preliminary research on her, but she kept the lowest profile he’d ever seen—aside, of course, from his own. He wondered if that was what made her so good at her job—her clients’ “misdeeds,” as she called them, were fixed almost immediately. Most people didn’t even know a transgression happened at all, or it was turned on its head into something positive.
He finished buttoning his shirt and pulled on his most comfortable pair of jeans. His suit was gone; he had showed Emma his friendly business side (and, unfortunately, a little of his not-so-friendly business side thanks to the large-breasted bit of evil in her office), and now he needed to get more personal. Trustworthy; less like a business arrangement, more like a friendship.
Aidan looked around for the hotel key card and cursed. Back home, his security system consisted of a very sharp sword, not that he had to make use of it very often. In fact, he mused, spying the key card on the granite counter in his suite’s large kitchen, the last time he’d had the pleasure of using it was when Colin had visited him in Ireland and they’d engaged in a bit of sport in the back garden.
His fingers flexed. It had been far too long since he’d enjoyed the sound of steel upon steel. He couldn’t wait to have his old sword back; none other had quite the balance to it like that one did.
He flipped off the light and grabbed his black leather jacket from the back of the dining room chair. His suite at the W Hotel was enormous—certainly bigger than his modest cottage in Ireland. The suite boasted two floors of living space. The dining room held a large, polished table with six chairs. The kitchen was modern and sleek, and all black and chrome. A living room and powder room completed the first floor, and the upstairs held two bedrooms, each with its own full-sized washroom.
Opulence. Even after all these years, he still hated it.
Colin had insisted on making the hotel reservations. Pompous arse, he knew how much Aidan loathed lavishness, which was no doubt why he’d booked the swankiest room possible. Their relationship was more like brothers than cousins, and Aidan took great pleasure in the thought that he would get his revenge somehow.
Aidan put his thoughts aside and grabbed his satchel, which was stuffed with treasures sure to make Emma’s unique eyes light up like a Christmas tree. He could only imagine what her response would be. That feistiness and her quick wit would be a boon in the upcoming days.
If she agreed to it.
He frowned. Wayward thoughts weren’t going to be of aid. He needed to remain focused on his end goal—determine Emma’s abilities, get the sword from the auction, and get back to Ireland before Colin could set him up on a date with some new client. Colin had held off so far, but Aidan could sense his cousin’s growing impatience with his determination to get back home. Despite that, Aidan hadn’t any desire to be Celtic Connections’ latest match. He liked his solitude, he liked his peace, and he loved how it grated on Colin’s nerves.
Aidan closed the door behind him and hit the elevator button, sliding his arms into his jacket. He needed to keep his wits about himself, and refocus on the task.
His cell rang, interrupting his thoughts. “Are you downstairs?”
“You bet yer arse I am, and I got another one of those parking tickets,” Cian MacWilliam barked from the other end. “Shite, mate, you’d best have a plate ready fer me at Paddy’s. The bobbies aren’t big Irish fans and they didn’t like me threatening them.”
The elevator dinged, and Aidan grinned at the man standing in the lobby, who doubled as his driver tonight. “They don’t look kindly upon brutes threatening them with swords. I’m surprised you didn’t get yourself thrown in a cell for the night.”
Cian tightened his jaw as he shoved his phone into his pocket. “I would’ve liked to see them try.”
Aidan clapped a hand on his back. “Try to