Page 21 of Twisted Secrets (The O’Malleys #3)

She frowned harder. “Olivia, you’ve lived in this apartment for six months, and the only time I’ve ever watched this little bundle of joy is when you’re working. It’s not healthy. You’re only twenty-four years old, hardly the over-the-hill old woman you act like. You need to take time for you.”

How was she supposed to do that when she had to work as many hours as possible to keep them afloat?

Not to mention she didn’t exactly have a stellar track record of picking people to care about.

It made it hard to put herself out there and meet new people.

Cillian was a perfect example. The first man she’d been attracted to in longer than she wanted to think about, and he was an O’Malley.

She was batting a thousand when it came to her hormones getting the best of her.

She leaned against the doorjamb. “This guy is nothing but trouble. Just like my ex.”

I don’t want that life for myself and Hadley. We got out. We’re not getting sucked back in .

“If he was, you never would have given him the time of day.” Mrs. Richards set her basket down in the tiny kitchen and crossed over to take her hands.

“I know it’s hard to put yourself out there, especially when someone has been burned as badly as you have.

But if you never take that first step, you’re going to end up closing yourself off for good. ”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” At least then she could stay out of trouble that came with a penis attached.

From the very beginning, there hadn’t been a single man—family or otherwise—who was willing to put her first. She’d thought she’d found that with Sergei, but it had all been a lie.

When she needed him most, when she was pregnant and terrified and Andrei was diagnosed with cancer and trying to find peace by forcing a father-daughter relationship with her, Sergei had chosen the Romanovs over her.

After that, she’d realized that she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself—especially now that Hadley was in the picture.

Mrs. Richards shook her head. “Take it from an old woman who’s seen too much of life pass her by—it’s too short not to take a leap of faith every once in a while.

This man lit something up inside you. Maybe it’ll develop into something, maybe it won’t.

But it’s guaranteed to wither and die if you don’t give it a chance. ”

She tried to picture it—never seeing Cillian again.

Never having him walk into Jameson’s and give her that grin that made her toes curl.

Never getting to know exactly what it was that put those shadows into his dark eyes.

Never getting to kiss him again, never letting him sink between her thighs, never being able to follow through on the rough promise of his words and actions.

It made her stomach ache like she’d lost something valuable. It didn’t make any sense. She barely knew the man—it shouldn’t matter if he dropped off the face of the earth.

Olivia sighed. “One date. That’s it.”

“Good.” She made a shooing motion. “Now, go get dressed. You don’t want to be late.”

Since she wasn’t even sure she wanted to go in the first place, being late was the least of her worries, but she went back into her room and threw on the first thing she laid hands on—a pair of holey jeans, her boots, and a tank top that did great things for her minuscule chest. It wasn’t fancy, but she had to work afterward, and that was more important…

and she might just be digging in her heels in protest in any way she could.

She stopped in the kitchen to drop a kiss on Hadley’s head. “Be good for Mrs. Richards.”

“Tell your mommy that you’re always good.” Mrs. Richards grinned. “You look great. Now git.”

Olivia shook her head and snagged her purse on her way to the door. “I’m closing tonight, so feel free to use the pullout couch.”

“I always do, dear.”

She knew that. God, she had to stop micromanaging and get her ass out the door. “What would I do without you?”

Mrs. Richards smiled. “You’d do just fine. Now go meet your man and have fun.”

“Night!” She waited at the door, just like she always did, to hear the click of the lock before she hurried down the stairs.

Mrs. Richards was right. She’d cut things too close, and now she was going to have to catch a cab instead of the T.

She tried not to think too hard on how many tips she’d have to earn to make up for this splurge.

Cillian will pay it if you let him .

No way. She wasn’t going on this date to find a sugar daddy to take care of her problems. She’d picked Sergei because she thought being with him would make her feel whole, and look where it took her.

No, fulfillment, whether financial or emotional, couldn’t be found in another person.

She’d make her own way or sink while trying.

She caught a cab down the street and rattled off the address Cillian had texted her earlier.

As the cab pulled up, she discovered it was a tiny restaurant in the West End—close enough to Jameson’s that she wouldn’t have to take another cab, but also far enough away to be outside Beacon Hill.

It struck her that Cillian had known this and planned it out like that—close to work but outside his family’s main stomping grounds.

It still blew her mind that so much criminal activity went down in one of the most prestigious neighborhoods in Boston, but she shouldn’t be surprised. The Romanovs rubbed elbows with thugs and politicians alike. There was no reason the O’Malleys wouldn’t do the same.

Stop it. Stop comparing them. They aren’t the same .

Weren’t they? There was only one way to tell for sure, and she wasn’t ready to throw herself back into that life on the off chance that she might be wrong.

She shoved her hair back. And if she waffled any more, she was going to have to douse herself in syrup and serve herself on a plate for Sunday breakfast.

This wasn’t like Olivia. She usually knew what she wanted and she went for it. She didn’t change her mind as the wind blew. What the hell was Cillian doing to her?

She paid the driver and stepped out onto the street. There was an eclectic mix of people moving on the sidewalks, their clothing anywhere from hers to the after-work special to hipster to half a dozen other things. She’d fit right in.

He thought about this, too , she realized.

He picked a place where they’d both feel comfortable.

The thoughtfulness of the gesture beat back some of her uncertainty.

She checked the sign hanging out on the wall and ducked through the door into the restaurant.

Inside it was dim and relaxed and cozily intimate, the walls lined with deep booths and a scattering of table and chairs across the open floor.

Mouthwatering smells came from the kitchen and the tables that had already been served their food.

“Olivia.”

She turned, a smile already slipping through her defenses when she saw Cillian.

He wore yet another three-piece suit, this one in shades of dark gray with a lilac shirt.

He looked perfectly put together and downright edible, and all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and then tow him to the nearest spot where they could be alone. Down, girl . “Hey.”

“I hope you’re hungry. This place has the best lobster rolls in town.”

“I’m starving.” And, suddenly, she was. She’d been too nervous to eat lunch today, and if anyone had asked, she would have been sure those same nerves would keep her from eating during the date itself.

But as soon as he guided her to a table with a light touch at the small of her back, she inexplicably relaxed.

Here, in his presence, it was harder to remember why this was such a bad idea. “How was your day?”

He pulled out her chair. “Tedious. The numbers are being difficult, which isn’t a challenge that I thought I was going to have to deal with when I took over the accounts.”

“Accounts.” She blinked. “You’re an accountant?” When she pictured accountants, she pictured tightly wound men in cheap suits who didn’t get enough sun. Cillian couldn’t be further from that image. “How…how did that even happen? You don’t seem the type.”

He grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He nodded as a harried waitress appeared with two glasses of water and disappeared just as quickly. “In my family, everyone has their place—their job. I’m the middle son of seven kids, so I had a bit more freedom than some of my siblings.”

“So you decided to be an…accountant.” Every time she said it, her disbelief deepened.

“If you prefer, you can call me the head of finances instead.” His grin widened.

“I like numbers. I’m good at numbers. And there’s the added bonus that it puts me right in the middle of things without having to shoulder any of the responsibility that’s crushing my oldest brother.

” Just like that, the grin faded. “Or at least, that was what I thought when I took on the job. Turns out, things are never that simple.”

“No, they wouldn’t be with your family.” She regretted the words almost as soon as they were out. What the hell was wrong with her that she had to keep poking at this particular issue? “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay.” He motioned at her menu. “Why don’t you figure out what you want to eat and then we can skip straight to the hard stuff.”

“Sure.” It dawned on her that if he was willing to open up about his family and the “hard stuff,” then he was going to expect her to do the same. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that. To distract herself, she looked over the menu. “You said they have amazing lobster rolls?”

“The best.” He hadn’t even picked up the laminated plastic menu.

She set hers aside. “That’s enough of a recommendation for me. I’ll get that.”

The waitress must have been keeping her eye on them, because she swooped in, took their drink and food order, and was gone inside of thirty seconds.

Then there was nothing standing between Olivia and all the questions she had for Cillian.

Nothing except knowing she’d have to respond in kind.

She used her straw to stir the ice around in her water glass.

“Now that we’re here, I’m not sure what to say. ”

“Should I have picked a fancy restaurant with unpronounceable entrées?”

She gave a brief smile in acknowledgment of the shared joke, but it fell away when faced with the reality of their situation. “I promised myself I’d never get involved with someone like you.”

“Sweetheart, there is no one like me.” He held up a hand when she burst out laughing.

“How about I give you the basics, and if you have any questions, you can ask them?”

He was actually offering to open up to her.

It blew her mind. The Romanovs were all about their secrets and never letting the left hand know what the right hand was doing.

She was pretty sure the only one with all the information was Dmitri.

Everyone else was expected to take orders and keep their mouths shut.

Olivia took a deep breath. Cillian isn’t Dmitri—or Sergei.

How many times do I have to remind myself of that before it actually sinks in?

Apparently one more than she already had. “That sounds great.”

“So you know I’m an O’Malley and that we’re one of three families that run the majority of Boston.

There are other players in the city, but they ultimately have to answer to one of us.

” He took a drink of water. “A year ago, we were on the brink of war because of, well, a variety of things. We managed to hash out an alliance with the Sheridans, and we’re also on pretty good terms overall with the Hallorans. ”

She frowned. “The Hallorans being the same men who were beating you in a back alley less than two weeks ago?”

“Yeah, well, nothing is ever simple. The people in charge might have decided on peace, but that doesn’t mean that everyone feels that way. They did it without their boss’s consent.”

“You know that for sure?”

He shrugged. “I’ve passed word along and been assured that it will be dealt with. Since my sister is currently engaged to the guy in charge, I’m willing to take his word for it.”

She blinked. There were a whole lot of undercurrents to what he just said, but she wasn’t sure she was willing to delve deeper. “It sounds like things are good in Boston.”

“As good as they can be.” He straightened the paper-napkin-wrapped silverware. “That almost-war left a lot of scars and bullshit for us to work through. Our family still hasn’t managed to get past most of it.”

From the pain in his voice, she wasn’t sure if he was talking about his family in general or him specifically. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. None of it is your fault. It’s just a by-product of the life we live.” His mouth twisted. “Or that’s the line my father likes to use.”

“I’ve heard similar.”

His dark eyes focused on her. “In that case, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”