Page 14 of An Angel’s Share (The Greystone Family: Greystone Brothers #1)

“I know what you mean. I never let Patrick or Conor win at anything. I think that’s why they’re so determined to take over O’Clerys . They want to win this one.” Her face shows her determination to stop them, but there’s no malice in her voice.

“Well, don’t let them. Patrick has been in effect in charge for at least five years, and things are not any better.

In fact, Marshall has hinted that things are worse now.

And it’s all down to him.” I gauge her reaction to my knowing a bit about her business.

She’s listening intently so I carry on. “Conor, fair enough, was not here, but still never stopped him. And he’s probably the only one who could have said things that others couldn’t. ”

She gets a depressed look on her face. I don’t like it. I want her to be happy.

Jesus, if that isn’t a bold realisation to be slapped with. I thought I only wanted the baby, so I was prepared to do whatever it takes to make that happen. Maybe it’s a bit more complicated than that.

In all the chatter, we’ve found ourselves at the back of the house. No one is around, so I step closer to her.

“Tell me what you need. I’ll help.” I lift my hand and stroke my fingers across her brow where her worry lines have appeared. I’m trying to smooth them away, and when I look into her eyes, they’ve filled with tears.

“No one has asked me that. No one has really offered to help. Everyone is hell-bent on trying to get me to stop doing something. Either because I’m pregnant, or because they don’t like what I’m trying to do and want to get rid of me full stop.”

Bending my knees slightly so our heights are the same, I wipe my thumbs under her eyes and look directly into them. “I’ll do whatever you need me to. Anything. Just ask me, Rua. I’ll do it.”

She nods her head and steps away as we hear Marshall and Seamus coming around the side of the house, laughing and talking.

Seamus and Marshall are bantering backwards and forwards as we climb into the normal mode of transport on the estate—golf buggies.

The buggy is the easiest way to move from the house to the different distilleries.

The surface area of the new distillery is so large, this is now also the quickest form of transport within the space.

Aoife is bantering with her daddy that she might buy electric scooters.

“I can just see you on a scooter, Marshall.” She laughs at his face.

“Does it have reins?” he asks in genuine interest.

“No, handlebars. Like the kids have, just bigger.”

“I’ll stick to horsepower. Actual or motorbikes,” he states, smiling at her.

Seamus is driving, looking as happy as Larry. Clearly Marshall being here has improved his mood, his overall outlook. It’s also a rational person he can share the burden with, bounce ideas off. Marshall's knowledge is invaluable.

I can see Seamus is trying not to dump everything onto Aoife.

Probably in part due to the pregnancy. Doesn’t want to overload her too quickly, or cause any health issues for her or the baby.

But he may have to, because Marshall won’t stay.

Especially now Evie is pregnant. He’s already said he intends to go back after the board meeting.

Maybe I will stay a while, and not go back with Marshall. I need to be here. For my baby anyway.

Yeah, right.

The day is bright and easy, the weather warm.

All the staff we come across want to stop and talk to Aoife, Seamus, and Marshall.

I’m hanging on every word. Watching her interactions, how she speaks, her expressions as we come across different people.

Gauging her reactions. Comments to her dad.

Every opportunity to touch her throughout the day, I do.

I’m like a junkie craving a fix. Her scent intoxicates me.

I’m more silent than normal. Watching. I see her evaluating me as much as I am her.

But I carry on my physical onslaught. A supportive arm here, a brush of my fingers there. She starts to give me dirty looks when I make a particularly obvious move and brush her hair from her neck. She knows what I’m doing.

But I observe her body, how it fires to life if I get within breathing distance of it. It’s calling out to me, screeching my name if I get outside of ten feet from her. When I’m near, she arches into me. She doesn’t realise she’s doing it. It’s an unconscious thing. And I love it.

If she looks flushed or hot, I get her drinks.

If I can see she’s tired, but won’t give in to it, I suggest a stop.

Purely for Marshall and Seamus’s benefit, of course.

But I see the relief in her eyes. I know she knows I’m doing it for her, giving her an out.

Making sure she never looks weak, and giving the impression she’s always in control.

At the end of the day, we’re sat in the old coffee shop.

I look at the potential of the place, it could be so much more.

Red brick, with intricate patterns in the brickwork.

Nooks and crannies that could showcase so much of the distillery from the past. Huge ceilings open up to the rafters.

Open beams, and structural steel work. Intricate metalwork.

All had a purpose at one time or other. But now, modern large scale production is needed, and this place has outlived its usefulness.

It’s beautiful and old. I can imagine my sister having a field day in here.

What her brain could do with this would be unbelievable.

“You need my sister here,” I say as I gesture around the building.

I turn my head around the place. Taking it all in.

It’s been renovated at some time in the past, and has been done well, but clearly no one has upgraded it for a while.

“She would be talking to this building, getting it ship shape. It could be a real money spinner. She tells me there’s loads of money in coffee and cakes.

Everyone always wants them. She even tells me people will drive miles for a good coffee shop. ” I smile encouragingly at her.

Aoife sighs. “I know, I’ve done it myself. Still do. I’d love Evie to come, but I don’t want to bother her if she’s pregnant.”

“Why? Are you not able to make decisions because of a pregnancy?”

She looks at me sharply, then blows out a breath, looking guilty.

“Oh God, I’m turning into my mammy. I’ll ring her.” She pauses for a minute and I let her get her thoughts together.

“I just don’t want to become Patrick and his scattergun projects.

I know Dermot pushed him on, encouraging him to branch out, move into other areas as a means to rejuvenate the family business.

But gin? Really? And his attempts were all an unfocused mess of one thing after another.

None of his ideas worked. All white elephants, sucking the profits and then leeching off the capital from the company.

“But here, as part of the distillery, it would be relatively low cost to change things. It just needs a vision. I can see the potential in the business elements, and I could make that fly, but the creative bit, not me at all.”

She knows her limitations. Always the sign of a good, confident leader. Utilise other people's strengths, harness them. Focus them and make it work for you.

“My sister is amazing at interiors, especially if the buildings are old and quirky. She loves them. Even I can see what she could do with this. It reminds me a bit of her old factory she lives in. We just need to make sure it complements what you want to do.” My tone is supportive.

And I make sure I’ve got my hands next to hers, letting my energy flow into her.

“I thought of getting Christy involved with the running of it. She runs the house, the kitchens. Do you know we buy in cakes for here, when we have a fantastic chef at the house. But apparently he is too busy to make a few cakes. And do you know why?”

She stops and looks at me expectantly. Her boss bitch attitude is starting to kick in, and I feel my cock starting to harden, God, I fucking love confident women. This one especially, it seems.

“Patrick has turned the house into a hotel. All of the senior management level, people who he has brought in, have full access to all food cooked.” Her voice is starting to rise along with her blood pressure.

“All meals provided, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. They don’t pay a thing towards it.

And to top it off, they all live on the estate rent free.

” Her head is shaking in amazement. “What a joke. The amount of money we’re just handing over, plus salaries, is huge, and clearly has gotten out of control over the past few years. ”

She picks her hands off the table and starts checklisting items off on her fingers.

“Golf fees paid for. Whiskey paid for. Travel up to Dublin paid for. Anything additional asked for, agreed and oh, paid for.” Her face is going a glorious shade of pink.

She’ll be as red as her hair next. “Do you know the head of marketing spends two days a week in Dublin moonlighting for another firm?” She waits expectantly whilst my face shows the correct amount of shock.

“We pay him for five days. Patrick was worried he’d leave, so lets him go.

They are having a laugh, at O’Clerys expense. ”

Her indignation has hit fever pitch. Her face and neck a red glow. Her brow furrowed. I can see the pulse pounding in her neck. She needs to calm down. This is not good for her. My heart hardens towards Patrick and his merry band of idiots.

I keep my voice calm. I need to calm her, but not distract her from her course of action.

That does need sorting. I just need her calm whilst she’s doing it.

“I didn’t know that. It seems excessive at best, and negligent by Patrick at worst. Are you going to sort it?

” I grin at her knowing exactly what the answer will be.

“You bet I am. My only worry is that I’ll hit them so hard, they’ll try to get me evicted. No one in that room is going to be happy. Even Daddy and Dermot.”

My grin gets wider. She’s preparing for a fight. “Stick to your guns, don’t let them doubt you. Don’t give them an inch to do so, and I’ll back you,” I state with maximum conviction.

She looks me over, not sure if it’s to see if I’m genuine or not. I hold her stare .

“That’s a nice thought, Jonno, and thank you. But to be honest, you don’t have a say. It will be up to Marshall.” She sighs.

“It was interesting to learn Marshall retained his interest even after he moved away, and is still a master blender. My cousins may not understand his value, but I believe we need him wherever he lives. His experience and skill are legendary. Daddy’s waxed lyrical about it non stop as long as I can remember.

“But Uncle Marshall is still a bit like my dad. They care more about the family dynamic than the business. They want harmony, not serious profit. O’Clerys is a means to an end, to ensure we all have money, and a purpose.

Beyond that, they aren’t bothered. Oh I know my mammy thinks Daddy has ‘given his life and therefore hers to O’Clerys, ’ but he hasn’t.

Not really. The business has not really grown in any serious capacity in well over a decade, maybe two.

Patrick has just pushed it the other way. But growth? None.

“And the shame of it is, I could see how we could enhance our family brand, both internationally with the whiskey, but also at home. I’d like to work with partners in the surrounding areas and make this little part of Ireland a tourist must see.

Sell the dream around the world, along with our fantastic whiskey. ”

Acceptance replaces excitement and fervor as she lays it all out for me. Her dreams, the pitfalls the business has faced, her family’s involvement.

I look at this woman as she dejectedly stares at her coffee.

Even though I have declared my intentions regarding her body and the baby, do I trust her?

There is still a thief to be caught, or at least stopped.

But is she the one? She appears to care so much about the business, but is it just a show?

The more money she can make and funnel her way, the more she can steal.

If she stops Patrick’s business plans, there would be significantly more money to embezzle.

Or is it Patrick? Creating those fronts, those projects to look like he’s going for the title of the World’s Worst Businessman . The money supposedly squandered. But was it really? Was it actually lost or is it just resting in an account somewhere? The company accounts showing his mishaps.

He’s brazen enough about it. Not remotely bothered. The figures are all there, making it look like it was wasted. He has had a lot of crappy ideas, and a lot of good money was thrown at him. There are going to be candidates all around that boardroom table.

But Aoife… Could it really be her? God, I don’t want it to be. My heart and gut say it isn’t, but my head is still sitting on the fence.