Shelby's Angels: When Irish Eyes Are Dying Page 8

  The drive back had been interesting to say the least. Shen and Delsin were comparing conspiracy theories, Adan looked smug, and Blain couldn’t get the smile off of his face.

  “I’m so glad that we don’t have to go on tonight.” Adan stretched his arms over his head and kicked off his shoes before moving onto the plush carpet of their basement meeting room.

  “All I want is a shower and bed,” Raidon agreed, running his hands through his hair as he took a seat.

  The muffled sound of feminine screams and the heavy boom of the bass from the speakers flowed from the dance floor above, making them roll their eyes and contemplate extra soundproofing. Strip clubs, especially all-male strip clubs, were notoriously loud.

  All five exhausted warriors flopped on the coach and grinned at each other.

  Adan asked the question that the rest of them were thinking.

  “So, Blain,” he began. “How was it?”

  “A gentleman does not kiss and tell.”

  “Show me a gentleman,” Shen drawled, and the rest exploded into laughter.

  “Ouch! Twist my arm!” Blain chuckled. “Okay, she does this thing with her back! How she ever arches that thing up like that, I will never know, but I thought she was trying to fuck me and suck me at the same time.”

  “Ohh.” The others leaned forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity and eagerness as Blain began to tell all.

  “Even more than that, she has a way of clenching her inner muscles. Man, it’s like being milked in a machine. Hot, tight, and wet. And she makes the cutest sounds and squirms all around. Man, she’s a wonderful lay!”

  “And maybe certifiable.” A dark, sardonic voice interrupted the blow-by-blow.

  Barika entered the room after making that statement, Nalu and Shelby following.

  “Pardon?” Blain looked more confused than upset at the declaration.

  “I said certifiable,” Barika reiterated as he slapped a huge file folder on the table and looked at each of the men in turn, seriousness easily read in the tense muscles of his body.

  “Well, that would be the reason she was interested in Blain,” Delsin reasoned, as if some great mystery had been solved.

  Adan nodded at Delsin’s declaration, and the rest followed suit.

  Blain glared.

  “I’m serious,” Barika sighed as he took a seat on the chair across from the couch the guys were slumped on. “She had to fight to keep her company from her father’s two right hands, Edgar Rice and Macey Snow, by obtaining the legal services of a good corporate attorney. This woman was determined. She didn’t roll over like a lot of people would. She fought to keep the company after her father’s untimely death. He committed suicide in his office. Trina found the body.”

  “Oh, man.” Blaine threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “That’s enough to drive anyone insane.” Then an eager look filled his eyes. “How did he do it? Poison?”

  “Bullet to the skull.” They all shuddered. That would mean a closed casket funeral! Who would want to go out with a messed up face? The man was just sick!

  “And since her mother died at a young age, and her stepmother, who created and developed the concept of Irish Eyes, disappeared a year earlier.”

  “Kensington is not an Irish name.”

  “Nope, but the Kensingtons are Irish, and the stepmother was from Dublin originally. Good Irish stock. Long red hair and all. She reportedly came up with the concept when men’s styling products first appeared on the market. Trina’s grandfather tried to carry on in honor of her name, and apparently couldn’t take the strain. While Trina was recovering from seeing her father’s brain splattered all over his office, Edgar and Macey made a move to take over and prove that she was incompetent.”

  “And she won?”

  “Her emotional distress had a cause. She was found screaming over her father’s body. That would throw anyone for a loop. They took that into consideration, and seeing that she has shown sound business sense since then, the judges were apparently correct.”

  That made sense to all of them, but Shen still held his doubts.

  “Are you sure she’s recovered?” She still seemed a bit strange, almost obsessed, to him.

  “The report and several insiders say she is, and she’s been doing a wonderful job of running the company. She even kept Edgar and Macey on, despite the betrayal they showed in trying to take the company from her. She said that they were damned good at their jobs, and she would rather have them working for her than the competition.”

  “Generous,” whispered Shen, and he and Barika shared a look.

  “What?” Shelby asked, bending forward to pick up the file and leaf through it. “That’s entirely too close to the Jacuzzi look. I’m sure we all remember what happened in that little incident.” She gave them all a stern glare, reminding them that they had not been forgiven yet.

  “I’m not sure about Trina,” Shen finally said. “Something just seems off about her.”

  “Women’s intuition?” Blain asked, rolling his eyes.

  “No. Just a feeling.” Shen grinned, pleased that Blain had acknowledged his more feminine side.

  “I understand your feeling,” Barika said. “I have a few questions myself.”

  “Why? Because she forgave them?” Blain asked, not actually defending her, but wanting to know more. They had all been through too much for him to question Shen’s or Barika’s feelings too much.

  “Yes.” Both Barika and Shen answered at the same time.

  “That and Macey looked more scared than scheming,” Shen added.

  “I noticed that too,” Barika agreed. “In her conversations with Trina. All of those bugs you guys planted in the same place weren’t a total loss. They, meaning the painted lady and the slut --”

  “Hey! She’s no slut,” Blain interrupted. “Just a really good lay.”

  “Oh, excuse me,” Barika rolled his eyes. “The painted lady and the really good lay had an interesting conversation in the dressing room yesterday. I could have sworn that Trina was threatening her but didn’t come right out and say it.”

  “So why would she be keeping them on and why would they stay?”

  “Scapegoat?” Barika’s answer stunned all of them.

  “Okay,” Shelby said, after taking a moment to let all that information and supposition sink in. “So we watch all of them. At this point, I say we can only trust ourselves and our employer, James.”

  “I knew he was on the up-and-up.” Shen smiled. “He saved us from the kilt and the pirate outfits.”

  They all nodded in agreement.

  But before the conversation ball could get rolling about James and his tasty ass and taste in fashion, Blain’s cell phone rang.

  He motioned them all to be quiet as he answered.

  “Hello? Oh, Trina! Wonderful, lass.” He smiled at what she had to say, a masculine laugh rolling from his throat.

  “Tomorrow night? That soon?” He nodded to the group as he gave his consent. “Okay, see you then, lover. In my best suit and with a smile on my face.”

  He put his phone on the table and turned to face the group.

  “Tomorrow, they want to announce us as the new spokespeople for the Irish Eyes account. She has the proofs already. Teresa, the photographer, apparently worked some magic, and James is ready to move with the publicity.”

  “Too dangerous,” Shelby sighed. “But we have to go through with this. You will all be wired! I want this case closed by tomorrow, guys. I don’t want my Angels to get hurt.”

  “You really care.” Blain chuckled. “Just don’t tell William how much, love. Or that you want to feel my uncut cock. I don’t want him to break my fingers.”

  “I didn’t say…” Shelby held back a scream as a familiar tingling began at her right temple while her left eyelid twitched. Was that another headache brewing? “Tomorrow, Angels. Close this case.”

  That said, Shelby went upstairs to contact their client and let him know that their work was almos
t done. She also had to inform William that they needed more of his specialized equipment.

  Chapter 10

  “… and, ladies and gentlemen,” James intoned, looking resplendent in his black, custom-made tux, “here are the faces of the future. I give you Raidon, Adan, and Blain. The men of Irish Eyes!”

  “Damn, he’s good,” Blain whispered to Adan and Raidon as the three began their walk down the platform. Gracefully, they strutted toward the conference tables set up at the end of the ballroom, showing the reporters just why these particular three talents had been chosen out of a thousand. The fact that this was a setup never tainted that feeling of accomplishment. In their minds, they were -- and would always be -- the best.

  Splendor was not the proper word for their surroundings. Lights flashed, a professionally manned smoke machine cast out the right amount of atmosphere, as a live band blasted some new kind of jazz, Irish Folk, and rock fusion.

  Flower petals floated gracefully to the ground, falling at the men’s feet, Raidon in his kimono, Adan in a wonderfully cut suit by Anne Klein, and Blain in Dolce & Gabbana.

  The trio of masculine beauty made their way up the walk, spinning and turning, giving wonderful opportunities for intrepid photographers to get just the right shot. Before they took their seats, Blain, as the spokesman, moved to the center of their grouping of three and casually took his seat. The other two followed suit.

  Immediately, reporters from the hottest fashion magazines began to shout questions at the men, each trying to be the first to get the all-important sound bites.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” James continued. “Please, one question at a time.”

  And, of course, the first question was the most difficult to answer.

  “Blain, are you scared that you and your associates will fall victim to the murders that have been plaguing the past Irish Eyes models?”

  Total silence filled the room.

  Security tightened up, ready to handle the explosion of questions that the reporters would no doubt be yelling as they all rushed the platform. But Blain smiled charmingly and began to answer, despite James’ sputtered protests.

  “Ah, lass,” he began, emphasizing his brogue. “Such a tragic thing to happen to any man. The world grieves at the loss of those young men, of what they could have accomplished if given the opportunity. It hurts me to the core to see such horrid things happen in a society where freedom and one’s ability to rise above one’s means reign supreme. Now, as for the culprits that committed such a heinous act, I can only feel pity. To hold such a guilt, lass, to harbor such dark leanings…” He shook his head, and the other two lowered their heads as if in mourning.

  “Next question?” James called out, a grin on his face. His confidence was restored as he watched Blain neatly sidestep that question and still come out sounding compassionate and caring. It was a wonderful, beautiful, useful sidestep if he had ever seen one!

  “Are you really Irish?” another reporter called out.

  “On both my mother’s and father’s sides, lass, one hundred percent. And yes, the hair’s real, the accent’s real, and it’s true what they say about Irish men. We all have… great personalities.”

  As the session continued, the crowd laughed in all the appropriate places and tensions behind the conference tables relaxed.

  “He’s so perfect,” Trina sighed, staring at Blain. Something flashed in her eyes, but was gone before anyone noticed. “The proofs don’t lie.”

  “The proofs?” Macey asked. She stood there, her garish makeup in place, watching the trio of men like a hawk. “They’re back already? I thought we had a week to wait?”

  “I demand efficiency,” Trina snarled, turning fierce eyes to Macey. “And I want to know everything that goes on within my company, especially Irish Eyes. So Teresa got the proofs back to me in a timely fashion.”

  Macey paled, but then carried on valiantly. “So what are you going to do?”

  “What can I do? Such perfection is almost too good for the world. Blain’s perfect in every way, and I’m sure he will do Irish Eyes justice.”

  Macey abruptly turned and walked away, not aware she was being tailed. Delsin would not let that woman out of his sight, and he maintained constant contact with Barika and the others as he followed close behind her.

  But all too soon, the questions ended, and the models began to circulate with the investors, magazine reps, and other assorted and sundry people who crowded the conference.

  Photos were snapped and opinions expressed, even as Trina made her way through the throng and toward her Blain.

  “Good evening, gorgeous,” she purred, rising up on tiptoe to plant one sweet kiss -- a photo op no doubt -- on his cheek.

  “My lovely lady,” Blain responded, wrapping one arm around her waist and keeping things proper and businesslike while flashes flashed and the whirl-click of the cameras filled the air.

  “I got the proofs,” she whispered, smiling for the cameras as she deftly guided Blain to the side, away from the other models and toward a sliding glass door. A lovely and private garden could be seen just beyond.

  “So soon?”

  “Yes,” she said. She looked around, then opened the doors, pushing him through and into the cooler evening air. “You have to be dying to see them.”

  “You know I am. It was a unique shoot, and I’m wondering how it turned out, wondering if there will be TV ads in the future, things like that.”

  “I thought you might be leaning in that direction,” she said with a smile. “And because of that, I have a little surprise for you, lover.”

  “Oh?” Blain stopped talking and wrapped both arms around her small waist. She was so tiny!

  “Yes, I have a private celebration set up. Just a small, intimate viewing party, right over there.”

  Blain smiled and turned in the direction she indicated.

  Sure enough, there was a small table set up with an album, a chilled bottle of something cold, and a few hors d’oeuvres.

  “Well, lead me to it, lass.” Blain smiled as they moved toward the table, never knowing that they had more company following along.

  Chapter 11

  “What the hell’s that crazy bitch doing?” Edgar growled.

  Edgar, with the solemn Macey, watched as Trina herded Blain toward a side exit.

  Neither one was happy, and it showed on their faces.

  Of course, their changing demeanor sent instant signals to the others.

  Adan, who was standing by like a good boyfriend should, turned as Shen tensed and placed a hand on his arm. He nodded across the room to Delsin, who was still tailing Edgar and Macey, and signaled to Raidon, who was being mysterious and aloof all alone in a corner.

  Adan dropped out of his relaxed pose and made his way toward Raidon.

  “Side door,” he whispered, speaking into his microphone pin to Barika and Nalu, who were in a nearby van.

  After acknowledgement from Barika and Nalu, Adan and Shen made their way to the side door, as well.

  But they were beaten to the punch by an irate Edgar and a worried Macey.

  They stormed through the doors as if they were racing from something, or racing toward it.

  That was it. All bets were off. As discreetly as possible, all the Angels made their way toward the side exit, and, hopefully, to the end of the case.

  * * *

  “These are perfect,” Trina whispered as she smiled at Blain, handing him a glass of chilled red wine.

  “They are something else,” Blain allowed. He looked at a picture of himself, perched atop the waterfall, looking fey and ethereal as he fell to the earth. Then there was a close-up of him emerging face-first from the wall of the waterfall.

  The water highlighted his bone structure and his long eyelashes. Also, combined with the colors of the setting sun, it looked as if his hair was a part of the background, blending into the water and the environment around him.

  “They are perfect, Blain. Almost too perfect.�
��

  “Nah,” he chuckled, raising the glass to his lips. “But what I want to know is what the other guys look like.”

  “They are of no consequence.”

  “What?”

  The glass dropped again after his lips barely brushed the rim.

  “The others. They aren’t Irish. They aren’t the perfect specimens for this project. They’re foils, so to speak, for your glory.”

  “Foils.”

  Again, he lifted the glass to his lips but was interrupted by the dangerous duo, Macey and Edgar.

  Well, it was not like he needed the extra calories, anyway, he thought, putting the glass on the table.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

  Blain turned away from his cold glass of wine to see the irate pair bearing down on them.

  “Showing proofs, Edgar.” Trina sneered. “Or is that a crime now?”

  “No, but what I suspect you are about to do is.” Edgar’s face was grim.

  “Share a glass of wine?” Trina raised her eyebrow and smiled.

  “Share? What share? You don’t have a glass, Trina,” Macey pointed out. “Are you planning on drinking right out of the bottle or are you planning on getting rid of him? Is that how you got rid of the last one?” Macey glared, tears in her eyes, and Trina chuckled.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Blain asked as he rose to his feet, hoping that the recorder was working correctly. It looked like the shit was about to hit the fan.

  He only hoped he sounded masculine and commanding in the tapes that the courts would undoubtedly play for the listening public at the trial, no matter who was guilty.

  “I don’t know what you mean!” Trina was indignant, but Macey was one cool customer.

  “It’s time to come clean, Trina.” She closed her eyes and lowered her head for a moment, before she brought accusing eyes up to rest on Trina. “For all of our sakes.”

  Macey now just looked tired. Her shoulders sagged in defeat and she just looked beaten.

  “What the hell?” A new voice -- Shen’s -- called out, intruding on this circus.