Page 55 of Ruthless Dream

She paid for fucking lunch. I’d seen the waiter float back to the table, but he’d handed me my card back.

Would I like to pay four hundred dollars for lunch every week? No. But I should have been able to afford the charge. Except America isn’t cheap. I’m not cash-strapped, and I’m glad I’ve got my own flat, but Boris’s barb rubs me raw in a way I don’t like. The poor little Dublin boy whose grubby hands shouldn’t be anywhere near his daughter.

“Just you and the cockroaches then?” Uncle Cormac jokes.

“Mind you, you’re the one who wanted to come over.”

“I was wondering if I should be worried about you.” His gaze sweeps around the tiny living room. The upholstery clinging to the corners of the sofa is worn but clean.

“You’re the one who wanted to come to America,” I remind.

“And here you are building a life.” Cormac stands, not bothering to sit in the one armchair I’ve got. “This thing with Henson. It’s good work.”

“Why are you looking worried?”

He places a hand over his heart. “You’re living up to the O’Connell name. Making moves. Establishing yourself. I’d be remiss, though, if I didn’t do my due diligence and wonder how the hell you got so close to Henson. The man is introverted, and, well, I’m not sure if he’d be so fond of the place.”

“You think he won’t come around and watch the football? Crack open a Guiness.”

Uncle Cormac levels me with a look. It’s the same one I’ve seen since I was a toddler, when I’d acted too much like a hellion.

“I made sure I was at the right place at the right time,” I say, sinking into my sofa. The truth is, other than sleeping, I’m not here often. This is the first Saturday that hasn’t been completely booked.

Normally, I’d follow my cousins to the pub. Relaxing and watching football, and I’m not referring to the NFL. But if I haven’t been mapping out paths or working on solutions that will help us build up business back home, then my time has been spent on my other pursuit—Adeline.

It was Uncle Cormac who taught me to dedicate my time to important things. I’m not sure why he’s nervous that I’ve got my head to the ground.

“What else have you got going?” he asks.

“Seamus not tell you I’ve started dating?” I stretch my arms on the back of the sofa.

Cormac glances around the apartment again. “I’m sure the women are flocking to you.”

My jaw clenches. I’m glad Uncle Cormac is busy categorizing all the ways my flat is a piece of shit.

I bite back the response I want to make. The one where I tell him Adeline’s been here. The childish, petulant remark would only make Uncle Cormac narrow his eyes.

“Is it not becoming of a man to pay his own way through life?” I say instead.

Cormac softens. “Yeah, it is. I’m proud of you, son.”

My muscles relax, the air around us lighter.

“We have another meeting with Walsh,” he says. “Monday, noon. You’re going to be there.”

I nod.

“Walsh likes your father,” he adds, keeping his face blank. “And he likes you.”

“I’ll be there.” In my pressed suit, ready to talk business.

Uncle Cormac’s shoulders soften. “I’m hard on you because I know what you can achieve.”

“You’re hard on me because you’re an arsehole,” I reply, smiling.

“Aye. But I’m also the man who raised you, and I know what you’re capable of. You’ve done well, son. People are starting to notice. You make the name O’Connell proud.”

There’s a lingering subtext that’s going on unsaid, though. Cormac is straight with his words; he always has been.