At the absoluteaudacityof men.
Even the damn goat knew he was full of it. It sounded like judgment itself. The man was looking for a sugar momma, and she was not going to take the bait.
“No, it wasn’t a mistake. It was a flashing neon sign. You’re wasting your time. We’re done.”
She smiled sweetly.
And slammed the door right in Michael’s stunned face.
Leaning against the wood, she let out a long, shaky breath.
First, Ronan and his secret inheritance schemes.
Now, Michael, crawling back from the grave of their disaster.
Was it something in the water? Had she been cursed by an old Irish fairy?
She needed tea. Stronger tea. Possibly laced with whiskey.
She turned?—
And froze for the third time that morning.
Standing awkwardly in her kitchen, as if he’d just materialized out of thin air, was a man she’d only ever seen once.
A man whose photo she’d studied endlessly since finding that letter hidden behind the old walls.
Professor Patrick Wright.
Her father.
He stood there, holding his battered leather satchel like a shield, his blue eyes hesitant and searching. His face seemed older now, lined with guilt and time, but unmistakably the man she’d seen a month ago.
"Aisling," he said, voice cracking a little. “I let myself in the back. I…I got your email.”
The world tilted sideways again—but this time it had nothing to do with the hangover.
She stared at him, her breath locking in her chest, her heart hammering so hard it hurt.
After all these years.
After all the questions.
The silence.
The wondering.
He was here.
Finally, here.
CHAPTER28
Aisling gripped the edge of the doorway, her knuckles whitening with the pressure.
For one insane moment, she thought about telling him to get out. Pretending this wasn’t happening. Unmistakably, the same man she remembered from that disastrous meeting in New York.
But she didn't move. Because too many questions clawed inside her. Too many cracks demanded answers.
