Page 17 of Seduced By the Billionaire
“Bring me a lap dance, too.”
“Fuck off, Paddy.”
Ronan shoved the key into the ignition and glanced around the motel as the engine growled to life. All was still. With a final look at Jenny’s window, he cut the wheel and drove through the lot and onto the main road.
He’d barely gone three miles when the cell jangled again. Ronan jerked it to his ear without glancing at it. “Paddy, you nosy bastard, I’ll be there in five?—”
“I don’t know who Patty is, but I hope she’s hot. Sounds kinda like a schoolmarm, but I guess if she’s polishing your knob right…” A sniff.
Ronan blinked. Not his partner. Charles.
“We need to talk,” his brother barked.
“I read that you’re getting married,” Ronan replied instead or responding to Charles’s dickish tone.
At least his own dick had gone soft since he’d left the motel. Since he’d distanced himself from her.
Charles quieted. “Misprint.”
“Ah. Lots of those going around.” There were always rumors when you had this much money. Charles was usually the one spreading them, trying to fuck the O’Connor children out of their stake in O’Connor Media. “Fine. I’ll return your wedding present. Spoiler, it was a do-it-yourself divorce kit and?—”
“I’m worried about you, Ronan.”
“That makes one of us.” A lie—there was always a good reason to worry about Ronan Duffy, whiskey lover, crime fighter, frequenter of establishments of debauchery. Stalker.
“I’m serious. You missed the gala last night.”
“I wouldn’t say that I missed it.”
A pause. “Ronan, it’s important for us to keep up a united front with the company. Even if you don’t care what happens to O’Connor Media, I’d hope you’d at least care about me and Caroline. Where were you that was so important?”
“Home.”
“Liar.”
“You got your guys following me?”
“Our guys—and no. You always duck them. But they’re just security anyway, trying to keep your reckless ass safe.”
Ronan sighed. “It’s not about my ass, Charlie. My voting shares keep us in the game. But cops don’t need bodyguards. It fucks with our credibility.”
“Anything you do reflects on us, Ronan, and?—”
“You’re not calling to check on me because of some bullshit gala. You’re calling because you know I asked the medical examiner about our father.”
This time, the pause was longer. Their father’s death was no accident—everyone knew it. They just couldn’t prove it.
“You need to let it go, Ronan. The M.E. deemed his death natural causes. Stop trying to prove something that isn’t true.”
“That’s just it, Charlie… I think it is true. You were there the night he died—I know you were. It’s kinda funny that no one else does.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Charles snapped. “Asking questions just makes people suspicious. I didn’t kill anyone. And if you say that shit to the wrong person, we lose every single cent—every voting share, gone in an instant. Which is probably what you want, you masochistic fuck.”
If he was a masochist, their father was a sadist of the highest order. His father’s will had pitted the Duffy clan and the O’Connors against one another. Every child who married and had children of their own got additional voting shares. But if their father’s death was a homicide, every share on the side of the killer’s family vanished into thin air. If Ronan outright accused Charles, if the shareholders believed it… it could be worth billions.
Was Ronan worth more dead than alive? Probably. But Charles wouldn’t kill him, even if he had—possibly—killed their father.
“I just want the truth,” Ronan said. “That’s all. If you tell me, I don’t have to dig.” A dangerous thing to say on the phone under normal circumstances, but Charles’s cell scrambled transmissions to prevent anyone from eavesdropping.
