The Villain (Boston Belles 2)

My fingers flew over my phone screen.

Cillian: Get my driver ready immediately.

Casey: Mr. Fitzpatrick? Are you texting me?!

What was it with people stating the obvious?

Cillian: Heading out of the HR meeting now. If he is not there by the time I exit the building, you’re both fired.

I stormed out of the boardroom without so much as an apology. Keith stopped mid-speech, his mouth slacking. Hunter and Devon exchanged looks.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t want to marry Minka Gomes.

I didn’t want to marry Persephone Penrose, either, but at least I knew what I was getting out of the bargain. Namely, photogenic children, a doting mother to them, and a wife who would look good on my arm.

All I needed was to keep Persephone at arm’s length and away from me after we tied the knot.

Casey: Your day is booked back-to-back, sir.

Cillian: You mean my day is clear and wide open because you used your three working brain cells to shift things around, which is what I’m PAYING YOU FOR.

Casey: Absolutely, sir. What should I do regarding the engagement ring?

Cillian: Send Ms. Gomes a fat check and an apology note. I will not be marrying her.

Casey: OMG really?

Casey: Sorry, I mean, is the vacancy still open, sir? ;)

Casey: I will make a good wife. I promise. I know how to cook, how to fish, babysat like, a ton of kids in my life. And I also know other things…

I got out of the elevator, my brogues clicking over the marbled lobby. I could see the Escalade waiting at the curb from the floor-to-ceiling window, the subzero blizzard its backdrop.

Sliding in the back seat, I barked Persephone’s work address to the driver.

Casey: Never mind. Sorry. That was totally out of order. If you don’t intend to marry Ms. Gomes, should I cancel the PR meeting with Diana?

Cillian: I said I’m not marrying Ms. Gomes. She is not the only woman on the planet.

Casey: Sir, I’m afraid I don’t understand. ?

Cillian: Don’t be afraid. Ignorance is bliss.

The staff at Little Genius Academy recognized me the second I set foot inside. An eager receptionist rushed to help me find my way to Ms. Persy, accompanying me down a corridor full of drawings, art projects, and squeaky toys.

The place smelled like a warm fart and applesauce. It was a dire reminder of the fact that having heirs required raising them first. I supposed I could do the whole remote-dad gig Athair was so good at and limit my communication with my spawns until they were fully formed and didn’t require any ass wiping.

“There it is, Ms. Persy’s class.” The receptionist stopped by the classroom door, swinging the door open for me.

I watched as Flower Girl pranced around a room full of kids. Her hair—honey highlights tangled in bright yellow—was gathered into a Dutch braid, and she wore an ankle-length white dress and flat shoes that looked about a decade old.

She was dirt-poor, in deep shit, and still happy to go to work every day.

Unbelievable.

She held the hands of two shy-looking four-year-olds as the class danced in a circle. Every few seconds, the music would stop, and the kids would freeze in place, a funny expression on their faces, trying not to crack up.

I leaned against the doorframe, hands tucked in my front pockets, and observed. It took her three minutes to notice me. Another two to lift her jaw off the floor, straighten her spine, and turn scarlet.

Our eyes met across the room, and that nagging murmur in my chest happened again.

Get that checked. If you drop dead from a heart attack at forty, you’ll have no one else to blame.

She winced, looking like I physically slapped her.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

“Miss Penrose.”

“Veitch,” she corrected, just to spite me.

“Not for long,” I noted dryly. “A word?”

“I know many. My favorite one right now is—leave.”

“You want to hear me out.” I cracked my knuckles. “Now say goodbye to your little friends.”

She looked back and forth between the kids and me, then turned and murmured something to the teacher next to her, and hurried my way, dunking her head down.

“What are you doing here?” She closed the door behind her, whisper-shouting.

I’ve been asking myself the same question since bailing on Keith and his snooze-fest speech.

What the hell was I doing here?

Hunter?

Aisling?

Something about Persephone getting potentially offed by the mafia?

The reasons blurred, but they seemed valid when I sat in the boardroom, considering a future with a woman I didn’t know and didn’t interest me. A woman who wanted an Aspen cabin as if it was the flipping nineties.

“When are you done here?” I demanded.

“Not for another four hours.”

“Take the rest of the day off.”

“Are you crazy? I can barely afford my lunch breaks.” Her eyes widened. “I only take them because I have to by law. I asked the director to stay after school hours to help clean up and get some extra money. I can’t bail.”