Up Close and Personal

“Okay then, we’ll find a way to make it work.”

“Now see,” Georgia said, catching her sister’s eye, “why is it you can be positive about our prospects for getting enough money together to buy the building but not about Ronan?”

“Can we not?” She stared down at her laptop, willing the darn thing to boot up already. Why did it take so long? She could be typing, entering information, focusing on work and more able to shut out Georgia’s questions.

“I’m supposed to be the cynical one,” her sister pointed out. “I am the one with the loser ex-husband. The one who had to move in with you when she got divorced because said loser took everything out of our bank accounts on his way out of town with Busty the Cheerleader.”

Laura laughed shortly at the description. It was dead-on. Georgia’s ex-husband had been a football coach at a small college in Ohio. Two years ago, when their season ended, the beloved coach and the head cheerleader—who also happened to be the Page sisters’ distant cousin—ran off to Hawaii, taking every cent out of a joint account and most of Georgia’s self-confidence.

It had taken her sister a while to work her way through the betrayal and the humiliation of being tossed aside. But finally, the Page family temper had come in handy and Georgia had finally gotten angry. Much easier to live with than feeling sad—as Laura knew all too well.

“So,” Georgia said, “I know why I don’t trust men in the slightest. But my question is, are you ragging on Ronan because of what Thomas did to you?”

Thomas Banks. Her ex-fiancе. Five years ago, she had lost a dream, but it was so long ago now, that she barely remembered why she had thought herself in love with the man anyway.

“No. This is different. Thomas was supposed to be forever—well, until he broke up with me in favor of Dana—”

“May she’ll go blind from the sun glinting off that tacky huge ring he bought her,” Georgia put in.

“Good image, thanks!” Laura took a deep breath. “Anyway, losing Thomas didn’t really hurt, Georgia. I don’t think I ever loved him and he deserved better.”

“So did you,” Georgia put in.

Smiling, Laura said, “And I shouldn’t let myself be hurt by Ronan, either. I knew going in that he was just temporary. He’s danger. I’m cozy. I’m stay at home, he’s adventure. Never the twain is going to meet or whatever.”

“And yet, you kept his dog.”

There was that small ping of guilt again. Especially when she recalled the dumbfounded expression on Ronan’s face when she refused to hand the dog over. “Well, it wasn’t Beast’s fault who his owner was.”

“Was?”

Beast whined in his sleep, and Laura reached a hand down to pat him. “Beast is mine now, and he’s going to stay mine.”

“Good luck with that.”

She’d need it. Yes, Ronan had left, but he’d be back. Laura knew that. Ronan Connelly didn’t accept defeat. Ever. Ronan was the kind of man who made things happen to suit himself. He had built his company into the premier private security business in the world. He traveled by private jet. Knew the famous and the infamous and swept through life with the confidence of a gladiator.

Which was both attractive and annoying. Impossible to have a good argument with a man who never thought he was wrong.

“This isn’t really about the dog anyway,” Georgia reminded her softly, “and we both know it.”

Laura’s gaze flicked to her sister’s, and she braced herself. She didn’t want to talk about this.

But Georgia was too stubborn to let it go.

“You can’t blame him for something he didn’t even know about.”

“I’m not blaming him,” Laura countered, though a part of her did, as ridiculous as that sounded. “I’m really not. Ronan’s in the past, that’s all. That affair of ours had an expiration date stamped on it. I knew that going in.”

“Doesn’t have to be over,” her sister suggested.

“I’m not the one who ended it, remember?”

When Georgia would have argued, Laura spoke up fast. “He’s not here forever, Georgia. He’s going back to Ireland and we both know it. Well, I live here. And besides all of that, we want different things. Move in different worlds. It’s just … doomed.”

“And you’re not going to tell him what’s behind all of this? Don’t you think he’s got a right to know?”

“Maybe he does.” Laura shifted her gaze to the trees outside and watched the last few yellowing leaves flutter in the wind before snapping free of the branches and flying off in a twisting dance. Rain pelted from the sky in a burst and tapped at the windowpanes like impatient fingertips against a table.

Funny, their mother had always hated fall and winter. She’d actually called autumn the Death of Hope season because it would be so long until summer again. Funny that she’d chosen to move to such a rainy place. Laura hadn’t thought of that in years. Now, it seemed unerringly apt.

Because in this Death of Hope season, she was finally accepting that what she had had with Ronan was over. Finished. Hope was ridiculous when there was absolutely no reason for it.

Turning her gaze back to her sister’s, Laura said, “What point is there in telling him that I miscarried his baby?”

“You said it yourself,” her sister pointed out gently. “It was his baby. Maybe that’s point enough.”

But it wouldn’t change anything, Laura thought. And what if she told him and he didn’t care? She didn’t think she wanted to find out what Ronan’s reaction would have been to almost being a father.

Two

He didn’t go home.

Instead, Ronan went to work.

Even with jetlag clawing at him, he knew he was in no mood to rest. At their new office in Newport Beach, his company, Cosain—Irish Gaelic for ‘defend’—was just taking root. Situated on Pacific Coast Highway, the two-story building was small, but elegant, with a view of the sea. More important, Cosain was now in the center of one of the wealthiest communities per capita in the United States.

Here, the powerful and the paranoid lived, exactly the kind of clientele Cosain depended on. Here, Ronan was building the American branch of his company.

Of course, there were other security companies out there. Some very good ones. Like King Security. Also headquartered in California, though they’d opened up a European branch in Cadria several months ago.

Ronan smiled to himself. If the Kings moved into his territory, it was only right that he move into theirs. Besides, Cosain didn’t go after the same jobs as the Kings. They specialized in security for buildings, events. Cosain specialized in personal security. Bodyguards. And if it pissed off the King family to have Ronan’s company here, then that he considered a bonus. Not that the King cousins weren’t good guys. They were. But competition was healthy, wasn’t it? Business rivalries always inspired everyone to be their best. And Ronan being in what the Kings would no doubt consider their territory just made his success that much sweeter.

Ronan wasn’t a man easily satisfied, even with success. There was always more to be found. And in this community of celebrity and money, Ronan was going to make Cosain the most talked about game in town.

Winning. It was about winning. Ronan had learned that early from his father. A ruthless man, the elder Connolly had made a fortune by buying up badly run businesses and turning them around. He used to say the first thing to do was separate the wheat from the chaff—firing the dead weight and promoting the ones as ambitious as himself. He hadn’t made many friends along the way, but he had taught his son that winning—coming out on top—was everything.

Ronan walked through the ground floor, his heels sounding out against the gleaming hardwood. His sharp-eyed glance took everything in. Pale green walls were dotted with paintings by local artists and by framed photos of grateful clients. Though most of those he worked for preferred to fly under the radar and not have their personal business known, there were always the celebrities who came alive at the sight of a camera.

There were a few comfortable couches, a low-slung table with an array of magazines fanned out on top of it. A pedestal table held a crystal vase filled with bright blossoms that scented the air like springtime.

A tidy receptionist sat at a desk and she nodded warily at him as he strode past. “Morning, Mr. Connolly.”

He nodded and went past her, disregarding her nervousness. Ronan’s mind was already busy with racing thoughts—not all of them about his business.

He took the short flight of stairs to the landing and then to the second floor above. The bustle of this floor, associates at their computers, muted phone conversations and the purr of a printer, soothed him. Centered him. This was why he’d come to California. This was what was important in his life. Not a woman. Not a dog.

Business.