The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1), Iris Morland [best reads of all time TXT] 📗

out with Grandda ages ago, had gotten only a small amount of money when he’d turned eighteen many years ago. So it had made sense that I would inherit anything else. I’d initially balked at having to travel so far just to sign a few papers, though. Email was a thing in Ireland, too.

It was when Mr. McDonnell had informed me that he had information on the whereabouts of my da, Connor Gallagher, that I’d changed my mind.

Da had run out on me, Liam, and our mam before I’d even been born. I’d never known him. As far as Liam was concerned, he was dead to us, and that was that. (Liam really liked to hold grudges against the men in our family.)

But I’d always wanted to know more about Da: why he’d left, if he was even still alive. It had been something that had niggled at me for years. When Mr. McDonnell’s letter had landed in my mailbox, it had felt like destiny.

I heard someone swear, breaking through my reverie. Rounding the corner, I found a man holding his thumb to his mouth.

In the sunlight, all I could make out was that he was young and had what could only be described as golden hair. It literally sparkled in the light. When he turned his face toward me, I nearly choked on my own spit.

He was ridiculously good-looking; there was no other way to describe it. Lean, chiseled jaw; tanned skin; golden hair; tall, muscular, but not bulky. He had that perfect, symmetrical face that was either the result of amazing genetics or a very talented plastic surgeon.

I was leaning against some kind of fruit tree, too enthralled by this golden man to notice that I was leaning too much of my weight on the tree. A branch snapped, and Golden Man swiveled his head in my direction to see me staring like an idiot.

“Good morning,” he said to me, surprisingly calm given the whole staring thing. “Why are you hiding in a fruit tree?” A pause, then he added, “Miss?”

I pushed away from the tree, blushing harder when the broken branch fell to the ground. Mortified, I picked it up, like I could somehow put it back onto the tree. I eventually just dropped into the pot and hoped I hadn’t completely ruined the poor plant.

Golden Man clucked his tongue at me. “You’ll have to pay for that, you know. Do you know how expensive these trees are?”

His accent was definitely not Irish, or English for that matter. It sounded closest to a French accent. As my brain took in that interesting fact, he’d gotten closer to me. I could then make out that he had lovely gray eyes.

Of course he did, I thought in annoyance. Nothing banal like brown eyes for this golden man. He probably never farted or got pimples, either.

“Um,” was all I could manage. Why was I acting like a thirteen-year-old girl at a One Direction concert? I fixed cars for fun and had been around all kinds of men at my local car shop. They were men who’d try their best either to rile me or get into my pants, often both.

But I was already out of sorts in a country I’d never really known, at a place I hadn’t known existed, and apparently that was enough to render me tongue-tied.

Golden Man was peering at me expectantly, a similarly golden eyebrow raised in question. “Who are you, miss?” he said finally.

“I’m Niamh Gallagher.”

“Neev,” Golden Man repeated. “That’s an interesting name. Yet you sound like an American, yes?”

“It’s Irish. I’m Irish-American. And my grandda owns—owned—this place.” I gestured around me.

Both of golden man’s eyebrows shot straight up. “Gallagher—of course. You’re his granddaughter? I didn’t know he had a granddaughter.”

Golden Man sounded almost confounded, like he’d searched Grandda’s Facebook already and hadn’t found any random grandchildren in his friends list. (Okay, Grandda definitely hadn’t been on Facebook. I’d checked years ago.)

“Why are you here?” Golden Man’s gray eyes narrowed.

Now I was annoyed. What was it to him? Frowning, I said, “Yeah, I’m his granddaughter. And I’m here to see his lawyer. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Ah,” was all he said. He said it with a slight shrug, which felt so dismissive that my annoyance only grew.

I suddenly wished I hadn’t said anything. I didn’t need to explain myself to some random gardener. It didn’t matter how pretty he was. The spell he’d cast on me broke, dousing me in figurative cold water.

“Okay, well, I’m going to go,” I said, rather lamely.

I turned to leave, but Golden Man said, “Be careful, Miss Gallagher.”

That was it. Be careful. I marveled at how confidently he said those words.

“That’s it? You’re not going to tell me why?” I crossed my arms under my breasts, my nose wrinkled. “How helpful of you.”

Golden Man’s gaze flicked to my cleavage as quickly as it returned to my face. He smiled when he noticed that I’d seen him, but it wasn’t a friendly smile.

“You seem intelligent enough to understand what I meant,” he said.

Before I could demand to know Golden Man’s name and why he felt the need to be rude to his deceased employer’s granddaughter, I heard the robot-butler say behind me, “Miss Gallagher? There you are. Mr. McDonnell has been looking for you for the past twenty minutes.”

Golden Man had returned to his post, and I watched him for a moment longer as he pruned some fancy-looking bush full of red flowers.

Golden Man’s identity would have to wait—for now.

Chapter Two

It was still early morning, and I had hours to kill before I could meet with Mr. McDonnell later that afternoon. My stomach rumbled ominously. I hadn’t eaten since I’d gotten on the plane over nine hours ago, and I was on the verge of getting full-on hangry.

But I had no idea how I went about feeding myself in this place. Did I just…go to the kitchen? Or would some red-cheeked cook tell me to get lost? This isn’t