Page 13 of Playing Dirty
"By all means." He flashes a final, devastating wink at Janelle and Andrea. "A grand delight meeting you both."
They stammer out some breathless variation ofthe pleasure was all ours. These two have navigated high-stakes interactions with tech titans and demanding celebrities without ever losing their cool, yet after five minutes in Cillian's magnetic orbit, they both look prepared to sign divorce papers on the spot.
I catch Janelle's eye and arch a skeptical eyebrow, and she frantically mouthsoh my godwhile fanning herself with a stack of estate brochures. I simply shake my head, earning a quick stuck-out tongue for my trouble, while Cillian glances back over his shoulder as I steer us toward the staff corridor.
"The private tasting room is this way," I say, setting a brisk pace to get him out of the lobby before the front desk staff actually faints.
"You can call me Cillian," he remarks, matching my stride with ease. "Mr. O'Rourke is what my lawyer calls me."
"I believe a standard of professionalism is appropriate, Mr. O'Rourke." I flash him a bright, hollow smile and hold the door open, stepping aside to let him enter first.
He chuckles as he passes, looking down at me with a grin that suggests he isn't even slightly discouraged. So much for setting boundaries.
The room is an intimate space, quiet and lined with arched windows that frame the vineyards perfectly. A long oak table, walls of vintage maps, and enough old wine guides to satisfy even the most tedious collector.
The morning wine flight is already staged at the head of the table. While Diane handles the public tours, this room is my domain, reserved for the VIPs, the partnerships, and the people who don't blink at reserve bottle pricing.
It also feels remarkably small with him standing in the center of it.
"So." I gesture toward the table as he takes the room in. "What's your current level of wine expertise?"
He glances back over his shoulder. "Virtually non-existent.My mam enjoys a glass, but I'm afraid I'm a beer man through and through. Right down to the Guinness, honestly."
"So the whole Guinness thing isn't just for the sponsorship?"
"Not at all, I genuinely love the stuff." He tilts his head. "Though I hardly touch a drop during the season, or anywhere near a game night. Don't tell the people writing the checks I said that."
"Your secret's safe with me. I'd hate to be the reason a beer conglomerate pulls your contract." I smile. "And I’ll admit, I don't know the first thing about beer. I don’t really like the taste of it, actually."
"Like I told you, Ace." He smiles, dimples making an appearance. "Oil and water."
"So it would seem." I pull out a chair, fully expecting him to take the seat across from mine.
Instead, he slides into the one right next to me, his shoulder almost touching mine. He smells annoyingly good too, some masculine, sophisticated scent that is decidedly not the Axe body spray or the predictable fuckboy Dior Sauvage I'd half-expected.
He reaches for one of the wine glasses, and my attention catches on his hands. They're large, which makes sense for a man his size, but also strangely elegant. Long fingers, well-kept nails, none of the sausage-fingered situation I'd assumed came standard with a man who hits other men for a living. In fact, his fingers look like they'd be very good at…
Clearing my throat, I force my focus back. "Uh, what was the draw for this partnership? If you don't mind me asking. It just seems… a bit of a departure from your usual stuff."
"I don't mind at all." He waves it off. "You're not wrong, it's a bit outside my usual lane. But the Guinness campaign put me on Solstice's radar, so Carol reached out to my manager. And, you know, I'm easy for a big check."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "Well. I suppose I should value the honesty."
"All four of my sisters would tell you it's my only redeeming quality." He leans back, hooking one arm over the chair's crest.
"Foursisters?" I look up, surprised. "That must have been an... active household."
"Chaos was the baseline." He grins. "I'm the second oldest, so I helped wrangle the younger three, but we're a tight-knit bunch, for what it's worth. What about you? Any siblings?"
"My younger sister, Sabrina," I say, pouring a splash of wine and sliding the glass toward him. "She's working on her film degree, and she actually took over my spare bedroom last year to save on rent. She's like my polar opposite. Free-spirited, allergic to anything resembling a plan. Basically a human glitter bomb, but it’s still just the best having her live with me."
"Sounds a lot like Ellie, the youngest of my sisters." He chuckles. "But she's the baby of the family, so I still dote on her like she's a toddler."
"I know that feeling all too well." I smile, thinking of my own house. "Eldest daughter syndrome.”
"Ah, the protective instinct. We'd be insufferable as a pair." He lifts his glass at me. "A toast to the younger siblings, then. May they continue to ruin our nervous systems for as long as we both shall live."
I laugh and clink my glass against his, and a small flicker of real rapport settles between us. We fall into an easy rhythm after that, working through the flight while I walk him through each vintage. To my surprise, he actually listens, asks real questions, and even seems to be enjoying the wines.
