Press Release, page 26
Cian stretches his arms out to me, hands waiting for mine. “I got your message.”
“Did you now?” My fingertips brush against his.
“Finely worded and very effective, as you see.”
I slide my fingers between his until our hands lock together. “You didn’t ring me back.”
With a swift tug, Cian pulls my body between his knees and wraps those wet hairy legs around me. He dips his head down to mine and whispers against my lips. “There are answers better given in person.”
The contact brings every moment, every touch that’s happened between us roaring back to life. His breath warms my skin. We’re both still, savoring the anticipation of what may come next. Lightly dancing my lips across his, I murmur, “Such as?”
Cian captures me in a kiss the likes of which I’ve been aching for. A kiss I thought I’d never have a chance at again. His hands thread through my wet hair as he pulls me closer. The kiss deepens as his tongue tastes and claims. My grab at the front of his shirt, to better kiss the life out of him, is too enthusiastic. He plunges forward into the water with a smack, non-appropriate pool attire and all.
Our laugher bounces off tile walls to fill the air. We clutch each other until there’s no space between us. I wrap my legs around his waist and continue the thorough kissing of Cian Malley. I relearn the softness of his mouth, the solid definition of his chest under the sodden shirt. He runs his hands down the sides of my body and then to curves better left ignored in a public pool. If it weren’t for the threat of Roy or Taryn walking in on us, our water ballet would quickly turn into quite the randy dip.
It’s a miracle Cian is here.
He twirls me through the water and then rests his drippy forehead against mine. “Meg, I’m gutted about the way everything went down in San Diego. I was dead wrong not to come clean with you on that first day. Dash was going to tell you straight away, but I asked him to let me break it to you. Idiot me thought I could ease you into the concept of being my number two.”
I lay a finger on his lips to stop him. “Let’s agree you took a massive wrong turn, but since…” My finger slides down to rest on his chin. “Your messages…What you’ve done…” I train a soggy lock of hair out of his eyes. “I hear you, Cian Malley. All I ask is to be worthy of the truth from now on.”
“O’Malley.”
“O’Malley?”
“Your first taste of truth. O’Malley is legally my last name. I shortened it to Malley for my Hollywood persona, but since I’m here now, the real thing’ll do fine.”
I drop my hands from around his neck and break contact. There’s a question I don’t want to ask, but I need to know the answer. What scenario does Cian intend to paint?
“And what does ‘I’m here’ mean?” It’s a fair question for a man who shows up as fast as the flick of a lamb’s tail with no warning. Is this an apology trip—a sweeter way to end things between us? Is he here for a visit with his grandparents and a bit of fun with me? Heaven help me, it’s going to hurt worse to get more of him and then let go again, even if it is on a better note than the hell that went down in San Diego.
Cian’s lips twitch into a smile. “I think you put it best when you said, ‘a fucking shift in my reality.’” My heart pounds hard enough to start ripples in the pool. “I understand there may be an opening for an assistant in the McGrath P.R. and marketing empire.”
I drop my hands and shake my head. “No, Cian. If you’re on the show with me, I’ll always sense True Time is waiting for me to misstep.”
His hand glides through the water, finding mine. “I’m finished with True Time, Meg.” Cian kisses me gently. “That’s not the assistant spot I’m gunning for.”
I’m feeling a chill from being still in the water. “Please no riddles.”
There’s his smile again. For me. About me. Designed for no one else.
“I’ve been fixated on the notion you shared with me back in California of boosting the visibility of local artists. Irish artists. Meg, there’s something big there. I feel it the way I did with MetaMeme. What if artists and musicians like my father didn’t have to leave Ireland to get the recognition they crave?”
“I thought your father was a doctor.”
Cian’s smile is sad. “He is, but that wasn’t his first dream.”
A knot forms in my chest. “My deal with Dash is for a run of series contract. I’m not pissing that away to give in to what my parents think I should be doing, even for someone as wonderful as you, Cian.”
He spins me ‘round, pulling my back against his chest. Arm muscles flex as he fans the air in front of me. “Not their scenario. I see you and me developing our own PR/Marketing business for the artists. You, my darling M-Squared, will of course be an integral part of the brains and the vision, but I intend to do the legwork while you stay with The Chieftain’s Son until it’s final curtain call.”
Cian tightens his grip as a shiver runs through me. “You’re mad to step away from a ripping career to tuck into Kerry.”
He kisses my cheek. “I’m the opposite of mad. Ambition stunted my perspective. That night we commiserated over the lies we fabricate to feed the publicity beast, something snapped. I remembered the rush, the thrill when I worked with MetaMeme to put them on the map. It was personal. We were a team. That’s what I love about my job. Helping talent be seen. Not the bullshit. Not the over-the-top spins on reality. It scares me, Meg, how easily I inhabited the Hollywood construct of make-believe to make myself look good.” His fingers find mine. “I adore the way you shout to the world The Chieftain’s Son is brilliant. Your plans, your scenarios,” he chuckles as he borrows my phrase. “They’re never about you.”
“I’m not giving up my ambition.” My gaze trickles over the water. “The way I mucked about in Jack and Gilly’s life was forcing that construct on real people. It was wrong.”
“True Time dictated the image they wanted Jack to project—their make-believe, not yours.” Cian shakes his head. “You did your job, and he did his. Your ambition is the right kind. Meg McGrath is incapable of anything less than devotion to her people, to her show. That’s what drives you. Your loyalty to the projects you commit to will take you wherever you choose to go.”
“What if Hollywood is the end of my road?”
“Then so be it.” He digs his chin into my shoulder so we’re cheek to cheek. “Meg, you’ve reminded me of who I was. The me I want to be again. My trajectory stopped focusing on the shows or the groups I represented and became only about Cian Malley.” He tightens his grip on me. “You knocked me off that path. I’m not just here for you. I’m here to find me.”
Here we are, two intelligent people shifting our reality together. What could be grander?
He nuzzles my neck. “That, Meghan McGrath, is one of the many reasons I’m in danger of falling in love with you.”
I spin in his arms to look in his eyes. He says words I’d only dare hoped might rise between us. “Cian, we could tally up the hours we’ve know each other without a calculator.” Damn me for being too cowardly to assure him I’m alongside him, falling.
“Is this your way of telling me I’m crazy?” Cian’s confidence wavers.
I lay a hand on his cheek. The contact sloughs off the last of my coward’s shell. Fear of “we” bobbles away on the surface of the pool. “It is, and I’m right there with you.”
He crushes his lips to mine with such force we slip on the tile stripe beneath us marking a swim lane. Even underwater, we don’t break the kiss. When we come up for air, I smooth hair out of my eyes. “The Chieftain’s Son potentially runs for nine or ten years, more if Deidre keeps writing.”
“And what a glorious decade we can make it.” He takes my hands again. “If you’ll have me, Meghan McGrath.”
He tries to drop to his knee in the pool, but I pull him to his feet. “Slow it down there. It’s definitely too soon for any one-knee business.”
Cian drags me toward the steps and manages a knee-drop position despite my protests. “I do have a proposal for you, M-Squared.”
I lay a hand on his chest. “Oh, no, you don’t. If you ever have a proposal for me, there are a thousand places more romantic in Ireland than a Swim and Gym.”
He laughs. “Aha, more proof my Meg McGrath is made of softer stuff than she shows the world.” His expression shifts to serious. “Here me out. I propose we open a business together here in Cahersiveen with a goal of expanding to Dublin. I propose you clear out a closet for me in your townhouse. I propose to open my eyes each morning before you wake for the pleasure of watching you greet the day in my arms. I propose you give us a shot.” Cian takes both my hands in his. “And I repeat—if you’ll have me, my darling, M-Squared.”
The most life-changing decisions I’ve made lately happened in this pool where my head is always clear. My heart joins my head in glorious agreement. “I’ll have you, Cian O’Malley.” Emphasizing the “O,” I slide my arms across his shoulders until my body presses against every inch of his drenched clothes. I smile against his lips. “I’ll have you just fine.”
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Cian O’Malley could charm a wish out of a faerie. In his few months in Ireland, my man won over the family. Taryn bellyaches in a loop that Mommy and Dad prefer him to Roy. I forgive her beautiful belly since it’s holding my first niece or nephew.
After a long day at The Clan, including the first production meeting of Jack’s new show, working title, “To You Beloved, My Ireland,” I slip into the storage room of my parents’ art gallery we’ve turned into the headquarters of M-Squared Marketing. Splattered across one wall like a battle plan are the particulars for Gilly and Jack’s public wedding, our first project. The Chieftain’s Son is on the brink of starting to shoot season three, “Skies of Mist and Wind.” We’ve nailed down permissions to shoot on Skellig Michael in late June, early July, limiting the number of shoes that’ll walk onto the island. I’ve gotten nice and cozy with the particulars of booking helicopters.
The culminating day of production will in fact be the second wedding of our star and our Crystal-Award-winning writer. I get teary every time I read the press release set for the nuptials of my friends. Teary and a bit guilty for forcing the O’Learys to keep to the shadows for so long about their love.
Cian’s bent over my dad’s old drafting table. I lean across him and kiss his cheek. “Hello, my lovely.”
He swivels his office chair to pull me into his lap. The “M” of my name starts as a purr and ends in a kiss that kicks fatigue from the day out the window.
I can’t get enough of the man. He’s become a wonderful mentor for my work on the show, upping my game rung after rung, along with my confidence. He’s my Cyrano, whispering tips and advice into my ear with no one the wiser. My working relationship with Dash and True Time has taken on a whole different timbre since Cali Con. The green girl Bobby went to bat for is coming into her own.
I worry Cian misses the Hollywood life. It’s my head game, not his. My man’s sights are on our company.
“How was your meeting?” His naughty hand strays down my thigh to the knee, then doubles back on its journey under my skirt.
I slap his hand. “Daddy’s on the other side of the door, you sneaky fool.”
“But you’ve made the package so easy to unwrap.” He succeeds in an indecent grab that sends me to my feet.
“Have you noticed the frown on my father’s face? He’s quite aware you’re unwrapping this package.”
Cian laughs. I love it when Cian laughs. “Unwrapping aside, your father likes me.”
I straighten my skirt. “The meeting was brilliant. Gilly’s nervous the new show will get tongues wagging before their second wedding, but I promised we’ll keep the premise under wraps until she and Jack go public.”
“And let me guess, Jack is saying fuck all.”
I laugh. “Yep. Our resident bull in a China shop is of that mind. I thought his eyes were going to fry me like a rasher of bacon when I reminded him the breakup with Niks has to hit first before our Gilly steps into the light.”
“A ticking bomb for another few weeks, yeah?”
I click on my phone to a draft of the press release I drew up before leaving work today and hand it to him. He skims the doc and looks up at me, startled. “This Friday?”
I nod. “It’ll be brilliant. Niks and Jack will appear at the TVUK awards as a couple. They’ll make nice, then announce their amicable split with a kiss. By the way, you’ll need a tux.”
He scratches his hair, a sign I’ve come to know signals racing thoughts. His eyes circle as he plays out the scenario. The corner of his lip rises. “Well played.” He frowns. “Dash?”
I whip out my terrible Dashell Everett impression. “Agreed, Meghan. Time to bury the drama deep in the vault.”
He laughs. “You’re a bad audition tape for a crime drama.” He presses his lips together. “What prompted the timeline escalation?” His eyes widen. “Oh shit, is Gilly pregnant?”
I take his hands and pull him to his feet so I can snatch him up in a proper embrace. “Nothing so urgent. If Niks and Jack split now, the fans will be ready to see their boy happy in love by Christmastime.”
“The sentimental play. Damn, you’re good.” He kisses my nose. “And it’ll get you a much bigger Christmas gift from Jack.” He chuckles. “Niks and Marisa will probably buy you a pony.”
I swat his adorable backside. “Och, you’ve seen right through me again, O’Malley.” I’m about to pull the door closed and grab more of my favorite backside when Daddy calls from the gallery.
“Meggers, you lock up. I’m off home.”
I dot a quick kiss on Cian’s soft and eager mouth and catch up with my dad. The relationship between my parents and I warmed considerably since Cian and I started our business in their backroom.
“Sure, Daddy.” I give him a hug and prepare to lock the front door behind him when Cian joins us.
“We’re leaving, too, Mr. Mac.” Cian’s got his coat on, and keys jingle in his hand. “Remember, love, we’re going to check out the gallery space for the October art show in Killarney.”
“Tonight?”
“Sure, and then I’m craving the cocktails and duck at the Stoney Bistro.” He threads an arm around my back. “Have I sufficiently tempted you with a walk through an artist’s space and dinner?”
I’m dying to kick my shoes off so Cian can work his magic thumbs over my feet, but he’s so bouncy at the prospect of a night out, I can’t say no.
“Sounds like the sort of proper date you might have had before you shared an address.” Daddy’s grumble is for show—and probably the priest. He’s all in on Cian. Daddy’s also got a standing golf date with Cian’s grandfather. I’m not the only one who fell for this particular O’Malley in record time.
I begin to sink into a lovely doze as Cian navigates the curving roads of the Ring of Kerry. My plans crumble when the tires groan over the gravel of a car-park.
“What’s wrong? Is it the car?” My car is sturdy, but it’s nearing the time when trading it in is looking better and better. I sit up and see we’re at the Glenbeigh lookout.
Cian opens my door and extends a hand. “Join me.” We walk to the fern border overlooking a perfect arc of dark teal water that forms the bay below. Splashed across the sky above the Atlantic, crimson reds bleed into a stripe of light melon.
Cian pulls me against his chest as we lose ourselves in the beauty of the dying day.
I rest my arms on his, leaning on my new swimming partner. I love beginning and ending my days with Cian. We’re sunset clouds, one color melting into the other to create the perfect blend of something new.
“Meghan, I have a new proposal for you.”
My mind plays the ideas we’ve batted around over the past weeks, like relocating in Killarney even though it would more than double my commute to Waterville and The Clan. I’m not selling my place in Cahersiveen, but I’m maybe willing to convert it to an Airbnb for a stretch. To my surprise, Cian has dual American and Irish citizenship since his dad was born here. Our talk of buying a place together works out fine given I’ve got myself an Irish lad.
I chuckle. “Is our date a ruse to show me real estate?”
“You were too right. It’s much lovelier here than the inside of the Swim and Gym. Thank you, Ireland.” Cian guides my hand into the pocket of his coat. He wraps my fingers around a tiny box with a velvety feel to it. My heart pounds as a sizzle sings through my body.
Cian frees the bitty box and my fingers clamped around it from his pocket.
“Meghan, there’s a promise inside the box I’m ready to make to you.” He drops light kisses behind my ear. “We happened fast, but everyday I’m with you makes me want a thousand more.” His lips find the corner of my mouth. “My promise will wait until you’re ready to hear it.”
Oh, so gently, he slips our hands and the velvet box back in his pocket. Cian removes his hand, but mine continues to grasp the tiny promise. Not a tiny promise, the promise of a life with a man I love. A partner who honors my intelligence, my ambition, and my heart. No one has influenced my life and my dreams like Cian O’Malley.
Are we fools for falling through the sunset hand in hand? Could be, but then again, maybe not.
I bring the box free of his pocket and hand it to him. “What do you propose, Mr. O’Malley?”
He takes his velvet promise from my hand and opens it. Inside, a delicate gold ring dotted with tiny chips of diamond, emerald, and an aqua gem pick up the last of the sunlight. “It was my great grandmother’s. Grandad’s been keeping it for the day I came to my senses and found the perfect woman to share my life with.” Cian drops to one knee. “An Irish treasure for my beautiful Irish dream. Will you spend your life with me, M-Squared? I bring you with reverent hands the book of my numberless dreams.”
