Juice: The O'Malleys Book 1, contemporary Adult Romance (22 page)

“You’d want to go easy on that stuff.”

Rory didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Go away Darragh, just leave me alone.”

“Now now, Rory. What kind of a brother would I be if I left you to drown your sorrows all alone?”

“A smart one, I don’t need or want company.”

“You fucked up Rory.”

Rory swung around and threw his glass at the wall.

“Don’t you think I fucking know that Dar! I ruined the best thing. No. Correction. The best person to ever come into my stupid life.” Darragh ignored the outburst and sat at the edge of Rory’s desk.

“She loves you, Rory”

“How the hell would you know? Maybe, I don’t know. It’s too soon.”

“You love her?”

“Jesus Dar, would you let up on the questions.”

“You love her though?”

“Yes. Ah, I don’t know. What the hell does that even mean?  I like her, she’s funny and smart and beautiful. And she drives me crazy. Do you know she talks to that kitten like it’s her baby and she makes faces behind people’s backs when I’m talking to them. Funny faces like this.”

Rory opened his eyes wide and put his hands on either side of his face pulling a Cass face.

“And she smells so good, no one smells like her Darragh. Her natural smell is like flowers and rain.”

“So that’s a yes then, you love her. Jesus Rory, you’re like a teenage boy with a permanent horn around her. The girl looks like she has just been fucked every time I’ve met her. And she makes little faces like this.”

Darragh mimicked the face Rory had just made.

“And Rory, F.Y.I, you have grown a mangina. Manflippingina! Flowers and rain, what the actual fuck, like?”

“Shit.”

Rory sat into his plush chair and put his feet on the table, crossing them at the ankles.

“You’re right, Darragh.”

“About the mangina?”

“No you feckin' eejit! I'm in love with her.

I…love…Cassidy Evans. How in the hell did that happen? I’ve had longer relationships with a loaf of bread. How could I fall so deep, so fast?”

“Dad always says, when he met mama she was on the last week of her studies in America. They met and he convinced her to spend the week with him. And on the last day, the seventh day he knew her, he told her he loved her. He asked her not to go home to Florence. And she never did. Ah, I mean she did go back of course, for visits and the times when we visited Nonie and papa, but not then. Not when he told her that he loved her. She took a chance, because she knew. After seven days together they both just knew. And they’ve made it work for the last 40 odd years. Sometimes love is a slow burn and other times it hits like lightening. No matter what way it comes, you have to take it and run with it. Unless you want to end up alone or worse, settling for someone who is only a shadow of the love you had a chance with.”

“When the hell did you get so wise Darragh? And what the hell do you know about love?”

“I know it when I see it.”

Rory grunted, put his head back and pulled the muscles on his neck with his palm.

“I’ve really fucked up Darragh, haven’t I?”

“I’m not gonna lie to you Rory. You are a prize fucking idiot.”

“Cheers man.”

Rory rubbed his forehead and covered his face with his hands.

“Look Rory, you need to go home. You need to take some time out and decide what you want to do. And then you need to figure out how to win her back.”

“Win her back, eh?”

“Yeah, unless you don’t want her. I mean she’s a gorgeous girl. If you don’t want her I’m sure there are others-”

Rory Jumped off the edge of the desk and came up to Darragh’s face stopping within an inch of his nose.

“No. Mine! I mean … she’s mine. No one else can have her. Cass is my girl.”

Darragh clapped him on the back hard.

“That’s the spirit brother. Now go and get your shit together. We’re going home for a visit. I bet the lads will be delighted when they hear all about your new adventures in London.” Rory groaned.

“I’ll be ready tomorrow night. I have something to take care of first. Something important. Get the plane ready and I’ll meet you at the airstrip at 9pm.”

The next morning, Rory rang Grace and tapped his fingers against the glass of the window in his office as he waited.

“Yes, O'Malley junior. You called? I am less than five feet away outside that wooden structure called a door. Have you lost the use of your legs?”

“Morning Grace. I am doing out the Christmas bonus’ as we speak, would you like three zeros or four?”

“Apologies oh master, what can I do for you?”

“Ring Jonathan Smith. Screen writer. I’m sending you his number now. Arrange a meeting. Give him some hook; get him here as soon as possible.”

“Do you want to-”

Grace heard the click and stared at the phone in her hand. She really needed a holiday. These O'Malley men were killing her.

Less than two hours later Jonathan Smith sat opposite Rory in his personal office, money signs firmly planted in his eyes. Grace had done well. He had taken the bait. Money was his king and Rory hated the man for it.

A large cherry wood table separated them. Rory stared at the pictures of his family, framed in silver on his desk. They were the only thing that mattered, really mattered to him. The money, the status, it was all just icing on the cake. The people in his life that knew him and loved him were the things that were irreplaceable. He ran his eyes over the picture of Cassidy and himself that day in Paris. As they had walked around the markets of Montmartre they had asked an elderly couple to take their picture. His eyes ran over Cass, her hair vibrant and red curled around her shoulders. A blue summer dress made her more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen. She was laughing her face upturned like a flower in the sun. Her face upturned to his, she loved him. He turned his face to Smith and studied his opponent carefully. Smith was eyeing him with a haughty expression. Rory clenched his fists under the table. Outwardly his face showed no emotion, but inside he was churning like an engine. He had five pictures turned upside down on the table in front of him. He laid them neatly in front of Smith, carefully fixing each one beside the other. He slid the first picture across the table and waited until Smith turned it over.

“What the hell is this?” he stared at the picture of Cassidy and sneered.

“This, is mine. You touched someone that belongs to me. I don’t like my people being damaged or hurt. You hurt someone who is precious to me.”

“Oh, so she’s yours now. Nice lay, tight.” Smith smirked.

Rory let a big smile sit menacingly on his face, and threw his head back and laughed.

“Funny guy. These other pictures are interesting too, have a look.”

Smith turned over the other four photographs one by one.

“You might recognise these men, Mister Smith. They are the owners of the three biggest movie production studios in Hollywood. The big bosses. Head honchos. I’m sure you recognise Daniel Bateman. That’s Dan here with me last spring. Dan and I go way back. He’s a good friend, terrible polo player, but don’t tell him that. He’s sensitive about it.”

His eyes glistened dangerously as he touched his finger onto each of the pictures. “Let’s not play games, Jonathan. I know you recognise the men in these pictures and you will at least have heard their names. I know each of these men on a professional and personal level. I suppose what I’m saying here Jonathan
is
you will never work in Hollywood again. You will never sell another script. You will never even get some much as a phone call with these men. You are persona non grata, in their town.”

“No wait a minute, you can’t-”

“I can and I will. I am feeling very generous here, Mr Smith. My hands are itching to wrap around your throat and apply just enough pressure to make you feel something that resembles remorse for what you put my wife through.”

“Your wife?” Rory shrugged.

“It’s a done deal; she will be my wife very soon. I want you to understand that I am with Cassidy for keeps. She and I are destined for each other.”

“Listen here, are you threatening me. I have contacts.”

Rory roared suddenly, drawing his hand across the table and scattering the five photos, pens, his laptop and photo frames onto the floor.

“You have nothing! Nothing!”

He straightened his tie. And looked at the table in disgust.

“I promised myself I would remain calm. Now look at what you made me do.”

Jonathan straightened against the back of his chair and looked suddenly terrified. Rory moved forward and leaned into Smiths chair, his hands on either side of the arm rests.

“Threats are made by people who have no real intention of carrying them out. Please believe me when I say, that if you in anyway go against my specific instructions and contact my Cass in any way, I will end you. I will cause you pain in every possible way that matters to a prick like you. We are done here. Leave now.”

“But -”

“Leave!”

While you can still walk to the door you little prick. And believe this, if you ever touch her again I will come for you. And, I will kill you, myself.
Rory walked to the window and watched the people below go about their business. He sensed it when Jonathan rose to his feet, and curled his lip in disgust as he heard the door slowly and softly click shut. He waited for ten minutes, and then grabbed his workout bag and went below to the basement gym. Changing into his yoga pants and vest top, he walked barefooted and in silence to the punch bag. He roared as he struck it over and over again. Forty-five minutes later Rory was bathed in sweat and exhausted.

He would go home. He had to tell them. He had been so stupid, so cruel. He hadn’t meant to hurt Cass, but he had. He had lied to her and betrayed her. When he met Cass, it was Aoife he had thought about, only Aoife and her pain. And then he had been bewitched by Cass. Cass, with her curly hair and her childlike grin. Why had he not told her?
Because you were afraid.
The great millionaire magnate who raced through life deciding the fate of others.
And now look at ya, smart-arse. Now look at what you
have done.
It broke his heart to have caused pain to one as pure and as good as Cass.
She's better off without you.
It repeated through his head as he walked to the edge of the pool and dived in fully clothed. He swam and swam for an hour without stopping for a rest. In the end he sat on the edge and thought about what he could do to make her forgive him. There was nothing. He had ruined his one chance he had at happiness, this one chance at being a normal human being, instead of an emotionless money-making machine. And for the first time in a long time, he had no answers.

The next evening, Rory and Darragh flew to Shannon airport. Darragh raised his eyebrows when Rory asked to be dropped at the gates of Cherry Tree farm, their family home, but didn’t comment. Maybe the walk would do him good. He could see his brother was deep in thought and knew talking to him when he was in that state was an exercise in futility.

Rory stopped at the top of the lane and looked around. As a boy he had grown up here in this small village. In every way an idyllic childhood of comfort and love. He thought of his grandfather, ‘the bossman’ O'Malley. His nickname was a standing joke, considering that his grandmother wore the trousers in the relationship. His grandfather had been a quiet man but a wise man, a good man too. They were good people, honest and humble. He was blessed to have such a large family and such a rich heritage. He thought of Cass, sibling-less and alone in the city apart from Marie and Mark. What pain it must be to have lost the other part of you, your protector. He would protect her though. He had Paul minding her in London. He knew Paul was discreet and would draw no attention to himself while keeping Cass safe. When he had found out about Smith’s abuse of Cass he had nearly lost his mind. To think of Cass alone and injured, having to rely on only Mark and Marie, made his blood boil. It had been taken care of, he had already seen to that. He had pulled a few strings with friends in the industry and Jonathan Smith’s name would be mud for a very long time. Destroying his enemy wasn’t something that lay heavy on him. He was a weasel, a prick. When he thought of Cass with a fractured jaw and the pain that went with it, it eased his soul to know that Smith would suffer in every way that mattered to a man like him.