5. Aisling
FIVE
Aisling
PRESENT
“Oh my god, honey. Look! You can see it! Right down there!” The middle-aged woman sitting next to me practically squeals in my ear, leaning into my shoulder as she tries to catch a glimpse out the window. “Wait, why are we over water?”
She does know it’s an island, right?
I offer a polite smile as she finally returns to her seat.
I really should’ve sprung for those first-class tickets.
“Is this your first time in Ireland?” I find myself asking because, clearly, I’m a glutton for punishment.
“Yes! It’s our first trip alone in years. We’re empty nesters,” she explains, gesturing toward her husband. He has a kind face and a shy demeanor. He offers a half-wave. Definitely the quieter one of the two . “The kids were plum pissed that we were going without them, but it was cheaper to go in the off-season when they’re both away at college. Plus, I think we deserve it, don’t you?”
“Um, absolutely,” I answer, even though I have no idea either way.
“What about you? First time?”
“No,” I answer, my mood turning sour. “Second.” And this time, I’m staying.
Fortunately, the pilot chooses this moment to announce our final descent into Dublin, putting an end to any need for me to keep talking with the cheerful couple next to me.
My gaze returns to the window as my thoughts drift back to the past.
Back to the last time I flew into this airport.
I thought my heart had been broken then.
I had no fucking clue.
* * *
The journey from the airport to my hotel is a whirlwind, and more than once, I find myself asking, “What the hell am I doing?”
It’s a question I’ve been asking myself consistently for the past six weeks.
Ever since, I spent a drunken night scrolling the internet, and somehow, instead of booking a trip to Ireland, I ended up moving here.
My stomach flip-flops as I take a look around the modern hotel room that will serve as my home base until I can find a suitable apartment. I’ve been told housing in Dublin can be tricky. It’s expensive, and there is a lot of demand.
Add in the fact that I’ve only been guaranteed a job for six months. Even with all the money in my bank account, I’m not sure I can convince a landlord to rent me—a foreigner—an apartment for such a short time.
But this is what Mom wanted. Sort of.
A pang of sadness rips through my chest, and I swiftly stuff it down. Nope. Not today.
Since I’ll only be here for six months, I’ve put most of my things in storage, and everything else was shoved into the four suitcases in front of me.
Oh, and emotional baggage. I brought a fuck ton of that, too. Can’t forget that.
Staring at the stack of suitcases for a few more seconds, I let out a sigh. “Yeah, fuck this.”
I didn’t sit on a plane for hours to hole myself up in a hotel room all day. I came here for a reason.
Grabbing my purse, I head for the door.
What’s the saying? Seize the bull by the horns?
All right, Ireland is my bull, and we’re about to get real friendly.
* * *
“Good morning to you, Miss Farrell,” the hotel doorman says with a wolfish grin as I step out onto the curb. I quickly pull up the hood of my jacket, hoping to protect the curls I just styled in my long strawberry-blond hair.
“Good morning, Sean,” I greet him by name. I’ve only been here for a few days, but I’ve made it a point to get to know the staff. It’s not just polite; it’s mutually beneficial. “I thought I requested sunshine today. It’s raining. Again .”
Chuckling, he pulls out an umbrella and holds it over my head while I wait. “It’s January, Miss Farrell. You’re going to see a lot of rain, I’m afraid. Better get yourself one of these.” He points up to the umbrella. “And some wellies.”
“Wellies?”
“Rain boots.” He stares down at my high heels.
“Rain boots?” I feign a gasp and fan my face with my palm. “Those won’t go with my outfit at all, Sean. What are you thinking?”
Holding the umbrella perfectly still, I watch as he blatantly checks me out. He doesn’t even bother to hide the way his eyes roam up my body, lingering a little longer on my hips and ass. “I don’t think anyone would notice.”
God, he’s cute.
Tall, broad shoulders and a smile that could melt the panties off even the most well-intentioned girl. Add in the accent and?—
You’re never truly lost—just searching for something.
Ugh. Right on cue, my mind conjures an image of Finn Larkin. Today, it’s him standing on the Cliffs of Moher. His hair is tousled, and his cheeks are rosy from the wind.
Am I going to think about him every time I see a hot Irishman? Because that could get old really fast. They’re literally everywhere.
“Good luck on your first day,” Sean says, bringing my thoughts back to the man in front of me.
“Thank you,” I respond, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in my voice.
I thought I was leaving all my ghosts back in the States.
I forgot about the one I left right here in Dublin.
You didn’t forget.
No, I didn’t. I just tried really damn hard to.
I exhale as the cab drives away from the curb, trying to focus on the day ahead. The hotel is fairly close, and I hardly have enough time to go through my hype list and all the reasons I’m going to crush this job when the cab driver announces we’ve arrived. I quickly pay him, thank him, and step out. Looking up at the massive glass building, my stomach does a flip-flop.
Why did I do this again?
Oh, right, because I was drunk and made a promise.
Well, not in that order per se.
I inwardly groan.
I pull the heavy glass door open and walk into O’Connell Travel Agency for the first time. It’s much more modern than I expected. Wood flooring and light walls accentuate the large photographs that highlight some of Ireland’s most breathtaking sites. Seeing the familiar O’Connell shamrock logo proudly displayed on the wall makes this all feel very real.
“Here we go,” I whisper under my breath and walk toward the receptionist’s desk. I plaster on a smile and greet the woman sitting behind it. “Hi, I’m Aisling Farrell. I’m new, and it’s my?—”
“You’re quite early, love.” She hardly looks away from her computer screen, the glow of the screen accentuating the lovely silver tones in her hair.
“Yes.” I look down at my watch and note the time. “I guess I’m a bit early.” I didn’t realize that twenty minutes fell under the very early category.
“The other gentleman starting with you isn’t here yet. Would you mind waiting over there”—she points to a plush green sofa in the corner—“until he arrives?”
“Uh, sure?”
It doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice now, does it?
The moment I agree, I’m forgotten. She goes back to whatever she’s doing. Her gaze is fixed on her computer screen while her bright pink nails dance over the keyboard. Blowing out a breath, I head over to the sofa and plop down, feeling a bit deflated.
Well, this is underwhelming.
Not exactly what I imagined when I pictured the start of my day—being shooed away like an annoying fly. But it’s fine. Totally fine.
I’m here. I’m on time—apparently too on time.
But after the month I’ve had orchestrating this move, I’m finally here.
I lean back and start doom-scrolling through my Instagram feed to kill time. Huge mistake. If there’s one thing that can make your somewhat iffy mood plummet like a sinking ship, it’s seeing your college roommate post yet another photo of her and her picture-perfect fiancé on vacation in…where was it this time? Oh yeah, Ibiza. Ugh.
Ten agonizing minutes later, I look up and see the modern-day clone of the Duke of Hastings. And yes, I know a real actor actually plays the character from Bridgerton , but this obviously isn’t him.
But it could be his brother.
Or his very similar cousin.
’Cause, wowza. He’s hot.
Given the way he glances around, looking somewhat dumbfounded and lost, I would bet he’s my counterpart for the day.
Yay for me.
Wearing black slacks, a crisp gray button-down, and dark-rimmed glasses, he’s got the whole nerd-hot vibe going on. I walk up to the desk and arrive just as he does. No surprise here, but the receptionist doesn’t even acknowledge my presence as soon as she sees him.
When he opens his mouth and a posh British accent comes out, I’m pretty sure she melts right on the spot.
“Hello, my name is Damien Kent.” He even sounds like he belongs in Victorian England, sipping tea and complaining about the Ton. “I’m here for?—”
“Yes, yes!” The receptionist practically leaps from her chair to help him. “Come with me,” she insists before noticing me. “Oh, you too, Miss?—”
“Farrell,” I offer, but the name appears to fall on deaf ears since she’s already returned to Damien, her smile beaming from ear to ear.
“I’m Penny, by the way. Can I get you anything?” she asks while batting her eyelashes at him. “Tea? Coffee?” Pretty sure her eyes silently say, me . Shameless, this woman. I’m all for a good age-gap romance, but some of us are trying to work here.
“Um, no,” he replies politely before deliberately shifting his attention to me. “What about you? I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your first name.”
I swallow nervously. “Aisling.”
“Aisling,” he repeats as if he’s testing how it sounds.
Spoiler alert: it sounds good.
“First day?” he asks as we all step into the elevator. His elbow brushes against mine, and I take a step back, instantly realizing how cozy the space is.
I nod. “Just moved her from Chicago. You?”
“American?” he muses. “Interesting. I’m from London originally, but I’ve been living in Scotland for the last few years, working for a tour group up in Edinburgh.”
Damn, he sounds legit.
Why the hell did they hire me then? A bachelor’s degree in history and an unkept travel blog. That was the sum total of my résumé, aside from the office job I’d worked right out of college. It hardly seems comparable to Damien’s actual work experience.
“Where are you—” Before Damien has a chance to finish his question, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open.
“Here we are,” Penny announces. “This is where you’ll both be working. The call center is one floor below us. The higher-ups are one floor above.”
I step out of the elevator and look around. The same modern design from the lobby is present here. Light wood floors and bright white walls display larger-than-life photos of Ireland. The floor plan is completely open, with not a cubicle in sight.
The atmosphere on the floor seems laid-back. They are sitting at their desks with cups of coffee and tea. I notice some chatting and laughing, while others remain focused and quiet.
“I’ll quickly show you to your desks, and then I’ll introduce you to Nora.”
Nora is a name I know. We have been exchanging emails for weeks, and she is the person who interviewed me and, ultimately, the woman who hired me.
I take a deep breath as Damien and I quietly follow Penny, side by side, until we reach two empty desks grouped with a few others.
“Here we are.” She smiles at Damien. Again. “Feel free to drop anything off.”
Damien casually puts his hands in his pockets and glances at me.
“Oh!” I exclaim, nearly lunging for the strap of my purse. “I suppose I should probably get rid of this,” I say, quickly stuffing it into a large drawer before turning my attention back to Penny.
Penny gives me a brief nod and blazes onward. I cast a backward glance at my desk, hoping to retain every detail of the space so I can someday return there. Thankfully, the floor isn’t that big, and in just a few short strides, we’re at another group of desks and being introduced to a familiar face.
She’s taller than I expected, but I’ve only ever seen that freckled face on video chat. Her platinum blond hair is stunning, and she has the kind of curves that remind me of a fifties pinup girl.
“Nora, here are your two starters,” Penny says. “This is Damien Kent,” she nearly gushes. “And, um?—”
“Aisling.” Damien raises an eyebrow.
“Right,” she says, her cheeks flushed. “Of course. Aisling Farrell.”
“Thanks, Penny. I’ll take it from here,” she says politely before turning to us. Her face lights up instantly as if she’s greeting old friends. “Hi, guys! Sorry for the odd handoff. I had intended to meet you downstairs, but since the other half of your team started last week, it’s been a bit mental around here. Anyway, how are you?”
“Good,” we say in unison, causing all three of us to laugh.
“Well, I hope you both mean that because what’s the saying? Out of the frying pan and into the fire?” She gives us a sympathetic smile. “We won’t give you much time to get your feet wet.”
“That’s all right,” Damien reassures her. “You were more than patient, and I’m happy that everything is finally sorted. I’m looking forward to getting started.”
When she offered me the position, Nora informed me that four of us would start at different times. I am guessing the other two were able to start earlier because they were domestic hires and didn’t require nearly as much paperwork.
“Um, yes,” I echo. “Very excited.”
“Grand, let’s get you introduced to the rest of the team then.” She stands up, and I take a moment to admire her tailored denim trousers and tweed blazer before she heads toward the back of the building, and we follow her.
“Do you feel like we’re being herded like cattle, or is it just me?” Damien whispers beside me.
I snort quietly. “A bit, yeah.”
We arrive at what I assume is a conference room, and we follow her inside.
“Just as I promised.” She extends her arms wide and gestures toward Damien and me. “The rest of your team has arrived.”
Cheers echo throughout the room, and I can’t help but smile as it creeps across my face.
“Shea, Niall—meet Aisling and Damian.”
Shea and Niall stand and shake our hands, exchanging many hellos and how do you do’s. Shea is petite, with cropped brown hair and hazel eyes. She’s dressed professionally in a black dress and tights, but I can see from the numerous earrings adorning her ears and the black nail polish that she has a cool edge that I could never pull off.
Niall reminds me of my next-door neighbor growing up. Cute and preppy, with golden-brown hair and blue eyes. He’s wearing slacks and a sweater and immediately starts asking Damien what kind of games he’s into. Within minutes, they’ve already made plans to get together so Damien can check out Niall’s collection.
We take a seat at a polished wooden conference table and chat a bit more. If it wasn’t obvious from their accents, Shea and Niall are indeed both Irish. Shea is actually an in-house hire. She joined the call center after university and enjoys traveling all over Ireland with her girlfriend in her spare time, discovering new restaurants and pubs. They maintain a decent social media presence where they share their adventures.
She’s literally perfect for this job.
At first, Niall seems like a bit of an odd hire. He comes from the corporate world, but when he starts talking about his work negotiating with vendors at conventions and trade shows, things begin to fall into place.
He’s our numbers guy.
I try not to feel like an impostor when I introduce myself, knowing I wouldn’t be here if Nora didn’t feel I was qualified when Shea’s eyes light up at the mention of my travel blog.
“Wait—is your YouTube channel named ‘Ash in the Wild’?”
My cheeks burn. “Yep, that’s me.”
“I thought I recognized you! I used to watch your content all the time. It was good. Really good.”
“Thanks,” I manage to say, feeling all sorts of embarrassed. She must notice something in my expression—or, like most of my followers—knows why I stopped uploading new content because she shifts her attention to Damien, who begins the introduction, rambling off much of the same information he shared with me earlier.
Finally, when we’re all probably acquainted, Niall turns to Nora and asks, “Did you warn them?”
“Yes,” she replies. “Well, sort of. I advised them to be ready to jump in with both feet. I didn’t elaborate much beyond that. I thought I’d bestow that honor on the two of you since you’re the reason they’ll have to work so hard.”
Shea and Niall look at each other and grin. “Do you want to talk, or should I?” Niall asks her.
“Go ahead.”
“Okay,” he begins, leaning forward in his chair. A chunk of his overly long golden-brown hair falls across his face, and he swats it away. “So, as you know, we’re a new task force. Our mission?—”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Niall? It’s not called a task force; you’re simply a new group that I happen to be leading.”
Niall rolls his eyes, which I find incredibly endearing. It also helps ease some of my nerves. It’s the casualness of it. The fact that after a week here, he feels comfortable and safe around Nora.
Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
“Okay,” he laments. “But ‘task force’ sounds much cooler.”
“I’ll be sure to let them know upstairs.”
Everyone laughs as I lean back in my chair, feeling relaxed and even a little excited.
“As I was saying. Our objective is to attract new customers to O’Connell Tours—specifically younger ones. The average age of our typical tour participant is sixty-two. This has been the case for many years and has benefited the company well. But, if we want to grow—and we do—we need to start considering ventures beyond our current strengths.”
“And that’s why we’re here,” Shea interrupts him.
“Who better to draw in a younger audience than a team of young employees?”
We all know this. It was explained during the interview process, but I see what he’s doing. He’s trying to hype us up—get us excited about our initiative.
And to a certain extent—it’s working.
“Since Shea and I arrived last week, we’ve been going through satisfaction surveys from customers over the past few years, trying to determine patterns and potential issues we could address. While we primarily focused on younger customers, we also considered feedback overall, and it has been determined that although our tours are culturally rich, they lack a certain?—”
“They’re boring,” Shea cuts in.
“I was going to say it a bit more eloquently, but yes. Younger customers want history. They want culture, but they also want something… more .”
“And you four,” Nora says, pointing at us, “are going to figure out what that ‘more’ is. Now?—”
A knock sounds at the door, and Nora jumps up just as it opens slightly.
“Hi,” a deep male voice says softly from the other side. “Is this a good time?”
“Yes! Of course!” she replies, gesturing for whoever is on the other side to enter. “Thanks for coming. I know your schedule is packed. They’ll be thrilled to meet our acting CEO.”
Suddenly, everyone in the room jerks up in their seats. Niall finally fixes the chunk of hair that has been dangling in front of his face for ten straight minutes. Shea nervously clicks her pen and sets it on the table.
Is this guy really that intimidating? I don’t know much about the old man, but—wait, did she just say acting CEO? What happened to the other guy? When I checked the website, the CEO was an older man with the last name O’Connell. Obviously .
“I’m not so sure about that,” the male voice replies, sending a shiver down my spine, and not because I’m scared of meeting the boss.
No, it’s because that voice sounds eerily familiar.
The door swings open, and suddenly, I feel as if I’m stepping back in time. Stolen glances, long walks, a forbidden kiss.
“Everyone, meet Finn Larkin-O’Connell.”
O’Connell? His last name is O’Connell.
What the actual fuck?