by Laura Burton
It had a certain charm, though. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Cameron that the village was quaint.
Most of the buildings were similar to this one, painted in different pastel shades. Green, yellow, light blue.
There was a stone bridge leading out of the town with a river surrounded by lush green flowing underneath it.
The whole place looked like it was lifted from a storybook.
From where he was standing, he could see the steeples of at least two churches and – his eyes scanned the horizon until –
There.
Dunkilly Castle.
He could just make out the ruins on the clifftop and behind them the grey Atlantic Ocean.
A flicker of excitement took him by surprise.
Though he always enjoyed a successful deal, Conor couldn’t remember the last time an acquisition had excited him. It had just become something he did. Something he was good at.
But looking at that crumbling stone structure, his heart really did thud a little faster.
A memory flickered in the recesses of his mind. A castle not dissimilar to Dunkilly and in much better condition, Conor and his brothers scrambling over the rocks, swinging their wooden swords and battling ferocious dragons. And there watching over them, their grandfather who had made a good life in America, but who always made sure they all came home to Ireland.
Maybe his grandfather’s homeland called to him more than he’d realised.
Or maybe it was a sign that this deal was going to be the success he thought it would.
Either way, he was taking it as a positive.
Deciding that he’d wasted enough time staring, Conor opened the passenger door of his car and grabbed his briefcase.
Checking his watch briefly, he stepped inside the dollhouse and prepared to face his foe.
Inside, he was relieved to see, wasn’t pink.
It was small but clean and decorated in muted greys and beiges.
There was a small reception desk and a couple of chairs at a glass coffee table.
Over the desk, the artwork was a painting of Dunkilly Castle and its surroundings, the sea stormy and turbulent, the beach a collage of greys and browns.
“Can I help you?”
Conor moved his eyes from the painting to the lady at the desk.
She was mid-fifties, he’d guess with a friendly, smiling face.
“Conor King,” he answered. “I’m here to see Ms. McCarthy.”
The change in the woman was instantaneous.
Gone was the smile and in its place a scowl that could turn milk sour.
And for some inexplicable reason, it made Conor feel nervous.
“Have a seat.” The woman’s voice was as cold as the brown eyes staring him down. “She’ll be with you shortly.”
Without another word, she got up from her desk and disappeared through a door behind her.
So, Conor did as he was told and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Conor read and responded to emails.
Read and responded to various messages from friends and family.
And read and ignored messages from Anita.
Watched as the heavens opened again as rain lashed against every surface.
And still, there was no sign of this Ms. McCarthy.
He checked his watch again. Twenty minutes he’d waited with no sign of the lawyer or the receptionist who’d disappeared.
He was just getting ready to leave when the front door opened again and a young woman swept in, her hair and face obscured by the oversized hood of a bright red raincoat.
She turned her back to him and took off the coat, and Conor found himself staring as she uncovered an abundance of dark, wavy hair that fell down her back.
And of course, once his eyes were travelling in that direction anyway, he couldn’t help but take in the rest of her.
Her waist was slim, but her hips flared enough to stir his interest. She was wearing a dress with some feminine, floral print that fell just above her knees. She had killer legs, he thought.
He was right in the middle of hoping she’d turn around when the disappearing receptionist materialised.
“Jenna, you’re drowned, you poor creature.”
Completely ignoring him, she bustled over to the young woman, who’d now turned around to smile at her.
Conor’s mouth dried as he saw her face.
Wide blue eyes, thick black lashes. High cheekbones and full, heart-shaped lips.
She was stunning, though not his usual type. She had none of that carefully put together, groomed and polished beauty. Hers was natural, soft, and wild. And he was interested. Very, very interested.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt more than a passing attraction to someone.
“It’s only a drop of rain, Mrs. Glynn,” she answered the fussing receptionist, her voice a much softer version of the local lilting brogue. “I won’t melt.”
“Well, come in and I’ll get you your coffee.” Mrs. Glynn sailed past Conor, not even acknowledging his presence.
He felt a flicker of annoyance but before he could say anything, the dark-haired woman turned to fully face him, and he found himself forgetting about the weirdly behaved receptionist.
“At least you get coffee.” He gave her his most charming smile. He had a couple of nights here. And it wouldn’t hurt to spend one of them, at least, with a beautiful woman. “But if you’re hoping for a meeting with this Ms. McCarthy, you’re out of luck. Apparently, the woman doesn’t know how to keep appointments. If you’re busy, I wouldn’t waste my time.”
She raised a brow but didn’t give an answer, so he tried his luck. Because why not?
Summoning his most flirtatious smile, he shot his shot, as Carter would say.
“What do you say to getting out of here and letting me buy you a coffee instead?”
She stared at him for a minute before smiling. But it was the furthest thing from friendly he’d ever seen.
“I say that I am Ms. McCarthy. I do know how to keep appointments, but unfortunately, I ran late at a meeting. And I don’t want your coffee, Mr. King.”
Chapter 5
Jenna clenched her fists to stop them from visibly shaking as she led the way to her office in the back of the reception area.
The frantic call from Mrs. Glynn had taken her by surprise, and she’d quickly made her apologies to her dad and Martin Forster, his environmental law colleague who’d arrived that morning to help them. Of course, a quick exit from a conversation in Kate’s café had been delayed by twenty minutes of goodbyes before she could get out of the place.
Now, she thought in a fit of temper, she wished she hadn’t bloody well bothered.
When Mr. King’s lawyers had called to arrange a meeting, Jenna had been more than a little shocked.
She’d been expecting the lawyers, or even someone who worked for The King Corporation. Not someone who owned it.
She’d even been a little bit nervous about it when she’d found out.
Of course, she’d Googled him and even though she had never thought that someone’s jaw dropping in shock was a real, physical thing, it had happened to her.
Image after image of this blonde Adonis of a man had taken her by surprise.
He could have been a Viking with his piercing blue eyes and blonde hair and rugged handsomeness.
He was so ridiculously good-looking, in fact, that she’d emailed his pictures to her friends, and they’d all spent a happy hour on Skype extolling his virtues.
Since he looked like the lead in a romantic comedy, they said, it was highly likely that he’d swoop in like a hero and save the day. Learn the errors of his capitalist ways and save the castle from corporate greed.
They’d gotten so carried away that Jenna had ended the call half-believing them.
And after her meeting with Martin Forster, she badly wanted to believe them.
Because even Martin wasn’t a
ll too confident that they could stop this thing once it got started.
Then she’d turned and seen him.
And her jaw had almost dropped for the second time in her life because in real life, he was honestly a bit overwhelming.
She had a brief, wonderful moment of imagining he was the hero she and her friends had made him last night.
And then he’d opened that admittedly gorgeous mouth and ruined it all.
Jenna swept past the desk where Mrs. Glynn was busy glaring at Mr. King, and she smiled a bit at how uncomfortable he must have been, sitting there and being ignored for twenty minutes.
Not something a billionaire with male model looks was likely used to.
Well, he’d just have to get used to it.
If he refused to see sense today, or if he tried to pull any of that smooth operator stuff around here, he’d be given short shrift.
The people of Dunkilly did not suffer fools gladly.
Or billionaires trying to ruin their castle, come to that.
They got to Jenna’s office, which was only feet from the front office, and she pushed open the door before moving to sit behind the desk.
The desk was good. It was sturdy and at least four feet wide and put some much-needed distance between her and the Adonis.
The office that had always been snug but comfortable suddenly seemed tiny with him in it.
She could smell whatever cologne he was wearing and had to physically restrain herself from giving him a good sniff.
What on earth was wrong with her?
He was the enemy. Even if he smelt incredible.
“Thank you for waiting so patiently, Mr. King,” she said, saccharinely sweet.
He raised a brow at her obvious sarcasm, and that just annoyed her further.
The thing of it was that she was sorry. She hated being late and would always apologise profusely and sincerely under normal circumstances.
But these weren’t normal circumstances, she reminded herself fiercely. They were at war.
“Can I get you that all-important coffee, Mr. King?” she continued in the same voice.
“No, thank you, Ms. McCarthy,” he drawled, his voice as faux pleasant as her own. “I prefer my coffee unlaced with poison.”
Jenna glared at him. She dearly wanted to pick up her stapler and throw it at his head but figured that might not be the best way to conduct this particular meeting.
I think it’s quite nice that he’s meeting you himself, love. Gran had said. He mightn’t be all that bad.
Keeping Gran’s words in her head, Jenna dropped the sarcasm and instead decided to appeal to the man’s better nature.
In case he had one hidden under that cocky smirk.
“I won’t take up too much of your time,” she said, choosing to take the highroad and ignore his barb. Then, because she clearly had the maturity level of a twelve-year-old, she tacked on, “And clearly, time is a very precious commodity for you.”
The smirk grew wider for a split second but other than that, he remained passive.
Taking a breath and crossing her fingers under the desk, Jenna called on all that experience as a corporate lawyer in Dublin.
Course, she’d only lasted a couple of years before she’d burnt out and ran to Dunkilly for a simpler life.
But still.
If nothing else, her time there had given her a steely spine, which was exactly what was needed here.
“I do feel it’s only fair to warn you that my client has no intention to sell her property to you, Mr. King. That’s not going to change regardless of any developments with the castle.”
She paused, waiting for him to speak, but he stayed quiet, so she ploughed on.
“I must stress that my client is adamant on this. There’ll be no budging her.”
Again, nothing.
Biting back a sigh of frustration, she continued even though it was like talking to a statue, albeit a gorgeous one.
“And regarding the castle, the people of Dunkilly have expressed serious concerns about the cultural and environmental impact of your proposed development. In fact, I have an environmental lawyer working right now on a motion to halt any and all works. Plus, the Historical Society have voiced some genuine concerns. It seems that someone in your office made an oversight and didn’t contact them prior to purchase.”
He still didn’t move, or speak, or react to what she was saying. Just watched her intently.
If he was trying to make her uncomfortable, it wasn’t working. Well, it was working. But she wasn’t going to show that.
“And so, I wanted to have this meeting as a gesture of good will to give you the chance to save yourself a lot of money and – and inconvenience and just, well – go home.”
At this, he raised his eyebrows and blinked. The only reaction.
Jenna had always had an awful habit of wanting to fill silences with chatter. This time she couldn’t.
She absolutely couldn’t.
She needed to just sit here, facing him across the table, and wait him out.
At least it was a nice view.
Finally, when she started to get a twitch, he smiled.
“While I appreciate the – what was it? Gesture of good will? I think I’ll pass.”
Jenna could only stare as he rose to his feet.
“Wait. What?” She jumped up to glare across at him. Up at him, really.
“Ms. McCarthy, I agreed to this meeting as my gesture of good will. But frankly, there’s nothing you or this Historical Society of yours can do. The castle was purchased with planning permission for a hotel and resort. And while it’s true that I want the land and cottage belonging to your client, if a generous offer can’t change her mind, so be it. I’ll adjust building plans. But I won’t stop building.”
“But – but you can’t!”
“Oh, I assure you, I can.”
He knew.
He knew that she hadn’t a leg to stand on when it came to the castle.
Why she’d thought that someone like him, a corporation like his, wouldn’t have done thorough due diligence, she didn’t know.
Wishful thinking, maybe.
But Jenna couldn’t – absolutely couldn’t let down Gran and the people of Dunkilly.
“You have no right to swoop in here with your billions and your greed and ruin hundreds of years of history,” she snapped.
Jenna was well aware that she was currently sounding more like a petulant teenager than a professional lawyer.
But she couldn’t help it.
“Oh, I think you’ll find I do have that right, Ms. McCarthy. I paid good money for it.”
She could only watch in useless anger as he winked, winked, the cheeky sod, then turned on his heel and stomped out.
Jenna slumped back into her chair, miserable and defeated.
Maybe it was time to take Mrs. Rafferty up on her human protest chain. At this point, she’d probably need those sheep on offer, too.
Chapter 6
“Don’t give up.”
Jenna rolled her eyes at her friend Kate’s words.
They were sitting in Rafferty’s, drowning their sorrows in wine. Although Jenna had been nursing the same glass for over an hour and barely taken two sips.
All evening, people had been coming over to ask Jenna how her meeting had gone. And she didn’t have the heart to tell them she’d gotten nowhere.
“You still have the Historical Society on side, don’t you?” Kate continued. “And, and Martin Forster. Isn’t he putting together something?”
Jenna sighed.
She hated being so negative. But she couldn’t help it.
Conor King had infuriated her this afternoon with his stupid arrogance and stupid gorgeousness.
“We do,” she said. “But – I don’t think it’s enough. The fact is that he has money to burn, and we don’t. Practically, we can’t fight this as long as he can.”
The door to the pub opened, sending the fire in the grate dancing,
and Jenna looked up to see her father and Martin Forster enter.
She’d been surprised by how young the environmental lawyer was when he’d shown up in Dunkilly. She’d assumed he would be her dad’s age, but he was closer to her own. He smiled and waved as he spotted her and Kate in the corner.
“Can I get you another, Jenna? Kate?”
“No thanks, Martin. I need to get going.” Kate drained her glass and stood up. “Jenna don’t give up on your castle yet,” she said softly. “If anyone can fight this, you can.”
“The problem isn’t fighting, Kate. It’s having nothing to fight with.”
Kate eyed her for a minute before suddenly sitting back down. “Then maybe fighting isn’t the answer,” she said softly.
“What do you mean?”
Kate shrugged her shoulders and flipped her long, red hair over her shoulder.
“I mean, sometimes you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, Jenna. You’re always fighting. What about using those feminine wiles of yours instead?”
“I don’t have any,” she answered dryly.
Kate shook her head laughing.
“You do, and you know it,” she answered stoutly. “Charm him. Be nice. An alien concept, I know.”
“Kate – no.” Jenna squirmed slightly.
She couldn’t say why the idea made her so uncomfortable. Just that it did.
“Fine,” Kate said, standing again. “But is it not worth trying? Rather than have to tell Eileen that her cottage will be surrounded by luxury villas, or tell this lot that our castle won’t be ours anymore?”
The thought made Jenna feel sick. She hated letting people down.
“Just – think about it. Use your honey.”
Jenna scowled at Kate’s retreating back.
She couldn’t ‘use her honey.’ She was fairly certain she didn’t possess any for a start.
“Jenna, can I sit?”
Jenna looked up to see Martin smiling down at her. She looked over to see that her dad was deep in conversation with Mr. & Mrs. Rafferty behind the bar. He’d be there all night by the looks of things.
“Of course,” she said brightly.
Martin sat and pushed another wine glass across the table toward her. The one she had was still full, but he obviously hadn’t noticed.