Redeem Me (Beckett Brothers #2)

8. Ivy

Chapter Eight

IVY

Caelon’s house is grander than any hotel I’ve ever stayed in. My bedroom is the size of a small apartment. Decorated in warm shades of blush pinks and magnolia, it’s luxurious and inviting. It boasts an enormous ensuite, a power shower with mood lighting, and a walk-in wardrobe that’s bigger than my bedroom at Dermot’s, and that wasn’t small by any means.

French doors open onto a balcony with two wrought-iron chairs and a small table, flanked by flowerpots overflowing with pretty pink peonies, and overlooking the stunning lawns and the pool below.

I lug my case onto the soft silk sheets and unzip it. Other than a few ”Saturday night outfits”, my clothing collection consists of comfort pieces; vests, yoga pants, denim shorts, and casual summer dresses. If I’d have known I was coming somewhere so opulent, I might have gone shopping.

But then again, I’m not here to look good. My hot new, brooding boss barely glanced at me all day, anyway. Is he repulsed that the new nanny is naughty enough to let him get her off in a bar? Or that he was naughty enough to do it in the first place? Regardless, I should be grateful he’s not looking for a repeat. Tall, Dark and Tortured has more baggage than a conveyor belt at Dublin Airport in August.

Mind you, I would too if I’d been widowed with two young kids.

I grab my phone from my back pocket and type Caelon Beckett into Google. My screen is flooded with articles and images about my new boss, the hotel chain he runs, his family’s billion-euro whiskey empire. I scroll down until I find what I’m looking for and tap on a news article published two years ago.

Isabella Beckett, wife of Caelon Beckett, CEO of Beckett Boutique Hotels, was tragically killed in a road traffic accident earlier today. Two cars collided head on. Two people were fatally injured at the scene. Another is reported to be seriously injured.

Fuck.

A memory of Saturday night catapults into my brain - and not a good one.

Christ, you two look like someone fucking died.

Oh. My. Fucking. God. Could I have been more insensitive?

Nausea rises in my stomach. I’ve put my foot in it a million times in my life, but this is like jumping into an open wound with six-inch stilettos. No wonder the man can barely look at me. The second I get the chance to apologise, I will. Profusely.

Until then, it’s nose clean, head down.

I hang my dresses in the wardrobe, lay out my toiletries on the ivory marble bathroom countertop, and set my Kindle next to my bed, plugging it in to charge. I’m addicted to mafia romance novels. I plough through four of them most weeks, the darker the better. The more the hero needs love, the more I fall in love with him.

What can I say? I have terrible taste in broody bad boys. Is it any wonder out of a bar filled with men, I was drawn to Tall, Dark and Tortured?

But life isn’t a book. Caelon’s issues are real, and I am not the heroine in this story.

My phone rings as I’m stowing my case away.

Dermot.

I blow out an exasperated breath and roll my eyes to the heavens. I’ve barely been out of his sight for a couple of hours.

I snatch the phone to my ear. ‘Sorry, I can’t talk right now. I’m mid orgy with the two hot dads who hired me to mind their kids. We’ve been at it three times already since I left your house, but you know, some guys are just insatiable.’

‘Not funny, Ivy,’ Dermot bites out. ‘Where are you?’

‘I told you, a mansion in Malahide.’

‘What are the family like? Who are they? Do I know them?’ Dermot fires question after question without pausing for an answer. ‘Caelon lives in Malahide. I bet he’d know them.’

‘Yeah, about that…’ I twist a long strand of hair around my index finger and tug it hard enough to pull on my scalp.

‘What?’ Dermot’s voice sharpens.

‘Funny story.’ Or not, given what occurred the other night. Better to just come out with it. He’s going to find out I’m living with his best friend sooner or later. ‘It is actually Caelon.’

‘What do you mean, it’s Caelon? What’s Caelon?’ Dermot demands.

‘I’m nannying for Caelon. Well, Orla and Owen.’ Though Caelon could clearly do with some TLC himself. ‘Apparently, he can’t keep a nanny for more than a few months, so yours truly is stuck with him for the foreseeable future…’ I trail off.

Silence greets me at the other end of the phone. Seconds pass. Then raucous, booming laughter. Dermot’s guffaws echo through my ears.

‘Ha! Talk about baptism of fire,’ he snorts.

‘For him or me?’ I stare at the phone open-mouthed.

‘Well, both of you now you come to mention it. Caelon’s just so…’

‘Sullen? Snappy? Short-tempered?’ I finish for him.

‘Exactly. And you’re just so…’ he trails off.

‘Cheery, patient and empathetic,’ I prompt.

‘Exactly,’ he sighs. ‘And there was me worrying you’d get stuck with another creepy boss who can’t keep his hands off you.’

I wish.

No, Ivy. Nose clean, head down. And not down in my boss’s crotch, no matter how much I keep imagining what he’s packing down there.

‘You don’t need to worry about that at least.’ Worse luck . ‘You could have told me about his wife, though.’ I exhale heavily.

‘I would have done, if I’d have known you were going to start working for him,’ Dermot says. ‘Bad business. Really bad. It was a terrible car crash, but Caelon is convinced there’s more at play.’

‘In what way?’ I pad across the plush ivory carpet to stare out over the gardens.

‘The Becketts and the O’Connors have been enemies for years. The families run rival whiskey empires. Weeks after the Beckett brothers helped put Declan O’Connor behind bars, Isabella was killed in an “accident” that makes no sense whatsoever.’

‘But it was a car crash…’ I feel my eyebrows furrow .

‘The guy driving owed the O’Connors a serious debt. The rumour is the debt would be wiped out and his family taken care of if he did this last job.’ Dermot’s voice drops to a husky low.

‘But that’s crazy.’ I rest my palm over my heart.

‘It’s a crazy world we live in,’ Dermot concedes. ‘Caelon has made it his life’s mission to find out the truth, but the only surviving passenger, the man driving the other car, is still in a coma over two years later.’

‘Shit.’ It explains everything about Caelon. It’s bad enough his wife was killed, but to be deliberately taken from him by his family rivals, well, that’s a different type of burden to bear.

‘Don’t say I mentioned anything. Caelon is a private person. He hides his anguish behind a mad quest for revenge. God help the O’Connors if that driver ever wakes up, or if Caelon finds any other form of proof.’

A cold shiver ripples over my spine.

‘I’m glad he has you to take care of the kids, Ivy. But more importantly, I’m glad he values the importance of family. You’re safe with Caelon. He’d never lay a finger on my little sister,’ Dermot scoffs. ‘He knows better.’

I cough to cover the hiss that slips from my lips.

‘I’ll catch up with you soon. Call me if there’s anything you want or need,’ Dermot says.

‘Will do,’ I promise.

But truthfully, there’s only one thing I want – to comfort Caelon Beckett. To put my arms around him and to take his misery away, if only for a few minutes.