Page 16 of Savage Promises (Quinlan Empire #2)

Lennox - January

I step through a construction site for a new nightclub that is a chaotic mess of metal studs, exposed wires from the ceiling, and cloth tarps scattered on the floor.

But the faint smell of fresh paint sparks my excitement.

A financing deal for the previous buyer fell through.

Now the architect and developer need another buyer fast. I can get this place for a song.

I have a few cards up my sleeve, but financing this place on my own won’t be easy. I can either ask my father to buy me out of Echelon or convince Rafael to invest.

My fiancé and I are still ships passing in the night.

The holidays came and went. He ended up flying home to Spain straight from a business trip in Thailand to be with his dying grandmother for Christmas.

Not bothering to ask if I’d like to join him.

Then he spent New Year’s Eve in Vegas closing deals with a few hotels for his wine.

Again, no invitation. When he’s in New York we communicate by text.

If it weren’t for my furry buddy Hawk, I’d feel completely unloved.

Noisy drills and hydraulic nail guns knock me from my thoughts. All the sounds blending together are brutal reminders that I need to act quickly.

I step over a bundle of wires and make my way toward the worktable where Carl the architect is spreading out his blueprints. He wants to be rid of the expenses for a nightclub he doesn’t intend to keep.

A nightclub that will be mine and mine alone, breaking the chains from my father’s influence for good.

“We’re expanding the bar here.” The dark-haired, stocky architect points to a detailed sketch. “Plenty of room for a dance floor on this side, and we added a second story for VIP access.”

Any club worth its salt in Manhattan will cater to VIPs.

I’m also excited about the location. The site is a few blocks from the UN, the Quinlans’ turf.

All clubs in Manhattan need protection from the mafia.

Paying them off is a must in any owner’s budget.

I don’t want a handout to buy the place, but I wouldn’t mind free protection.

Handsome Quinlan gangsters drinking my liquor will scare off other crime families who think they can take advantage of the helpless female owner.

Then again, they’re Irish and might drink me blind.

“What about the lighting?” I ask Carl.

“I got a quote from the guy you worked with at Echelon. It’s included in my proposal,” Carl says. “He’s solid, I’ll be using him for other projects. Good find.”

“Perfect.” I enjoy a rare flicker of pride in my chest.

Until an electric shock out of nowhere stops me in my tracks. I glance up and see Shane Quinlan cutting through the chaos of the site like he owns it.

No. No, no. Mafia families often launder their wealth through nightclubs. Shane must be here to outbid me. In a dark suit that makes him look very dangerous, he strides my way. The beefy construction workers shrink in his six-foot presence.

When his gaze locks on mine, I know instantly he’s not here to sneak a peek at my blueprints. “Lennox,” he says, his voice tight. “A word.”

Carl retreats, muttering something about needing more measurements.

I fold my arms across my chest. “What is it? How did you know I was here?”

“I have eyes all over this city.” Shane gestures for me to follow him toward a counter set up in the northwest corner where it’s relatively clean and free of dust. “Sit. ”

A chill runs through me thinking I’m about to get a scolding for something. I should be afraid. Shane is a powerful man. The wedding is coming up fast and Neve has made no attempt to spend time with Shane.

But I’m not afraid. I’m...excited at the idea I’ll be punished by him. For what? Who the fuck cares? How far would he take it? Would he...bend me over his knee?

Christ, my clit throbs at the idea of Shane lifting my skirt and slapping my ass. I have to stop thinking of him doing things like that to me.

On shaky legs, I walk over to one of the stools the architect set up earlier to review the financial paperwork. I sit back and cross my legs, catching Shane’s eyes following the skirt riding up my thigh.

I swear, it’s the best thrill I’ve had in a year. “I’m sitting.”

Shane’s jaw jumps. “Good girl.”

From a thick brown paper bag with twine handles, he removes a Styrofoam container. The name on the bag makes my heart pound.

“Yuli’s?” I ask, going breathless.

“It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

I rack my brain, trying to figure out if I ever mentioned it. Yuli’s corned beef is legendary.

“It’s everyone’s favorite. In Edison, New Jersey !” I touch the container and get a thrill at the warmth. “Did they open a deli here in the city?”

“No.” Shane takes out napkins and makes up place settings.

When I see two containers, I say, “Oh, were you doing business in Edison, stopped there, and...what? They gave you an extra sandwich?”

Shane stares at me while he keeps setting up lunch for us. “No. No. And no. I went there specifically to get this for you. ”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, even though the heavenly smell is making my mouth water.

Pursing his lips, Shane takes out his phone. “This is yours, right?”

My eyes bulge out of my head seeing my fitness app. On his phone. “You hacked my fitness app?”

“Aye. You’ve dropped three pounds in five days.” Something most men would celebrate on a curvy girl. Shane takes offense to it.

“That is an insane invasion of privacy.” I reach for his phone but he holds it above his head like we’re kids again playing keep away.

I’m tempted to tackle him, but what if he lets me?

When I retreat, he sticks the phone inside his suit jacket’s inner pocket. “It’s quite proper.”

“I’m not above frisking you, Quinlan.” I just want to run my hands down those planes of abs I see shadowed under his tight dress shirt.

A spark flickers in his eyes. His jaw trembles, dying to take the bait.

“You’re my fiancée’s sister, and you’re unmarried.” He throws the ugly reality at me. “That makes you my responsibility.”

“In eighteenth century, England, Anthony Bridgerton .”

His eyebrows pinch together as he removes his suit jacket. “Who?”

I roll my eyes. “Ye old London?”

“I don’t think that’s an official time period.” He pushes the sandwich toward me. “Eat, or I hold you down and feed you.”

My hands stop midway to the sandwich, my eyes floating to his. I’d like him to feed me, but instead, I just smirk and say, “You’re impossible.”

“Just you wait,” he whispers, folding his arms. “If you don’t eat, I don’t eat. ”

“You win.” I bite into the sandwich and mumble, “I’m so glad this place is in another state.”

“Not a problem when you take a helicopter.”

I choke. “You took a helicopter to buy this?”

Explains why it’s still warm.

“Aye.” He rolls up his dress shirt sleeves, exposing strong forearms covered in tattoos.

The sight of those lean, muscled arms leaves me speechless, so I keep eating.

Shane takes a bite. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters. “I forgot how good these were.”

We eat in silence while my heart hurts thinking of Shane taking a helicopter to get Neve’s favorite ice cream down at the Jersey Shore.

“Why are you quiet?” he asks, opening a bottle of trendy glacial alkaline water.

“I’m eating.” I wipe my hands on a napkin.

He notices I’ve inhaled half the sandwich already. “You were hungry.”

“I’m always hungry, Shane.” My comment gets his attention. “But sometimes I don’t have time for...food.”

He leans in and murmurs, “I’ll make sure you never go hungry again.”

I bristle, “I don’t need someone breathing down my neck every second. I’m not your future queen. I’m not Neve . No one cares about me.”

His eyes flash with raw tension. “I. Care. And it’s my job to keep you safe.”

That hits harder than I expect. “Not necessary. Change of subject. How is your real job going for you?”

He grumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Busy. Surveillance, logistics, keeping people in line. Sometimes it feels like there’s no end to it.”

I tilt my head. “Must be exhausting, carrying the weight of an empire on your shoulders. ”

He gives a short, humorless laugh. “You have no idea.”

Before I can respond, Carl clears his throat to get my attention.

“Excuse me.” I leave Shane and stride over to my architect where he hands me his pricing to pick up the construction costs and turn this place into my own.

“I’ll email updated sketches before the end of the day,” Carl says with a firm nod and a way-to-go wink to Shane.

I take the handwritten estimate on thick letterhead and fold it. “Great.”

“I need ten percent down to hold your financial commitment for sixty days, Ms. Donnelly,” Carl says, zipping up his briefcase.

“Understood,” I agree, thinking of which accounts to drain for the deposit. “You’ll have a check in twenty-four hours.”

I turn back to Shane. His sandwich is gone and he’s watching me. Me. Like I’m the only thing worth seeing in the room.

“What?” I ask him, my voice pitching in surprise.

I consider bringing up the kiss from the last time I saw him. How it’s lingered on my lips. In my thoughts. Haunting my mind every minute I’m not completely consumed with something else.

He breaks the stare to glance around. “Great choice for a new club. It’ll be amazing.”

Something in his tone tightens my chest. “Thank you.”

“You have a name in mind?” Shane asks.

I smile and bite my lip. “Luxe.”

He cocks his head. “Just Luxe?”

“A simple statement of class and elegance.” I do a curtsy.

“Sounds perfect.” He folds his arms. “You secured your funding?”

“I’m working on it.”

He lays a mischievous grin on me. “How much?”

I press the estimate against my chest, fearing Shane will pull a gun and make me hand it over. “I got it covered. I have options. Including a nuclear one.”

He grins deliciously. “Love me a nuclear option, do tell?”

“My father’s been hinting that he wants to buy me out of Club Echelon. Wants to put Garrett in charge.”