Chapter 3

Turns out there's a guy on the list right here in Boston. Rory Callahan. A quick search tells me he owns a bar somewhere in South Boston.

"I'm going over to McGinty's after work," I tell Ken, stopping by his desk after returning to the office from lunch and shopping with my mother. "It's in South Boston. Have you ever heard of it?"

"Not specifically, but you're not going alone."

"I can handle one little Irish pub," I say in my best Irish accent. It's not great, but he chuckles anyway. God, I think I'm in love with my assistant.

"Not in South Boston, you can't. Have you ever even been down there?"

"Well, no, but…"

"South Boston isn't Beacon Hill. Trust me, baby."

"I do trust you," I tell him when I realize that I do. Weird. " And when exactly did you start calling me baby?" I ask, not affronted in the slightest, but I feel like I should pretend to be.

"Right now. Get used to it, baby," he deadpans, and I can't help giggling.

After work, we grab a cab and take it to McGinty's. Inside, it looks exactly like I thought it would. Dark wood floor and a bar that takes up most of one side of the room. The one thing I wasn't expecting was for it to be packed. For a Thursday night, there are tons of people milling about. Ken pulls me closer to him and I can't say that I mind. He leads us up to the bar, where he pulls a stool out for me. There's just the one, so he stands beside me. Close to me. So close I can smell his cologne again. It's doing things to me again.

"Welcome to McGinty's. It's ladies' night," the bartender says. I look around the room. I'm the only woman in the room. "Most don't show up until later. But what can I get you?"

"I'll have a Kilian's. On tap if you have it. Bottle's fine if you don't," I say, pretty sure my usual on-the-rocks margarita is out here.

"Sure thing. And for you?"

"A Guinness."

"Coming right up."

"Um… Excuse me. Do you know where I can find Rory Callahan?"

"Who's asking?"

"I am," I say quickly.

"And who might you be?"

"Oh," I say, laughing. "I'm April Van Houten."

"I paid my bill," he says, confusing me.

"What?"

"You're from Van Houten Foods, correct? I paid my bill."

"Are we your food service provider?" Ken asks.

"Yeah, that's why you're right. I was late, the economy and all, but I paid it in full last week."

"No, sir, but thank you for being a loyal customer. That's not why I'm here. You're Rory?" I'll remember to look into his account to ensure he's getting the best rates we offer.

"I am," he says resigned. He pulls the Killian into a pint glass and then begins to build the Guinness.

"I have a delicate matter I'd like to discuss with you." I don't know how to do this, so I'll just do say it. "Did you… um… donate sperm…"

"Let me stop you right there. No, definitely not. Sorry. Here's your drinks."

He sets the glasses on the bar and moves to another customer.

"Well, that was…"

"A letdown," Ken says, somehow knowing exactly what I was going to say.

"Yeah."

"Did you really think this guy was your father?"

"No. My father is at home in Beacon Hill, but I thought…"

"I know, baby. I know." Have I mentioned that I love it when he calls me that? Because I do. The intense way that he's looking at me has me swallowing thickly and squirming in my seat. God, how can one little word do this to me?

"I'm going to use the ladies" room," I say, needing just a minute to collect myself or maybe just rub one out to get a better handle on myself. That's normal, right?

He nods, and off I go. I splash water on my face, and two guys step in front of me when I step back out.

"Hey, sweet cheeks," one of them says drunkenly. A wave of beer and bad breath rolls over me. My stomach revolts.

I ignore them and try to move around them, but then one of them grabs my arm, squeezing tightly, spinning me back around to face them.

"Hey!" I shout, trying to free my arm from his grasp, but he just tightens his fingers around me. Fuck, that hurts.

"Where you going, baby?" the other one says. "We're going to have so much fun." Yuck. No. Just no.

"Don't call me that," I say, hating the word coming from his mouth. I hate it so much, though it might be the increasing pain of the other man's grip on my arm that I double over and puke all over both of their feet. They jump back, letting me go.

I scream when a clammy, meaty hand hits me in the face, well, the back of it. "Fuck!"

"Disgusting bitch," the one who grabbed me says. Of course, he'd be the one to hit me. The next thing I know, I'm lifted off the ground and behind a solid wall of muscle. I hear punches landing, grunts, and groans, but I can't see anything.

"Oy! Donovan! Murphy! You're out. Banned, one week. Don't make me call the cops. Get out. The solid wall steps aside, and I see that it's Ken; of course, it is. Donovan and Murphy, the assholes, are bloody and swollen. Good.

"This is your fault, bitch," one of them says as he passes me.

"Don't fucking talk to her," Ken says, grabbing the man, ready to fuck him up all over again.

"It's okay, Ken," I say, placing my hand on his arm, hoping to calm him. Thankfully, it works. Then I look at him. He's bleeding, too. Shit. "Come on, Evander. Let's get you cleaned up," I say, dragging him into the bathroom with me. It's a single, so I shut and lock the door behind us.

"Sit," I demand, pointing to the closed toilet. I get a paper towel wet, then turn back to him, stepping into his open thighs. His hands rest on my hips. This feels… intimate. I fucking love it.

"You don't have to do this. I'm fine."

"Are you? You are bleeding. Your eye is swollen, and so are your knuckles. You didn't have to do that for me."

"Are you kidding me, April?"

"No. You didn't. I was just fine on my own."

"You have a bruise forming on your arm as we speak and a mother fucking hand print on your face. Those fucks are lucky I didn't fucking kill them where they stood. How dare they touch what isn't theirs."

"You're touching me," I whisper.

"Exactly."

I don't say anything else as I continue to clean up his face and hands. When he's cleaned up, I bring his bruised and busted hand to my lips and kiss them.

"Thank you, Ken."

"You're welcome, baby. Anytime."

To me, there's nothing sexier than a man who fights for you. Nothing. It might be caveman-like, but it's true. Fight me on that.