The Official Guide

From “An Interview with the Callaghans”

I close the lid on my notebook computer and lean back in my chair. Nearly everyone is here.

Ian slips a drink in front of me, then joins the rest of his brothers already seated at the table. The Pub isn’t due to open for another hour or so, so we have the place to ourselves and can talk freely. I’m in a position many women dream of, surrounded by all of these wealthy, powerful, deadly men. The air is thick with testosterone, yet I am not afraid, nor am I intimidated. These are my boys.

I look skeptically at the drink, then at Ian’s mischievous grin. “I am not drinking that.”

“Why not?” he asks innocently. Too innocently. Even though I know what he’s up to, I find myself still wanting to believe him.

“It’s a Virgin Slayer, isn’t it?” I look over at the bar and sure enough, there’s Brian McCain trying not to snicker and failing miserably. Ian’s grin grows.

“Seriously? I created you guys. You can’t pull anything over on me.”

“My bad,” Ian says, but he’s still grinning, so I know I have to stay on my toes. I pull an unopened, frosty Coors Light from my bag. Kane shoots me a look, a mixture of warning and pity, and I realize what I’ve just done: I’ve unintentionally issued a challenge they can’t possibly resist.

“Give it here,” Sean says smoothly, reaching for my beer to open it.

“Not a chance, Slick.” I pull my sleeve down over my palm and twist the top off myself. Not very ladylike, perhaps, but hey, that’s me.

“Glass?” Shane offers, and with a flick of those long fingers, sends one my way across the polished tabletop. It stops beside my laptop in perfect reaching distance. I raise my eyebrow. Like I don’t know about Michael’s undetectable (colorless, odorless, tasteless) additive coatings. Pffft.

“Nice try.” I raise the bottle to my lips and take a sip. My lips don’t immediately go numb and my vision is still clear, so I figure I’m good.

I think I hear Jake snort, but he covers it up by clearing his throat. “So, Abbie. How’s it going?”

“It’s going great,” I tell him truthfully. “They love you. They want more.”

“More?” Michael asks.

“Yeah.”

They look around the table at each other. “Who? You’ve already written a book about each of us.”

Copyright © 2015 – 2018 Abbie Zanders.

Written by Abbie Zanders.

All rights reserved.