Page 101 of See You Maybe
Declan didn’t spare her a glance, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip of whiskey. He set the glass down before speaking. “How is my interest, or lack of interest, in another woman any of your business?”
Fiona gasped. Declan was being harsh, but she had tried to put on a show all night for her friends, and he was tired of it. Her falsity was more grating than normal, and Declan knew the entire reason behind that was Olivia.
Olivia, who had just left the restaurant with Chris Keller. His mood darkened. “I played along tonight because you’ve obviously told your friends we are a couple, but I want to make something clear. Our merger is not a sure thing, and your threats are making it less likely to occur.”
Fiona’s face turned red. “You are acting like an asshole.”
“I am an asshole,” he bit out. “You should think about that. If we marry, that won’t change. We both know what this is. Don’t pretend I’ve ever told you differently.”
“Are you fucking her?”
Declan finished his whiskey in one shot. He didn’t bother to ask who she meant. “I work with Olivia, but even if I were, it has nothing to do with you. Just like whoever you are fucking has nothing to do with me.”
Fiona tapped her nails against her wineglass. “I’ve never seen you like this”
Declan sighed. “Like what?”
“I’ve watched you cycle through countless women, never dating anyone more than a few times. But I saw how you couldn’t keep your eyes off her in New York, and then again tonight. It’s different. We are getting married?—”
“Last I checked, I haven’t proposed.”
“Quit the games, Declan. I know how your family feels about me, but I also know you need my father’s vote. This arrangement is mutually beneficial.”
The whiskey in his belly turned sour. Fiona was right. Without her father’s support, Declan would have a hard time swaying enough shareholders to get a majority vote. But for the first time in his life, he was wondering if it was all worth it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
New York—12 years ago
Declan was six whiskeys deep when Chris clapped him hard on the back.
“Welcome home.”
Declan kept his gaze on the tumbler in front of him, as his best friend hopped onto the next stool.
“How the hell did you find this place?” Chris asked, looking around the dim room barely lit by neon beer signs on the wall.
“No one knows me here.”
Chris smirked. “That’s for sure. What are you wearing? Did you piss off the housekeeper, and she burned your clothes?”
Declan wore the same jeans, T-shirt, and boots that had been his uniform for the last week. The last thing to let go of. One last hold to the past before he forced himself back into the slick designer world he was bound to. He snorted. Pathetic.
Declan shot the remains of his drink, and the bartender immediately filled it without a word.
Chris peered at him. “Are you okay?”
“Grand,” he slurred slightly.
“You look like you’re ready to rip someone apart.” Chris’s expression changed. “You aren’t planning on getting in a fight, are you?”
Declan picked up his glass between two fingers and dangled it in front of him. That actually sounded like a pretty great idea. Maybe physical pain would finally be the thing to dull whatever devastation was happening inside of him.
He glanced at the other patrons in the bar, hoping someone would give him an excuse to give into the storm that raged in his blood.
“Dec, I was kidding.” Chris looked worried.
Declan sighed. There were times Seamus’s hot-headed, hit-first-think-later company was preferable. His brother never shied away from a good fight and would understand if Declan took on every fucker in the place.