Determined billionaire, p.20
Determined Billionaire, page 20
part #4 of Titans Series
“So Jack Quinn has been felled by the fine lass from Westport.” From across the Atlantic, Bonds’s voice reverberated with euphoria.
“I’ll have a little more respect for my suffering, if you please.”
Bonds rubbed his hands together. “You must have been a heathen to her.”
“Must have been.” Perhaps the uncomfortable observation wasn’t far off the mark. Kidnapping was not the most auspicious beginning to a relationship, he supposed, though he comforted himself with the knowledge she’d have needed to return home for her aunt’s funeral.
“The Tornado didn’t impress her?”
“Not at all.”
“Hmm.” Bonds shrugged. “Odd.”
“Not much does. She has little time for riches.”
Julien blinked. “What does she have time for?”
“Friends. Family. The bed-and-breakfast. Her music, writing songs, performing.” Connection. The sex between them was fucking remarkable. And the time spent at the cottage, where they worked on a puzzle and talked of his past, had been some of the most memorable he’d ever spent. Memorable? Perhaps more than that, even. He’d been more honest with her than any other person. It was his discussions with Sinead that made him realize how much the absence of parents affected him, leading him to isolate himself, wall off his emotions as a way to ensure he was never vulnerable.
Until her, it had worked.
Since she’d been gone from his life, he’d been restless and unable to focus on work. A week ago, he’d finally returned to Ireland from New York. It was as if he was pulled back, unable to escape Ireland’s snare.
Julien resumed bouncing his ball, the sound echoing off the walls around him.
“Is there a reason you called at this ungodly hour?” Jack asked. “Other than to flay my heart to pieces?”
“I didn’t need to do that.” Julien tossed the ball toward a basketball hoop. After circling the rim, it dropped in. He grinned. “You fileted it yourself.”
Julien had a few questions about Molly Three and the computer’s interface with the other homes Jack owned. Grant Kingston, who was Molly’s developer, could have phoned himself. But Jack was willing to bet Julien had stolen the responsibility from his trusted friend and longtime second-in-command.
As the call wrapped up, Bonds offered a bit of parting—and unsolicited—advice. “You might want to try falling on your fork.”
“Sword?”
“Do whatever you need to.” Bonds waved the interruption aside. “A woman who only wants you for one thing is someone you need to hang on to.”
Jack scowled at Bonds’s vagueness. The other man fancied himself a bit of a matchmaker, but this time, even Julien Bonds couldn’t make magic happen. “I’ve told you she no desire for my money or the things I can do for her.”
“You can see this for yourself, I assume?”
“See what?”
Bonds exhaled a long-suffering sigh, accompanied by a meme-worthy eyeroll. “Are you daft, man? That’s the word, isn’t it? Do I sound Irish now? I do, don’t I? Been working on perfecting that lilt.”
The accent was dreadful. “Terrible, Bonds.”
He blinked. “You’re being unkind now. Tat for tit.”
“Tit for tat.”
“Precisely. Anyway, since you’re bloody daft…” He grinned again. “She wants your love.”
Gutted, Jack blinked. His grandmother had said much the same thing. That was the one thing he was incapable of offering.
“Demanding, isn’t she? So delicious. I adore a woman who knows what she wants and refuses to settle for anything less. If you weren’t so daft, you’d see it yourself. Would you honestly want a woman who did want you for your money? Mercenary.” He gave a shudder so exaggerated it almost lifted him from the ground.
“It’s more straightforward. A business deal.”
“And they can be messy too, hmm? Affaires de coeur are delicious. They make life worth living. Not always a horrible thing. In fact…” His eyes lit. “Aria has positively bewitched Grant. Enough that he’s moved to California.”
“From New Mexico?”
“That may be my biggest stroke of genius yet. They’re together, and I got Grant out of his godforsaken cave. What they’re accomplishing together is nothing short of brilliant. And it was all my idea.”
“They don’t call you the genius for nothing.” Jack looked at Bonds without responding for a long minute. Though he seemed fine, he was still thinner than usual, a little more gaunt. “How are you doing?”
“Recovering. Accepting.”
Julien’s loss hadn’t been easy. Though dozens of friends had flown in from all over the world to support him, he’d borne the brunt alone.
“I don’t regret the experience.” Bonds bounced his ball again. “Life is painful, Quinn. No guarantees. Tell me you aren’t a miserable cur at this moment. Prove me right.”
Jack winced. “Do you ever pull your punches?”
“Not when it comes to my friends.”
What the hell did he do to his enemies? Eviscerate them.
Bonds sank another basket. “But, suffer if you must.”
On that cheerful note, the screen went blank.
With Bonds’s words churning in his mind, Jack resumed pacing. A few seconds later, notes from a Celtic World Nations song filled the room. “Molly, silence, please.”
“I like it.”
Normally so did he. But Sinead’s voice was there, on backup vocals. “Do you want me to reboot you?”
Silence was instant, thundering in his ears.
As torturous as listening was, perhaps being wrapped in Sinead’s voice was better than the emptiness that was now his life.
Until she left, he’d never been lonely.
Until she left, he hadn’t known he had a heart.
“It’s brilliant, Sinead. Fucking brilliant. Melancholy as hell. It has real potential.”
She glanced over at Lachlan, the front man for Celtic World Nations. “You like it? You’re not having me on, are you?” She’d finished the composition close to two months ago, during that grief-filled week after Jack had taken back off in the helicopter and Aunt Gemma had passed.
The days had been a blur, but she had the song to show for her grief.
As she’d written the lyrics, she’d drawn on the memory of the time at Jack’s cottage and the view of Croagh Patrick slowly being engulfed, first by mist, then by fog. Then finally, over time, drenched in sun.
In the song, rain was metaphor for tears, the fog for the loss of something she’d really never had, but now yearned for. Bagpipes came in at that point, adding a sorrowful note.
Then, as the storm gave way to the sun, she alluded to hope that Ireland’s craggy cliffs and verdant landscape would bring a deep healing.
Right now, at this rehearsal, was the first time she’d had the courage to share it with her bandmates.
“I think we should add it the set list,” Lachlan said.
Other band members nodded.
Tomorrow, Celtic World Nations was performing at the local Crew Bay Musical Festival. They still weren’t big enough to be the headliner, but they weren’t the event’s first act like they had been a few years before.
Sinead was happy to try out the song, but she wasn’t sure she was emotionally strong enough to sing it herself. “You’re a much better vocalist,” she protested.
“Not on this one. There’s fucking heart in it, Sinead.”
And that was the reason she didn’t think she could do it.
The ever-loyal Brandon spoke up. “Lachlan’s right.”
Her heart rate spiked. “I’ll consider it.”
“No one else has time to learn it before tomorrow.”
“He’s right again.” Brandon shrugged. “Say yes, Sinead. We need to get the set list ready so we can all go have a drink.”
She looked at the expectant faces of her bandmates. It would be her call, she knew. Debuting a new tune at the festival was a good idea. Only a lack of courage would hold her back.
“You’re a professional, Sinead.” Lachlan brushed his long hair back from his face.
And so what if she poured her heart into it? As long as she recovered enough for the ending, she could compose herself during the chorus. “You’ll be on backup?”
“Yeah. You can be counting on that.”
As she nodded, Brandon cheered.
“Where are we going to put it in?” she asked.
Lachlan walked over to his electronic tablet and rearranged the order. “Toward the beginning.”
After much discussion, everyone agreed that they would start with three of their most popular tunes, then slide into Sinead’s “Emerald Inspiration.” Because it was so haunting, they’d wrap the ending with a reprise of the opening song, “Runaway.” That would bring the audience’s energy back up and get them primed to sing along with the band’s number one song, “Westport Sinner.”
So they’d perform together seamlessly tomorrow, they ran through the opening several times; then Lachlan rang one of his mates to join them for Sinead’s new song. Since Sinead wasn’t available for bagpipes on her song, they could use an extra set of lungs to give the performance more power.
Two hours later, rehearsal finally over, she was exhausted.
The band members began packing up their equipment, and Lachlan checked his phone.
“Howya!” He waved them over.
“What’s the story?” She grabbed her bag and headed over to join them.
“We’re going to have a visitor tomorrow.”
“Who?”
“Jaxon Mills.”
“Savage.” Brandon whistled.
She frowned. “Who’s that?”
Eyes wide, Brandon looked at her. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Sorry.” All the band members were looking at her as if she’d dropped from a UFO or something. “I’m taking it I should know who he is.” An actor, maybe? Oh! Perhaps someone in the music industry. Lachlan had been working diligently to get them a record label, but so far nothing had happened.
“He’s a social media guru.”
“Is that all?” Was that supposed to impress her?
“He has millions of followers. If he tells them to check someone or something out, they do because they trust him.” Lachlan shrugged. “He’s known to be a bit blunt.”
She leaned down to zip her bag.
“He’s coming to Ireland to see us,” Lachlan explained.
“Fucking deadly, mate.” That was Brandon.
What am I missing? He was well-known on social media. So were plenty of other people.
“He says one of our tunes came up in his recommendations on his streaming service. Liked it enough to fly out here and have a listen.”
Brandon all but bounced with nervous energy. “If he likes us and gives us a shout-out, we’ll be known around the world.”
Sinead slung her bag over her shoulder.
“This is a big deal, Sinead,” Brandon insisted.
Because it seemed like something others were excited about, she smiled. “Then let’s make the most of it.” With that, she excused herself, then headed for the exit.
The other lads continued to exclaim over their good fortune, but Sinead reserved judgment. A shout-out on social media would be awesome. But enough to change the band’s fortunes?
At the door, Brandon caught up to her. Sinead took a breath to smother her impatience.
“How about a pint? I’ll even buy.”
“Responsibilities.” She forced a smile. “I need to get back.” Mary hadn’t yet returned to work full-time. On the rare occasion that she came to the bed-and-breakfast, it seemed to be because she needed a break. She was helping her father adjust to life without Gemma, and Mary’s own anguish had left her as a shell of the bubbly person she’d been.
Sinead’s mother was listless as well. Losing her sister so unexpectedly had devastated her.
Because their lives had crashed around them, Sinead had brought on a new woman to help out. Michelle was a love and had plenty of experience in the hospitality industry, which was a blessing, but having her more than part-time was an expense they could ill afford.
At least everyone was planning an outing to the festival tomorrow, as a family—a chance to reconnect.
“After the show, then?”
“We’ll see.” Sinead no longer had the luxury of making promises.
“Your song is good.” He rocked forward. “I mean it.”
“Thank you.” The lad was earnest, and sweet. And she wished she had even an ounce of attraction for him. She’d enjoy having him as a friend, but he’d made it plenty clear that wasn’t what he was after.
“You’ve had your heart broken.”
“That’s a load of rubbish.” Her shoulders drooped. Was it that obvious? “I’ve had a lot on, with my aunt and the bed-and-breakfast.”
“Aye.” He nodded, but his stare said he saw right through the lie. “That kind of music comes from somewhere, doesn’t it? Deep inside, like a well? Something that wasn’t there a few weeks ago. You’ve changed, Sinead.”
His words followed her home and through the afternoon, where she put out wine and a cheese tray for their guests.
Even though she chatted with people, she didn’t remember anyone’s name—unusual for her.
In the early evening, after her mother had already gone to bed, Sinead went up to her own quarters, a tiny place that had once served as a maid’s bedroom. It wasn’t big enough for much more than a cot, a sight different than Jack’s room at Quinn Manor, and even the impressive suite at the cottage.
What in the name of all things bright and beautiful was wrong with her?
Brandon couldn’t possibly be right.
Jack didn’t mean that much to her. They’d had a quick, consuming affair. Nothing more. Like a fire in the hearth at the cottage. A blaze, followed by ashes.
Restless, she dropped down onto her bed and sat cross-legged on top of the covers, then tugged her notebook and pen from the nightstand. She flipped open the cover and thumbed through it. None of the ideas in it captured her interest. So she turned to a blank page and began to doodle, not thinking, just allowing her hand to move.
When she was finished, she studied her creation.
A tree that had lost all its leaves, save one.
There was a large heap beneath the bare branches.
More melancholy?
With a frustrated sigh, she tossed the notebook aside. This was unlike her. And she blamed Brandon.
Ever since she’d returned to Radharc Na Mara Manor, she’d kept herself moving forward, to the point of exhaustion. Helping plan the funeral, joining the band, composing, working, trying to implement some of the plans Jack had shown her. They hadn’t been able to afford much, but they’d cultivated some of the lawns, creating a spot for outdoor games. She’d bought a croquet and badminton set, and even installed a horseshoe pit. Last week, the bocce set she’d ordered had arrived. The addition of a few tables and chairs had encouraged guests to linger and laugh more, and take plenty of pictures that they shared on social media.
That thought led her full circle back to the band’s enthusiasm for their guest tomorrow, Jaxon Mills. So she looked him up on her phone.
The more she read, the wider her eyes opened.
Social media guru didn’t begin to cover who he was. He did promotions of all sorts along with tons of marketing. His videos had been seen multimillions of times. As for followers? Tens of millions was more like it. He told his minions to check something out, and they did.
Her mouth dropped open.
Not that it mattered, but he was American, as well as gorgeous—movie-star good looks. She continued her research. Seems he’d gotten married this summer, and he’d sold access to his wedding pictures to a big gossip magazine, on the condition that the funds went to charity.
Mindlessly, she scrolled through the pictures, until one stopped her cold. One with his right hand raised. She zoomed in, focusing on his ring…until she recognized the owl on it.
He was a Titan?
She fell back against her headboard.
Jack?
Even now, was he working to influence her life? Or had Jaxon found Celtic World Nations on his own? And wouldn’t that be a coincidence?
She dropped her phone.
It couldn’t be Jack. She hadn’t heard from him in the two months they’d been apart. Though she would never admit it aloud, there were evenings where loneliness got the best of her, and she searched him out online. Disappointingly there was little there.
He’d been at the opening of a new Bonds store in London. The photo of him hadn’t been great, but he was wearing a smile.
From the looks of it, he’d gone on with his life as if their relationship never happened. It was high time she got on with her life too, shaking off her cloak of gloominess and, instead, looking to the future.
For a moment, though, the past crept back. What would her life be like right now if she’d said yes to his proposal? Would they be planning their ceremony? Or would he have wanted something quick? In that case, she’d already be Sinead Quinn.
That thought made her jump out of bed.
She’d be Sinead Quinn, for sure. But she’d be away from her family, perhaps isolated in one of his homes. She wouldn’t be rehearsing with the band and seeing her mother every day.
If she had fallen for his lunacy, she’d be even more miserable than she was now. Even though she repeated that to herself like a mantra, she couldn’t quite make herself believe it.
Downstairs, a couple laughed, their happiness ringing through the house. Instead of that making her smile, it reinforced her loneliness.
Meeting Jack had been the worst, best, sexiest, most awful thing ever. One thing was certain—since they parted, she’d never been more miserable.
