A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man by Susan Donovan, Celeste Bradley Read Free Book Online

lager, eyeing his brother over the top of the glass.
    “What’s up, Magnus?” Cullen asked him, throwing a bar towel over his shoulder. “How was your first day at the Museum of Wealthy Dead Boston Protestants?”
    Mick nearly spat out his mouthful of Murphy’s.
    “That good, eh?” His brother grinned. “Something to eat, man?”
    Mick shook his head. “Nah. Thanks. Just wanted to stop by and see if you needed any help tonight.”
    Cullen let go with a loud guffaw, gesturing grandly at the dim interior of Malloy’s Pub. The crowd—all three of them—glanced up nervously, fearing they were about to be tossed into the street by a daft pub owner. “I do believe I can fight back the throng me’self tonight,” he said, exaggerating his accent.
    Mick drained his pint and put the empty glass into the sink of suds. Despite Cullen’s joking, he knew there was nothing funny about the bar’s declining daily receipts. Cullen had taken out a second mortgage to pay off the medical bills after Da had passed two years before, but business had been so slow that he’d barely been making enough to cover the payments, let alone send his three kids to the parish Catholic school and keep his own modest household afloat.
    Mick had a plan to ease some of his brother’s burden, but he couldn’t say a word to Cullen about it yet. He couldn’t get his brother’s hopes up unless the reality show was a done deal.
    The agreement currently on the table would give Mick $25,000 an episode, with a promised run of sixteen episodes on the Compass Cable Network. The agent brokering the deal for Mick recommended he hold out for more, but Mick was ready to accept. No, Digging for the Truth with Mick Malloy wouldn’t make him a billionaire, but it would generate more money than any Malloy on either side of the Atlantic had ever laid eyes on.
    And Mick knew that whatever fame and fortune came his way was as much Cullen’s doing as his own. Not once in the five years Da was sick did Cullen complain about taking care of him. Never once did Cullen point out that Mick was running all over kingdom come looking for treasures from the past while Cullen stayed put, ran the bar, and handled all the problems of the present—including caring for a demanding old man slowly dying of cancer.
    Whenever Mick would try to help out financially, Cullen would tell him to put his money away. Whenever Mick would attempt to confess he felt guilty, Cullen would have none of it.
    “Quit your daft tommyrot,” Cullen always told him. “You’re the only Malloy to ever have all those letters after his name, and you’re feckin’ going to put them to good use if I have anything to say about it.”
    The trick would be navigating his big brother’s pride. Mick would have to find a way to make sharing his good fortune look like more of a collaboration than a handout. Mick made a mental note to enlist the help of Cullen’s wife, Emily, when the time was right.
    “So? Did you see her?” Cullen asked. “Your girl? That piece of college fluff from all that while back. The one you mentioned worked at the museum.”
    Mick returned to his stool on the other side of the bar, confounded. He had only mentioned Piper to his brother once. Trust Cullen to make a big deal out of the smallest offhand comment.
    His older brother leaned his elbows on the shiny mahogany bartop and peered into Mick’s eyes. “So?”
    Mick nodded. “Yeah, I saw her.”
    “And?” Cullen reached for a clean pint glass and was about to pour Mick another when he stopped him.
    “No. No more for me. I gotta go.”
    “Bwaah!” Cullen barked. “Hot date?”
    “You’re insane,” Mick told him. “You’ve got this completely arseways. She was a friend. A student of mine. That’s it. Nothing ever happened between us.”
    “A shame,” Cullen said, shaking his head. “Turned out to be a real loosebit, eh?”
    Mick ignored that comment. Cullen was fiercely loyal to his wife and family, went to mass