Page 7 of An Angel’s Share (The Greystone Family: Greystone Brothers #1)

Jonno

Unfuckingbelievable.

It is her. What are the fucking chances of that? My mind is running on overdrive now. Five fucking months pregnant. Puts conception right in the time frame she was in California.

I need to dig, and dig fast. If the family and Mae are to be believed, it’s Liam’s baby. And they are all ecstatic over that fact. But something about Aoife is off.

She’s gritting her teeth and hanging on to her sanity. I know I’m affecting her. I can see it. Feel it. Her body is shouting out to me, and I don’t even think she knows it.

And boy am I stoking that fire. I need to get her off guard, but I need to be careful—she is pregnant after all. And my sister was a maniac when pregnant.

I need to think. My Spidey senses are going haywire.

“Back again so soon, Jonno.” Patrick the prick—Aoife’s older cousin, and the man determined to bring down O’Clerys single handed—strides over. His voice is full of bonhomie. Confidence in his limited ability, sky high. He puts his hand out to be shook, which I do.

“Patrick, how are things? Family all good? Business going well?” My polite front is in full throttle mode. But I know it’s a cheap shot. His face drops immediately. He knows the business is a disaster. But I’m not supposed to know, so his response surprises me.

“You think you can do better?” Sooo defensive, his face going brick red instantly. Oh dear, I certainly hammered that nerve.

“Whatever you may think, I’m not here to run your business.

I’m here for Marshall. I have my own businesses to run.

I don’t know anything about whiskey, other than how to drink it.

” I grin at him, trying to diffuse the situation quickly.

I may need him later on and don’t want to alert him to any issues I think they have.

Or give any indication that I am, in fact, looking into them all.

He looks slightly mollified and decides to answer my questions rather than skulk away with a slightly bruised ego. “Family is all good. Business, as I’m sure you may know, could be better. I’m glad Marshall has come over. Seamus will perk up, and he can take over his third again.”

I nod at him. Clearly Aoife is as welcome as I am.

They don’t want her, that statement makes it obvious, but they obviously don’t know about the transfer of shares.

This board meeting, in a week or so’s time, will be an interesting one.

I’m metaphorically rubbing my hands together. I love a bit of drama.

“I’m sure it’ll get sorted one way or another. You all want the same things: O’Clerys to be the powerhouse whiskey out of Ireland. It is actually. We just need to make sure you all stay there.”

His chest puffs up at the compliment. He thinks the success of the past is down to him, all because of him. The man is delusional. But is he a thief? A fraudster? He doesn’t present as clever, and whoever is stealing is smart. Or at least thinks they are.

I look over at the tall, beautiful, red-headed woman.

Is she smart enough? Definitely. Dr Aoife O’Clery.

Been out in America where the thefts started.

Remained out there until two months ago.

The thefts continued past her return home, but in a business that is global, theft is global.

The more global the better sometimes—harder to follow and trace.

Money moving electronically country to country.

I ensure I’m in her eyeline all night. I need her on edge, and if my presence does that, then so be it.

Is it because she thinks I’m here for another reason other than Marshall? I tell the same story every time. I had business in Ireland, and Marshall wanted to come see Seamus and be here for the board meeting. I’m a loyal family member looking out for my sister's dad. That and only that.

Or is she on edge because of the baby? Is it just embarrassment that she came all fucking night long on my cock, fingers, and tongue?

Screamed my name when she lost her mind.

Is she remembering how I fucked her into oblivion?

How much she loved the flogging, loved submitting to me.

All whilst having a fiancé in New York. My fingers are itching to hack her records.

Marshall never mentioned she was taking over, told me about the plans to transfer the shares, until we were in the air on the way here.

Seamus has thirty-four percent, casting vote.

Now so will Aoife. Her cousins will not be happy.

Marshall is happy with the decision, however. He thinks she’s great.

Me, not so much. A person who cheats on their fiancé might also be lying about who the father of the baby is. Could someone like that steal from a family business? Totally.

I watch her stay the minimum amount of time that is acceptable and then make her excuses to leave.

Her fiancé makes a show of fussing over her going, but stays behind, continuing to entertain their guests.

This lot look like they’re in for the night.

I slip out right behind her, collect my rucksack, and dip into a different room to fire up my laptop.

I sit back, staring at the screen, her medical records open in front of me.

I huff out a laugh devoid of humour. I imagine my sister shaking her head at me.

Breaching medical confidentiality is a specialism in our family.

Conception date the exact date of the Runners’ night at CAshO. Due date: tenth December.

Now I’m absolutely sure it’s my baby. I don’t actually believe in coincidence. Fate, yes. Coincidence on this scale? A great big fat fucking no. No way. The gods must be laughing it up at this one.

The condom broke. She assured me she would take the morning after pill.

But did she? What if she did and she’s still pregnant?

What if she chose not to? But what about the fiancé?

Determining a conception date is not an exact science.

Maybe she was with him at that time. Maybe it is his baby.

Or does she not know and decided to disregard me.

I was an unknown entity. A sperm donor, never to be seen ever again.

Maybe she always planned to pass it off as his.

I bet he doesn’t fucking know about me. The joker in the pack. I grin at that. My favourite thing normally. But I feel a little sad. This is way more serious. This is a life, an innocent being born into this shit show.

What a fucking mess.

She should have told me even if she wasn’t sure.

The club has protocols in place for this type of situation.

It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened.

But from the shock on her face when she spotted me, I know she never would have contacted the club for my details.

Or for them to contact me to facilitate a meeting or an exchange of information.

She clearly never would have, I know that.

The realisation sinks in. She had no intention of ever finding me.

Moved continents. I would have been none the wiser.

I assumed she was from California, and she let me believe that throughout the night.

Fair enough she had an Irish lilt, but also sounded like she’d spent a lot of time in America.

And to be honest, was I really bothered?

No. It was all about pleasure, all about taking what we both needed or wanted. Leaving with a great memory.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

She’s been on my mind over the past few months. Hints and whispers of memory. More than normal, more than anyone ever in the past.

My mind moves to my brothers-in-law. I would have been like Kellen and Xander—in the dark for eighteen fucking years.

Maybe it’s Karma. I supported Evie—actively hid her and her son James—even when I knew they looked for her, searching for her year after year.

But I can rationalise we were under a misapprehension.

We thought Kellen knew and didn’t care. I thought I was doing the right thing hiding them, protecting them until James was an adult.

I exit the library and smile as Mae O’Clery staggers towards me. Clearly enjoyed her night to the full .

“Can I help you, Mae? Get you a drink? Tea, coffee?” I grin mischievously at her and add, “Whiskey?”

“Now you’re talking, Greystone,” she slurs out, her eyes squinting at me.

I hold onto her elbow as I gently steer her back into the library, where I know there is a decanter on the sideboard. Time to start probing. And the best strategy? Whiskey, and a bit of flattery.

The old floorboards creak and groan as you step on them, the rugs worn and silk-like under your feet.

The old mahogany bookshelves are floor to ceiling, with only the windows not holding books of some sort.

The warm lighting of the lamps give the room a cosy glow.

That and the rose wallpaper. I always felt like the summer started in here.

Mae flops into one of the very worn old settees that are scattered haphazardly around the room. I know she likes me. The last time I was here she liked to moan about me, I heard her. But I know it was mostly bluster. She doesn’t like to think she’s giving anyone a free pass.

I made sure to show an interest in her. Asked her about herself, what she wanted, what she wanted for her family.

No one else seemed to. Everyone else was obsessed with the whiskey business.

If she dressed up as a bottle of O’Clerys she might have had more luck in someone noticing her. I felt sorry for her.

The drink stand sits on a ledge at the side of some books so old, protective mesh has been inserted to stop fingers ruining them further.

Lights aim at the more important works, and it all adds to the warmth and calm of the room.

The sound of whiskey hitting the glass soothes Mae further, and I hand her a drink.

The skies are dark outside the large double doors.

Mae looks very drunk, and hardly any prompting or lying is necessary as she starts to spill her guts.

A slight flirtation, flattery hitting her weak spots.

Empathy with her situation. Her hopes and dreams for her family.

She sings like a canary, leaking her daughter's secrets into the old library, like ink from a well, disappointment pouring from every word.

I deposit her back to her rooms swaying and smiling. Feeling better after getting a few things off her chest. I don’t think she has many confidants. Maggie, but that’s it.

She pats my arm as she pushes open the door to her living quarters. My smile remains light and breezy, friendly, when I’m fucking steaming inside. My chest is tight with anger.

That lying, conniving, calculated piece of work.

A sperm donor. She told her mother she had a fucking sperm donor in the states.

Liam is a patsy. A gold-digging well-paid patsy who agreed to marry her.

He’s taking responsibility for the baby so her mother can look her Dublin friends in the face.

Cling to the international bestseller. The love that flowed across a continent.

It all fits so perfectly, the story they concocted. It’s as if she actually planned it. If Mammy Dearest hadn’t been so pissed, and pissed off, it may not have slipped out at all.

The LIE: He (a university friend of Patrick) and she (an established, intelligent woman) were in New York, they fell in love whilst working together, created a child, he came home, she followed.

So they could bring up the baby in Ireland.

One big happy family. A fabulous love story to be told in Dublin’s finest restaurants.

The Figgs-Hamiltons—a good old-fashioned London family.

I’ll have a look at the Figgs-Hamiltons later. Why would he be here, in the wilds of Ireland. Why are any of them here? Surely London boys stay and become London men. Unless they’re broke. Unless the deal is too good to be true .

Mammy’s hoping for a quick second pregnancy to keep her daughter at home and away from the business.

Mae is not a lover of the family firm. Feels she’s lost her husband to it.

His best years given to whiskey, and therefore hers.

He agreed to it, she did not. She loves her daughter, wants her to have a family life, not a working life.

A life full of worry and always trying to live up to ‘the Whiskey Wizard’ Dervla O’Clery—Seamus, Dermot, and Marshall's mother.

Well I don’t give a shit about a working life, an O’Clery family life. All I’m interested in is that baby.

My family always laughs at my supercomputer brain. It processes information faster than most. Decisions made in the blink of an eye. Normally they’re hard and cold business decisions. Always calculated, always successful. But this one is full of fire and emotion. Family means everything to me.

Fair enough I’ve never thought about being a dad. It was the last thing on my list. I’ve been spoiled having my nephews so close. In my view, I’d already raised two boys to men—James and Bucky.

My sister has given me total access to her children, and what a privilege that is.

One I have never taken for granted. Now I’ve got another two boys with her twins, and a gorgeous little girl.

The most beautiful child I’ve ever seen.

You can already see the beauty of her inside and out.

My needs for family are fulfilled by my sister and her children. Anything else I’ve sought elsewhere.

I’d given up looking for ‘the one.’ Maybe I was looking in the wrong places.

My family had certainly run with that one for a long time.

Or maybe I was waiting. Maybe all the experience I’d gained over the past decades of an extensive family life was leading up to this.

Decisions I can now make in a split second to alter the whole course of my life.

Well, I’m all in. There’s no way Liam Figgs-Hamilton and Dr Aoife O’Clery are stealing my baby from me.

Absconding with my future because of some bullshit society parameters.

So that other society mothers can ooh and ahh over the romance of it all.

So that the O’Clerys can all feel better about themselves living a bullshit lie. Not a fucking cat in hell’s chance.