“Your father has assured me that you have no plans for the day. Carrigan, why don’t you help Callista pick out something a bit more appropriate to wear while I discuss the budget with Colm?”
Which was how Callie found herself being escorted out of her father’s office and getting the door slammed in her face. She glared at the heavy wood for a long moment before remembering that she wasn’t alone in the hall. “Is your mother always so…?”
“She gets what she wants, when she wants it. Even our father doesn’t cross her.” Carrigan shrugged. “You can try to get out of what she has planned today, but I wouldn’t bet against her.”
Frustration threatened to choke her. There were so many more important things to be worried about right now. War. Threats from the Hallorans. The future of the Sheridans with her at the helm. The wedding didn’t even place top ten. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, holding for it a few seconds and then releasing it. The frustration didn’t disappear, but it was manageable now. She knew better than to fight battles she wouldn’t win, and she definitely didn’t want to cause any tension with the O’Malleys. It was more than potentially alienating a future mother-in-law. They were allies against the Hallorans and any other threat that arose—allies that, frankly, Callie’s people needed.
Which meant she had to spend today doing mindless errands like picking out flowers and deciding on catering.
She opened her eyes to find Carrigan watching her closely. The woman was as beautiful as her mother—possibly even more so. She had the kind of flawless bone structure that would last through the years, her softness burning away to leave only steel in its wake. Callie recognized it because her mother had had the same thing. She’d like to think she did as well, but she was hardly unbiased. “I need twenty minutes.” It would be cutting it close, but she refused to leave the house without at least a shower.
Especially since she swore she could smell Teague on her skin.
“I’ll stall her, but you should hurry.”
She hurried.
Twenty-two minutes later, she was back downstairs, showered and dressed in a pair of slacks and a silk shirt. Aileen swept a quick look over her. “You’ll do.”
Callie tamped down on her irritation. She’d dealt with women like Aileen O’Malley before, though most of them didn’t actually have the power they seemed to think they possessed. Aileen actually did.
So she smiled and followed the woman out to the limo parked in front of the house. Five minutes in her future mother-in-law’s presence, and she was already exhausted. The woman might smile and fawn when it suited her, but it had to be a mask. Callie had met Seamus O’Malley, and he was the kind of person who chewed up everyone around him and left them bleeding in his wake if they weren’t strong enough to endure.
Aileen was anything but broken.
In some ways, that made her even scarier than her husband.
After his night with Callie, Teague was only more determined to put a stop to this bullshit war. He spent the morning trying to get a hold of James, and finally pinned the man into agreeing to drinks tonight. It was at Mickey’s, which was right in the middle of Halloran territory, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It had the slight bonus that no one connected with the O’Malleys would see him talking to James. He doubted his father or Aiden would support it—not when it was growing clearer every day that they weren’t particularly torn up about the impending war.
Impending. He didn’t even know if he could call it that anymore. It was here, whether he liked it or not.
He walked into Mickey’s, stopping just inside the door to take in the room. On the surface, it looked just like a hundred other Irish pubs scattered around Boston—a little dark, a little dingy, and mostly empty. Or it did until he saw the crest above the bar—a shield, half-white and half-red, with a white horse on the bottom half—marking it as owned by the Hallorans. His family had something similar in the places they patronized regularly.
He’d suggested meeting somewhere in neutral territory, but James had shot him down immediately. For whatever reason, he wanted the home court advantage. Unfortunately, Teague wasn’t in a position to tell him no. So here he was, hoping like hell he wasn’t walking into a trap.
The bartender stopped wiping down the bar and looked at him, the man’s thick, bushy brows lowering until they practically covered his eyes. “Help you?” His tone said the only thing he was helping Teague with was to get his ass out the door.
“He’s with me, Tommy.” James walked through the door leading into the back—most likely to a private room—and stopped. “Been a long time.”