Having Her Boss's Baby. Maureen Child

almost as if they’d forgotten her presence entirely. She’d bitten her tongue so many times, that particular organ felt swollen in her mouth. And yet, there came a time when a woman could be silent no longer and Aine had just reached it. Looking from one man to the other, she focused on Sean Ryan since he seemed to be the most reasonable.

      “You’re talking about turning a dignified piece of Irish history into a mockery of itself,” she said bluntly.

      Before Sean could speak, his brother said, “I understand you feel a little protective of the castle, but—”

      “Protective, yes, but it’s more than that,” she argued, shifting her gaze from one to the other of the three men, ending finally by meeting Brady’s gaze. “There’s tradition. There’s the centuries etched into every stone.”

      “It’s a building,” Brady said. “One that you yourself have already agreed needs remodeling.”

      “To that, yes, I do agree,” she said quickly, leaning toward him a bit to emphasize what she wanted to say. “And I’m pleased to hear you’re going to make some long-needed repairs to the castle. I’ve some ideas for changes that would enhance our guests’ experiences even while keeping the building’s, for lack of a better word, soul intact.”

      Amused, Brady asked, “You believe the castle has a soul?”

      She looked almost affronted. “It’s been standing since 1430,” she reminded him, so focused on Brady alone that the other men in the room might not have been there at all. “People have come and gone, but the castle remains. It’s stood against invaders, neglect and indifference. It’s housed kings and peasants and everything in between. Why wouldn’t it have a soul?”

      “That’s very...Irish of you to think so.”

      She didn’t care for the patronizing smile he offered her. “As you’re Irish yourself, you should agree.”

      Brady’s features froze over. It was as if she’d doused him with a bucket of ice water. Aine didn’t know what it was about her simple statement that had turned him to stone, but clearly, she’d hit a very sore spot.

      “Only my name is Irish,” he said shortly.

      “An intriguing statement,” she answered, never moving her gaze from his.

      “I’m not trying to intrigue you,” he pointed out. “I’m saying that if you’re looking for a kindred spirit in this, it’s not me.”

      “Okay,” Sean said, voice overly cheerful. “So we’re all Irish here—some of us more than others. Let’s move on, huh?”

      Aine stiffened, didn’t so much as acknowledge Sean’s attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m not looking for a friend or a confidante or a kindred spirit, as you say,” she said and every word was measured, careful, as she deliberately tried to hold on to a temper that was nearly choking her. “I’ve come thousands of miles at your direction to discuss the future of Castle Butler. I can give you information on the building, the village it supports and the country it resides in. All of which you might have found out for yourself had you bothered to once visit the property in person.”

      Silence hummed uncomfortably in the room for a few long seconds before Brady spoke up. “While I admire your guts in speaking your mind, I also wonder if you think the wisest course of action is to piss off your new boss.”

      “All right, then,” she forced herself to say at last. “I’ll apologize for my outburst, as it wasn’t my intention to insult you.”

      “No need to apologize.”

      “I’ll decide for myself when I’m wrong, thanks,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “I promised myself I’d keep my temper in check, and I didn’t. So for that I’m sorry.”

      “Fine.”

      She swept her gaze across all three men, who were now watching her as if she was an unstable bomb. “But I won’t apologize for telling you what I think about the castle and its future.”

      Once again, she met the eyes of all three men before focusing on Brady alone. “I’ve been nervous about this meeting. It’s important to me that the people who work at the castle—including me—keep our jobs. I want the castle to shine again, as it should.”

      Brady’s gaze held hers, and she felt the Ryan brothers watching her, as well. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut. Perhaps she didn’t have the right to say anything at all about their plans for the place she loved. But she couldn’t sit idly by and pretend all was well when it certainly wasn’t.

      Still meeting Brady’s gaze, she asked, “Did you bring me all this way to simply agree with your decisions? Is that what you expect from your hotel manager? To stand quietly at your side and do everything you say?”

      Brady tipped his head to one side and studied her. “You’re asking if I want a yes man?”

      “Exactly.”

      “Of course I don’t,” he said sharply. “I want your opinions, as I told you last night.”

      Aine blew out a breath. “Now that you’ve opened the door, I can only hope you won’t regret it.”

      “I admire honesty,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I’ll agree with you—but I want to know what you really think about what we’re planning.”

      Nodding, she sat more easily in her chair and glanced at the Ryan brothers. “I’ll say it’s hard to form an opinion with nothing more to go on than these descriptions of your ideas you’ve been giving me.”

      “I think we can take care of that,” Mike said. “We’ve got a few drawings that could give you a better picture of what we have in mind.”

      Brady nodded. “Jenny Marshall’s drafted some basic art that should help.”

      “Jenny Marshall again?” Mike looked at his brother. “What, is she our go-to artist now?”

      Aine leaned back in her chair and shook her head. Watching the brothers argue, and Brady following along, was a real lesson. The three men were clearly a unit and yet Aine had the sense that Brady was still holding back, even from his friends. As if he was deliberately standing outside, looking in from a safe distance.

      Even while the Ryans’ heated discussion amped up, she continued to watch Brady and his reaction to his friends. He seemed completely at ease with their argument, and since the brothers were Irish, she was willing to bet their differences of opinion happened frequently. The mystery for her was why he separated himself from the disagreement. Did he simply not care one way or the other about the artist’s work or was it an inborn remoteness that drove him?

      “Jenny’s good, I keep telling you.” Sean shrugged. “You haven’t even looked at the mock-ups she’s done of the stuff Peter was supposed to have finished five months ago.”

      “It’s Peter’s job, not hers,” Mike reminded his brother. “Why would I look at what she’s doing?”

      “So you could appreciate just how good she is?” Sean asked.

      Mike scowled at his younger brother. “Why are you so anxious to push Jenny off on us?”

      “He just told you why,” a voice said as the door opened to admit a petite, curvy woman with short, curly blond hair. Her blue eyes narrowed on Mike Ryan briefly before she looked at Sean and smiled. Crossing the room, she handed him a large black portfolio. “Sorry this took longer than I thought, but I wanted to finalize a few details this morning before bringing them to you.”

      “No problem, Jenny, thanks.”

      While sunlight slanted through the wide windows, Jenny and Mike faced each other across the conference table. Aine watched the byplay between the tiny blonde and the older of the Ryan brothers. There was a near visible tension humming in the room as the two of them glared at each other. And yet, she thought, neither of