“You know one thing I learned from Cillian?”
“I dread to think.”
He smiled and fluttered his eyelashes. “How to make people do what I want them to do.”
“Sounds dangerous.” I was only half joking. There was something about Cormac King that made me feel all the things that had been missing from my dates: the intrigue, thefascination, the enjoyment of bantering with someone, the need to spend more time with them. And yes, the attraction, if I was completely honest. It was there, simmering beneath the surface.
“Laurent?” He’d deliberately butchered that one, adding a hint of what sounded like South African to it.
“Fine. I’ll stay and I’ll cook. Just stop abusing my name.”
Chapter Four
While I sprawled across Finn and Cillian’s extremely comfortable sofa, Cormac lay on the floor. Quasimodo had taken up residence on his chest, but he didn’t seem to mind.
I’d given Cormac a list of ingredients to get while he sourced alcohol and then cooked ratatouille. Amid comments about me being just like Remy the rat and that one day I could be a chef too if I set my mind to it, Cormac had polished the entire lot off. Then we’d set about drinking our way through a bottle of vodka watered down by decreasing amounts of orange juice as the evening had worn on, neither of us remotely sober.
“You see, the thing about my brother,” Cormac said with a wave of his hand. He frowned, as if remembering he had more than one brother. “The thing aboutCillianis…”
Suddenly jealous of Cormac’s supine position, I lifted my feet onto the sofa and lay back against the arm. “Go on.”
“He’s obsessed with success, and he uses that as a yardstick to measure everybody else by.”
“Is he? Does he?”
“Yeah… Hear me out. It’s an advertising thing. Or maybe it’s a him thing. Or maybe it’s both. Fucked, if I know.” He reached for his glass, the process of taking a drink from it without disturbing the sleeping cat complicated enough that he lapsed into silence in order to concentrate.
“Do you want a straw?” I offered.
“I would love a straw! A straw would be like the best thing ever. If you could give me a straw, you’d immediately go to the top of my list of favorite people. Granted, it’s a short list, but size doesn’t matter. Right?”
Heaving myself off the sofa after only just getting comfortable, I went into the kitchen, ferreting about in various cupboards and drawers until I found what I was looking for. I picked up the bottle of vodka and the carton of orange juice to take back into the living room, vowing not to have to move more than a few meters for the rest of the evening until I needed to go to bed. Assuming, given my rapidly increasing state of drunkenness that I made it there.
It didn’t matter. The sofa was fine. I was feeling fine. Cormac was good company. Quasimodo was happy. I didn’t have work tomorrow. Everything was wonderful. And that might be the vodka talking, but didn’t it deserve to have a voice? I laughed to myself at the thought. Yeah, I was definitely drunk.
Cormac beamed up at me as I arrived back with the straw. “You’re the bestest person ever and I love you very much.”
“I know.” I topped up both of our glasses while I was on my feet and then arranged Cormac’s straw for easy access. Once I’d flopped back on the sofa, I sought to remember what we’d been talking about. “Success?” I finally prompted.
“Yeah, success,” Cormac repeated, picking up the thread of his conversation. “Cillian judges everyone by how successful they are. Their job. How much money they make. Their relationship status.”
I let out a snort at that one. “He didn’t do so well with that one. I met Finn just after Cillian had fucked everything up with him. He was extremely lucky to get him back.”
“He was,” Cormac agreed. “Finn is a sweetheart. Unfortunately, out of all the marvelous people in the world, he fell in love with my brother, so what can you do?”
I took a big gulp of my drink and then put it down, rolling sideways on the sofa so I could see Cormac’s face. “What’s your point?”
“My point,” he said with a look of confusion on his face, “is…”
I laughed during the long silence that followed, Cormac clearly not having a clue what he was talking about.
“No, wait. I’ve got it! My point is he’ll never see me as being worthy, that the two of us just don’t align on the definition of what happiness is. Happiness for him is financial security, a long-term partner, and knowing exactly what you want to do with your life.”
I took a moment to think about it, running everything he’d said alongside what I knew about Cillian. I couldn’t honestly find fault with his summation. “And what is happiness to you?”
“Happiness is… fun. It’s going to places you’ve never been before. It’s experiencing new things. It’s running hand in hand through the rain with someone and not giving a damn that you’re getting wet because they’re there. How are you supposed to do all that if you’re always at work?”
“Holidays?” I suggested.
