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C ompressing his lips into a thin line, Colin O’Rourke just barely resisted the urge to put his fist through his wall. The only things holding him back were that he rather liked his walls, being as he had put them up himself, and that he’d probably knock something of importance off his desk.

A glance around his messy office confirmed that should something fall, it was unlikely to ever be seen again.

“Col, I know you’re upset. But we can spin this.” Emmaline MacWilliam, his publicist and relatively new cousin-in-law, kept her voice even and her countenance placid. She sat directly opposite him, holding the offending newspaper out to him. “I’ve spoken with Miss Emsworth—”

“What a stodgy name,” he muttered, taking it from her. He flipped it open to the marked page, his movements tightly controlled.

Emma snorted and rolled her eyes. “I’ve spoken with her directly, and she’s agreed to retract her words…if we can prove we do what we say we do.”

“We’ve proven it over many years and many matches,” Colin snapped, searching for the article in question .

In Colin’s opinion, Miss Winifred Emsworth could take her “article” and shove it into the deepest, darkest recesses of herself.

His company, Celtic Connections, was the most successful matchmaking company of its kind in the United States, and it catered to elite clientele.

Clients were usually wealthy people who needed some help in finding a forever partner, and Celtic Connections had a highly respected pool of potential matches.

With the company’s recent expansion into the UK and Ireland, some of the stringent requirements for potential matches, such as required income and education levels, were lessened slightly.

But easing the restrictions, it seemed, only incited the wrath of a woman who wrote for one of the trashiest magazines in Britain.

Unfortunately, she was insanely popular, and new member sign-ups weren’t where Colin needed them to be to stay afloat overseas.

They weren’t anything , actually.

He gritted his teeth. A single article from one out-of-touch, uninformed, pseudo-journalist had the power to crush his business before he signed its first overseas client. He would never understand the Brits’ love of their paparazzi.

“This seems like blackmail,” Colin finally replied. He rested his elbows on his desk, carelessly knocking over a stack of papers. He watched them flutter to the floor. “What did she propose we do to ‘prove’ ourselves? Which,” he added darkly, “we don’t need to do. Our reputation speaks for itself.”

Emma absently twirled a lock of her blonde hair and cleared her throat. “Well…she claims that it’s a class thing. Celtic Connections caters to the upper classes, and therefore is something to be suspicious about.”

“Oh, for crying out loud, we’re not going after nobility!” Colin exploded.

“No,” Emma agreed, rescuing another stack of papers in danger of toppling over, “but we did keep the income level requirement higher than the average salary in Great Britain. And that’s her sticking point.”

He clasped his hands tightly in an effort to regain control of his emotions. “Spit it all out, Emma. What, exactly, does she want from us in order to retract her words?”

Emma neatened the small stack of stuff in front of her. “You really need a file cabinet, Colin.”

“Emmaline…” he warned.

“Don’t blame my wife for your lack of organization.” Aidan MacWilliam entered the room, a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. “Else you’ll wear this instead of drink it.” He handed one to Colin.

Emma gratefully accepted the other one. “Thanks, love. I’ve needed something to hide my smile behind for the last half hour. This Miss Emsworth has gotten under Colin’s skin.”

“Tease me all you want, but this isn’t a joking matter.” Colin looked for a place to put his own cup, but there wasn’t any surface available. “You know, I do have a housekeeper. Why won’t she do her job?”

“You don’t provide her a hazard suit, so she can’t enter here,” Aidan snorted.

Papers of various sizes and colors littered the desk and surrounding floor.

A large, outdated monitor sat in the middle of the desk, sticky notes covering the edges, and the keyboard was partially covered with envelopes and notecards from various clients. “You need to go digital, my friend.”

Colin raised a brow. “Considering your upbringing, I would think you’d appreciate the tradition of paper.”

“Okay, boys, enough,” Emma cut in. She created a space amongst the papers and put her cup down, then pulled her tablet out of her purse. “Back to Miss Emsworth.”

Colin rolled his eyes and took a surly sip of his coffee.

“Miss Emsworth wants us to find a match for her niece. A match that ends with a marriage. ”

Colin barked out a laugh. “Oh, right. Because that doesn’t have setup written all over it.”

“You’re not supposed to be interrupting,” Aidan chided.

Emma swiped something on her tablet. “There’s a bit more to this, Col. Her niece isn’t exactly a willing participant yet.”

Setup. Colin physically bit his lip to stop himself from speaking. Or roaring.

He wasn’t sure which, yet.

Emma continued, “Eleanor Carberry is twenty-eight years old, and she currently lives in England. She’s a bookseller in London.”

Colin groaned. “She sounds boring.”

Emma laughed. “She may be, but boring isn’t a challenge we haven’t overcome before.

We really don’t have a choice here. If we don’t do this, Emsworth will write another article, claiming that she offered us this option but we declined.

Then we’ll be seen as unfriendly Americans looking to cash in on the motherland.

If we take her up on this, then at least we gave it a shot. The truth is that her publication—”

“I think calling The Daily Sleaze a publication is insulting to real journalistic endeavors,” Colin cut in sourly.

“Her publication , despite what we think of it, sways a lot of readers. A lot , Colin. Enough that when people search for us online, this article is one of the top results. Also, the paper is called The British Tea Times , not The Daily Sleaze . We can’t just ignore her and hope she goes away.”

“But if we give in to her, who’s to say other people won’t line up behind her and demand the same thing? When would it stop?”

“We could point those folks back to the success of this match. It will be publicized enough that the weight should carry.”

Aidan grinned. “So failure is not an option. ”

“It never is,” Emma agreed. She looked expectantly at Colin, her heather eyes sparkling.

“Aidan and I are going home to Ireland in a few days. And we have recruiting engagements set up in both Dublin and London. If I don’t have an official answer to Emsworth’s allegations, we’re sunk.

” She pursed her lips. “You hired me as a publicist, Colin. Let me do my job. Give me the go-ahead that we’ll match the niece, and I’ll spin it in all sorts of good ways once we get Ms. Carberry’s agreement.

But we all have to be on the same page to present a unified front as a company. ”

“I love when she gets serious,” Aidan murmured, giving Emma scorching look.

“Can we please focus on Celtic Connections for a moment?” Colin asked, feigning disgust. In truth, he couldn’t be happier for his cousin, now that Aidan found love. And with everything they had gone through to be together…Colin couldn’t really begrudge him and Emma their smiles.

But he could redirect their attention. “All right. We’ll do it. But I want the niece—Elena?”

“Eleanor.”

“Whatever she’s called, she has to agree to this. We do not force anyone to participate. Make that crystal clear.”

Emma nodded, jotting down the note. “Absolutely. Who do you want to put on this match?”

“What about Candice or Mike?” Aidan asked. “They’ve each made a strong and difficult match in the last year, and either of them could successfully match Miss Carberry.”

Colin shook his head, determined. “Not this time. If we’re going to sink over there, it’s on my shoulders. I’ll take Miss Blueberry on myself.”

“Carberry,” Emma replied absently. Then, surprise flitted across her face as his words registered. “I thought you didn’t match clients anymore?”

Before he could answer, her phone rang, and she gave him an apologetic look as she held up the phone. “The press again. Excuse me.” She quickly left the office and shut the door behind her.

Colin threw a pencil at Aidan, whose lips remained in a half smile as he eyed the door Emma had just exited through. “Good God, MacWilliam. Pull yourself together!”

Aidan chuckled. “When you find yours, cousin, you’ll be the same way. Mark my words.”

Colin scratched the back of his neck. “That sounds ominous. I’m quite content without any attachments, thanks.”

“You can be a Protector and a good mate,” Aidan offered.

Emma reentered the room, a confused look on her face. “Is that what you call it? A Protector?”

Aidan draped his arm around her waist and drew her close to him. “Aye. In our unwieldy family tree, one person from each generation is given the ability to travel through time.”

“Right. To protect the line,” Emma said. “It’s why you and I had to go back to the Middle Ages.” She shuddered. “Let’s not do that again. No disrespect meant, of course,” she added hastily.

Aidan, being of medieval birth himself, merely smiled. “Legend has it that every hundred years or so, or every other generation, a Protector is born, and he can travel through time without restrictions.”

Colin snorted. “Oh, trust me. There are restrictions. Lots of them.”