he has to go through you to get to me.”
“Didn’t he do that with Linda?”
“No, actually, he didn’t. What are your weekend plans?” She noticed he switched topics fast and frequently.
“Are you kidding? It’s St. Patrick’s Day tomorrow.”
“And?”
“Kinley. It’s the biggest event of the year at Bailey’s Pub. There’s the parade during the daytime. At the pub itself, there’s stuff for kids in the morning, then lunch, then revelers sing and dance and hopefully don’t drink too much beer.” Her gaze stayed on him. “I take Ben for a couple of hours starting at ten, then we have lunch. I take him home and go back to work about five.”
His face closed down, and he turned into a different person from the one who asked her about her life. He pushed off the wall. “Send Nigel in when he comes up.”
“Kinley, wait. What’s wrong?”
Instead of answering, he slammed the door to his office.
Nigel came and went and Jamie finished her shift. She stood but she was still preoccupied with Kinley’s earlier reaction. Why did he close down? The answer finally came. So, she knocked on the door and he buzzed her in.
He was seated at the desk in the center of the room, staring at the computer. “I’m leaving now. My shift’s over.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t even look at her.
This was dumb. She marched over and stood before the desk. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For dropping that on you about St. Patrick’s Day.”
Swiveling his chair, he faced her. “I’m fine. It didn’t bother me.”
“Of course it did. Your entire family will be there. Nieces and nephews you’ve never met. You have four sisters-in-law who are great.”
“I know all that.” He took in a breath. “So?”
“You must feel left out.”
“Now that’s an understatement.”