All Chapters of I Rented a Fiancé and He Owns the Hotel: Chapter 1 - Chapter 8

Cillian’s POV“Sorry I’m late, love” was the dumbest line I had ever said out loud.I said it anyway. And she took my hand like it was a life raft.Her fingers were ice cold. Her pulse jumped under my thumb, fast and hard. She was five foot six in flat shoes and she stared up at me like she couldn’t decide whether to hug me or call security.I liked her immediately. That was the first problem.“You must be the fiancé,” said the man in the navy suit. Brendan. The ex. He looked at me the way a man looks at a stain on his shirt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch the name.”“Cal,” I said. “Cal Dunne.”It was my grandfather’s name. Calum Dunne. He’d tended bar on the South Side for forty years and never once owned a suit. I’d borrowed it because it was the only name in my head that had never been in a newspaper.“Cal,” Brendan repeated. “And what do you do, Cal?”“This and that.”“That’s vague.”“I’m a vague guy.”Nell’s fingers tightened on mine. I felt her trying not to laugh.I should explain

Cillian’s POV“Say it again,” Nell said. “The part about the keycard.”We were parked at the end of a long, curved driveway in Lake Forest. Snow ticked against the windshield of her little blue hatchback. Ahead of us, the Fitzgerald house blazed with light, three stories of stone and glass and old money, with a fountain out front that had been turned off for the winter.I turned off the engine. I’d insisted on driving. She’d insisted on paying for gas. We’d compromised by arguing the whole way.“I do security consulting,” I said. It was the closest thing to the truth I had. “Freelance. The hotel gave me a temporary card for a walk-through last month.”“For what?”“They wanted someone to test the doors.”“And that’s why you were in a photograph.”“Yes.”“And that’s why there’s no Cal Dunne in the state of Illinois.”“I don’t pay taxes under that name. It’s a work name.”“A work name.”“Lots of people have one.”She watched me. She’d been doing that all week. It wasn’t the way Brendan w

Cillian’s POV“Sit down, Miss Gallagher,” Desmond Fitzgerald said. “You look cold.”I stood in the dark behind a rack of kayaks with my heart in my throat.The Fitzgerald boathouse sat at the bottom of the lawn, a low stone building with a slate roof and a wide black window that looked out over Lake Michigan. One lamp burned on a table. Beside it, a decanter of whiskey and two glasses. Desmond was already pouring. Snow had started again, soft and steady, ticking against the glass.Malachy had called me at a quarter past eleven. Your fiancée just left her apartment. She’s heading north. I’d taken a cab, then run the last half mile in shoes that were not built for it. Now I was crouched in a room that smelled of cedar and lake water, listening to the woman I’d slept with meet the man who wanted me ruined.Nell didn’t sit. She stood in the doorway in her winter coat, arms crossed, chin up.“I’ll stand.”“As you like.” He held out a glass. She didn’t take it. He shrugged and drank it hims

Cillian’s POV“Let me go first,” Malachy said.“No.”“Sir.”“He’s my brother, Malachy.”I was already out of the chair. I don’t remember crossing the room. I remember the corridor, the elevator, the long white hall on the ninth floor with its soft carpet swallowing my footsteps. Nell ran beside me. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t try to slow me. Halfway there, she found my hand and held on.I pushed open the door of the bridal suite.“Cillian!” Fintan said, and smiled. “There you are.”He stood by the fireplace with the black folder in one hand, as relaxed as a man at a garden party. My brother. Two years older than me, six inches shorter, with our father’s mouth and our mother’s tired gray eyes. He had taught me to ride a bike. He had stood beside me at the funeral and held up my elbow when I couldn’t stand.Bronagh stood beside the desk, stiff as a coat hanger. Her face was gray.“Explain,” I said.“Nice to see you too.”“Explain, Fintan.”He glanced at Nell. At our joined hand