by Callie Quigg
With one last glance in the rearview mirror to check for out of place hairs and smudged lipstick, she grabbed her knockoff Birkin bag and laptop and stepped out of her clunker car.
The Derryveagh Mountains, already draped with snow, gave a postcard-perfect backdrop. Despite her being in a valley and surrounded by hundred-year-old Scots Pines, gnashing wind from Lough Veagh bit her cheeks and yanked her hair, leaving the beach curls it took over an hour to achieve a snarled bird’s nest of tangles. So much for looking put together.
Oncoming snow scented the air, and she sent up a silent prayer to the Universe and bloated gray clouds requesting rain. Ireland and snow weren’t a good mix. Six inches or more would cause an Irish Armageddon. The airports would close, people would ransack supermarkets, and the infrastructure would stall. Those kinds of headaches were something she didn’t need. Guests would arrive in a few days, and if the weather forecast was right and the end of the worldwas nigh, she’d have to figure out how to get members of the glitterati from various airports around the country to the castle. But fretting about what hadn’t happened yet was energy she didn’t have to spare. She’d take things one day at a time. What else could she do?
Ella wanted a small wedding and had invited fifty of her closest friends. Next year, she and Kai would have a Hollywood bash, and Quinn hoped with every cell of her being, if there were no major hitches this week, they would hire her to organize it. Their Christmas wedding would make her career in Ireland, but their second showbiz wedding would establish her career worldwide.
Her spiked heels crunched along the pebbled courtyard, and she gazed up in wonder, as she always did, when the clustered towers of Oak Castle came into view. History surrounded her, and she imagined the lords and ladies and kings and queens who once traveled the exact steps she now strode across.
Winter-stripped branches scarred the rough stone walls and knocked against arched windows, giving the castle a gothic feel. The serenity and stillness of the wooded estate filled her with hope and possibility. Christmas had always been her favorite holiday, but the wonder of the season combined with a wedding chased goose bumps up her arms.
Nothing could go wrong. Nothing.
Quinn hung her bag from the crook of her arm and walked toward the entrance.
Flames danced and snapped in the grand fireplace surrounded by thick, smoke-blackened stone, and the tick-tock of a grandfather clock echoed around the vast foyer. Two red renaissance style sofas sat on either side of the fire and rich tapestries depicting ancient battles hung on the walls. Apart from the dated and dusty décor, the castle couldn’t be more perfect. Most of the furnishings were original, ornate, and luxurious, and no way could money buy a finer or a more authentic atmosphere.
A damp, earthy smell infused the air, and in the distance, clanging tools sang as contractors fixed the antiquated electrical and plumbing systems. She’d kept the wedding venue top secret, and the construction companies she’d hired had no idea why they were fixing the castle up under such a tight timeframe. Everything was on a need to know basis. The FBI could interrogate and torture her, and she still wouldn’t reveal the secret. She’d signed her soul away when she’d signed the contract.
“What the fuck’s going on he-yah?” barked a brash New York accent.
Lily Crawford . For the past week, Quinn had spoken to her every waking hour on the phone and had received over sixty emails a day. Whenever Ella changed her mind, or had a random thought like should her guests do a body cleanse before the wedding, or should her bridesmaids go on a rice-cake diet, Lily emailed or called Quinn, even if it was 2 a.m.
Pasting on her most professional smile, Quinn walked toward Lily, who marched down the sweeping staircase at the back of the foyer. Her nerves jumped and jangled, but she refused to show it. Revealing her anxiety to Lily could get her eaten alive.
“I don’t care… Do this for me, you pathetic piece…” Lily acknowledged Quinn by holding up her finger in a one-minute gesture.
Quinn nodded in response and examined the ass-kicking woman in front of her. The face-fillers gave her face a pinched look, which disguised her age. Quinn guessed late forties to early fifties. The Valentino suit Lily wore was as dark as the ebony razor-cut hair skimming her chin, which contrasted with her ghostly skin, scarlet lips, and sharp steel-blue eyes that could flay the flesh from bones.
Lily stabbed the end call button and made her way to Quinn. The clicks of her Jimmy Choos popped like firecrackers against the stone floor. This was a woman who would take no shit.
Quinn held out her hand, which Lily accepted in a bone-crushing grip.
“Talk to me.” She stared over Quinn’s shoulder.
She dropped Lily’s hand and followed her line of sight. “Are you expecting someone else?”
“The rest of your team?” The exasperated look on the woman’s face said you’re freaking kidding me. “There’s no way one person can control this circus. And by your puke-inducing video pitch, I expected your fiancé here throwing rose petals at your feet.”
Heat filled Quinn’s cheeks and she fiddled with the strap on her bag. “Like I said in my email to Ella, he’s on business. There’s no entourage, only me. But as you can tell from my emails and phone calls, everything’s under control. And you’ll be happy to know the marriage license arrived this morning thanks to an acquaintance of mine rushing it through.”
“And that’s supposed to impress me?” Lily’s eyes narrowed to slits, and she opened her mouth as if to say something, but before she did, the cell clasped in her hand trilled like an old-fashioned rotary phone. Holding up her finger again, she marched away. Six days of Sergeant Crawford bawling orders was going to be a bundle of fun, but Quinn wasn’t fazed. She’d worked with enough bridezillas and monsters of the bride over the years to know how to handle anyone.
While Lily continued to suck the soul from whoever was on the other side of the line, Quinn made her way to the office behind the reception desk.
“Brendan, you in there?” She pushed the creaking office door open.
Brendan Moran, the castle’s owner, perched at the edge of his paper-strewn desk with a phone trapped between his thick cauliflower ear and wide neck. Sweat beaded across his flame red forehead and cheeks, and his usually flawless salt n’ pepper hair stuck up in weird angles as if he’d spent the last hour tearing it out. If he wasn’t one of the healthiest men she knew, Quinn would’ve said he was a sitting heart attack.
“You okay?” she mouthed.
He shrugged his broad shoulders and smashed the phone into its cradle. “Bloody reporters. So bloody much for it being a bloody secret. Someone’s only gone and leaked that Ella bloody Harper is getting married in a castle in bloody Ireland this weekend. The place’ll be crawling with paparazzi and fans before you know it.”
“Crap. No one working here knows, and I know you haven’t said anything.”
“Not a word.”
Brendan wouldn’t have gone to the media, so the blabbermouth must have been someone on Ella’s side looking for a quick buck. But it didn’t matter whose camp it came from because if Lily found out the press were sniffing around, the blame would stop at Quinn’s door. She sat beside Brendan, being careful not to send any of the stacked paperwork tumbling. “Did they say they knew for sure the wedding was here?”
“Not in so many words, no. They were fishing.”
“How many wedding castles are there in Ireland?”
“Too many if you ask me.”
“Exactly,” Quinn said. “They’re phoning every single castle searching for a scoop. No one’ll figure it out, and if they do, we’ll handle it. But to be on the safe side, I’ll arrange for extra security this weekend. Let’s keep this between us for now.”
Brendan nodded, seeming satisfied with Quinn’s solution, and slid from the desk. “I suppose you’ve met the T-Rex.”
“Lily?”
“
Aye. That one’s a right piece of work.” He laughed. “Wanted me to paint the honeymoon suite pink. Can you believe that? Pink? Said it’s Ella’s favorite color. I said ‘A fourteenth-century castle with pink walls? You’re having a laugh.’”
“Don’t worry. I’ll veto the pink walls.” Quinn patted his hand. “As for the rest, it’s just for a few days. Imagine how many people are going to want to get married here next year, and then you’ll be able to afford the rest of the renovations and make this place a haven. Wait and see, people will flock to here.”
“I know, chicken, you’re right. But if this week doesn’t kill me—”
A pounding on the office door stopped their conversation.
“Ms. Marshall,” Lily called. “There’s someone out here who’s just dying to see you.”
“Be right there.” She wasn’t expecting anyone. All contractors had already arrived, and no one else was due. Puzzled, Quinn left the office and went into the foyer with Brendan in her wake.
A man fashioned from pure testosterone, dressed in a charcoal gray suit and a black wool overcoat, stood with his arms folded. His high cheekbones and full lips would make women all over the world drop their panties. Snow dotted his tousled brown hair. Snow. Shit. The Universe hadn’t answered her prayer for no snow, but had made up for it by sending some eye candy her way.
His ice-blue eyes were colder than frost, but when they caught Quinn’s gaze, tingles warmed her skin, and her vow of chastity packed its bags, waved goodbye, and slammed the door.
He flashed a lethal smile and strode toward her. She made a move to get out of his trajectory, but before she could, he trapped her in a bear hug and hoisted her from the ground.
“Sweetheart, I didn’t think I’d make it.” His Irish accent held a slight American twang and flowed as smoothly as a freshly poured pint of Guinness. “I rearranged my schedule so I could be here for you.”
“I’m sorry, I don—”
The stranger lowered her and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. “By God, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I’ve missed you.”
A bead of sweat slid down the valley of her breasts, and hazy confusion swirled around her mind. Hysteria tickled her throat and an overwhelming urge to laugh worked its way upward.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and held out his free hand to Brendan. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Ronan. Quinn’s fiancé.”
Chapter Two
The world around Quinn faded to black, and her legs quivered. She bit back a whimper and was half glad the stranger had his arm around her waist to hold her up.
This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Maybe she was dreaming, and if she clicked her heels three times, she’d wake up at home.
Brendan smiled and shook the stranger’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m glad you could make it. Quinn said you were away on business till the New Year.”
The man gazed down at her. “I couldn’t let Quinn do this on her own.”
Cold fear clawed at her chest. “How—”
“Never mind about that.” He nudged his hip against hers. “Are you surprised?”
“You could say that.” Quinn’s words were nothing more than a strangled whisper. She needed to talk to this man on her own. Find out what kind of cruel joke he was playing and who put him up to it. No one in her life knew about the fake fiancé story she’d told to win the job. “Brendan, Lily, could you give us a minute? I’d like to bring my fiancé up to speed on a few things.”
Brendan’s confused eyes darted between Quinn and Ronan, obviously sensing something was up. “Lily, let’s go look at the honeymoon suite again. See where we can pink it up.”
“I knew you’d come to your senses.” Lily grabbed Brendan’s bicep and pulled him toward the stairs.
A rush of anger heated Quinn’s face and pummeled her brain, resulting in a headache that threatened to crack her skull in two. What was this guy after? Whatever it was, he wouldn’t get it. Half-dragging the stranger, she marched to Brendan’s office. Anger and fear hammered inside of her, seeking a way out. She slammed the door shut and spun around to face him.
“Who are you, and what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her voice shook, and she didn’t hide her fury. Being nice to someone who’d dropped a world-ending lie at her feet was pointless.
Mr. Alpha Male settled himself on the swivel chair behind Brendan’s desk and glowered. “Your fiancé. Don’t you recognize me?”
She pressed her white-knuckled fists onto the desk. “Who. The. Fuck. Are. You.”
“Ronan Donovan, Donovan Events.” He leaned back and stretched his long legs out in front of him.
“Who?” Thoughts charged through her mind and she searched for his name. After a few seconds, a neon light went off in her head, and she realized who he was. “You—you pitched for the wedding. Ella’s assistant sent me a list…”
“So much for anonymity. I did some digging. I was curious how someone with your stellar reputation managed to get this gig.”
Blood buzzed through her ears, throwing off her equilibrium, and she steadied her thighs against the desk to stop from keeling over.
He clasped his hands together and leaned across the desk. A grimace contorted his face. “You’re a con artist and a liar.”
She gave her head a vehement shake. After everything Brady had put her through, the last thing she’d ever do was con anyone. How was she going to get out of this mess? Throw herself at Donovan’s mercy and explain what had happened? Explain how foolish she’d been to fall for promises of forever? Offer him her body in exchange for his silence?
The suspicious glint in his eyes told her he wouldn’t give a shit if she got on her knees and kissed his feet.
“I might be a liar, but I’ve never conned anyone out of anything.” She curled one of her hands into a fist, hankering to punch his perfect nose. “What do you want? If it’s money you’re after, you’re too late. Someone already took every penny I had.”
She pushed away from the desk before she caused him some grievous bodily harm and paced the narrow space. The ancient floorboards groaned with every step, as if sensing her distress. There had to be some way to persuade him to leave. Something she could give him.
“What do I want?” Ronan stood, prowled across the room, and situated himself in front of a grimy bay window. He locked his hands behind his back and stood there like the lord of the manor. “Let’s see… I want you to resign, and I want my company to come in and, as it were, save the day.”
“Exactly what the world needs,” she said, not even attempting to hide her sarcasm, “a wedding-planning superhero. What are your powers? Decorating a cake in ten seconds?”
He shrugged with seeming indifference. “You scammed your way into a contract. A contract that belongs to my company.”
Sandpaper grated her parched throat, and she stopped pacing. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when she was so close to making a success of things. “Look, I’m sorry if your feelings are hurt. This isn’t personal. It’s business. I need this job. If I lose it, I’ll lose—”
“Your dignity?” He sneered then smirked. “I’d say you’ve already lost that.”
Acid laced fury ate its way up her esophagus, burning holes in her throat. Crap. She wanted to scream that if she lost this wedding, she’d lose everything.
“I’m good at my job.” Her words didn’t conceal her desperation. “Whatever you’ve heard, it isn’t true.”
“Seems true enough for the couples who paid deposits for wedding receptions that didn’t happen.” He regarded her coolly, hatred shining through his eyes. “A thief as well as a liar. Your parents must be so proud.”
“I’m not a thief,” she said on a low breath. Her plan was to settle her debts and control the damage before too many people heard about the missing money. But she couldn’t control broken hearted brides posting on forums about the dream receptions they would
n’t have. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Believe me, I do. I have it on good authority. Did you somehow misplace their money?” His gaze moved from her head to toes and back again. “By the way you’re dressed, I’m guessing you lost it all on clothes.”
She tugged at the hem of her jacket. “If you knew anything about clothes, you’d know this suit was from a discount store.”
“I might not know about clothes, but I know a fraud when I meet one.”
This. Wasn’t. Happening. Quinn rolled her shoulders back, sucked in a calming breath, and stood tall. Twenty minutes ago, everything was perfect and falling into place. But now this Ronan person threatened to destroy everything she’d worked for. One man already tried, and he hadn’t succeeded. Neither would Ronan.
“I won this contract on my own merits, and I—”
“Own merits? More like false pretenses.”
“I don’t care what you call it.” She smoothed her fingers over her hair and ran her hands down the front of her jacket. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a wedding to plan.”
“But I do mind, very much.”
Adrenaline barreled through her bloodstream and possible solutions whirled around her mind. If she had any money left, she could pay him off, but judging by his expensive wool coat, and the tailored suit beneath it, money wasn’t something he lacked. Maybe if she got in touch with Ella, she could explain. Say it was all a misunderstanding. No, that wouldn’t work. Despite all the crap written online about Quinn’s business, Ella was in love with Quinn’s love story. If Ella found out it was all make believe, Quinn would be out of this business forever.
“You’re so damn self-righteous and so caught up in calling me a liar,” she said, crossing her arms, “but look in the mirror. By pretending to be my fiancé, you’re a liar, too. What do you think Lily will say if she finds out?”
“She’d be grateful to have a professional clean up the disaster you’re going to make.”