Chapter Three
“So, your boss, is he wanting a fancy do or something more casual?” Conall asked.
Keighley didn’t roll her eyes, but she was tempted. “As I’ve explained before, he’s not my boss.”
“He hired you, yah?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s paying you to be here, yah?”
Through tight lips she answered, “Yes.”
“And he calls the shots, yah?”
She pushed out a breath. “Yes.”
“What you have there, Keighley, is a boss.”
He was the most annoying guy. “Do you consider him your boss? Because your situation is basically the same as mine.”
He laughed. He always laughed. “I pay for my own flat, thank you. And I’m here only as a source of information. Books don’t have bosses.”
“Then be informative instead of obnoxious.”
Again, he laughed.
She kept her calm. “What venues could we book on such short notice that wouldn’t be a complete disaster?”
“We’re running at cross purposes, here. As I asked you before, is your b—is Mr. Westcott wanting a formal event or a casual one?”
“He has left those details to me.” Perhaps that hard truth would finally get through to Conall that Sterling was not her boss.
“Then what is it you’re wanting?”
“At the moment?” she grumbled.
His grin was almost as grating as his laugh.
“My aim is an event that will be both impressive enough to give those in attendance confidence in the investments that are being proposed to them and enjoyable enough that they build a more personal connection. That is Sterling’s strong suit when it comes to forging new business relationships.
He convinces them every bit as much as his business track record. ”
“I’d say, then, an upscale venue but laidback program.”
As annoyed as she was with the man, that was exactly what she had in mind. “What upscale venues could we book quickly?”
“Based on the way the staff here falls all over themselves whenever your man walks in the room, I’d say he could have the ballroom here for the asking, even if it’s already booked.”
“He’s not ‘my man.’”
Conall held his hands up in a show of innocence.
“Not what I meant. If you’re to spend any amount of time in Dublin, that’s a phrase you’ll have to learn to understand.
Speaking of ‘your man’ doesn’t mean a man that actually belongs to you in any way.
In America, you’d say something like ‘you know who’ or ‘that dude.’”
His attempt at an American accent made her smile despite herself.
“Ah, you do know how to not look sour. Shocking.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Maybe I’m only sour with you. Did you think of that?”
He nodded. “I did. But I’m certain that’s not it.”
“Are you saying you think I’m just a sour person?”
A shrug. “Is there anything that makes you not sour?”
As a matter of fact. “I went for a walk this morning,” she said. “I saw what I thought at first was a castle, but then I realized it might have been a church.”
“Probably a church,” he said. “We’re overrun with them.”
“And the air smelled like rain.”
“This is Ireland.”
She even smiled a little. “I know it’s expected, but it was a different rain smell than we get in New York. It was cleaner or wetter or something.”
“New York must be filthy for it to smell cleaner than this dirty old town.”
“It is, actually. And loud.”
“We’ve a fair bit of noise around in Dublin.”
She set her elbow on the table, leaning her head against her upturned fist. “Maybe that’s why I felt kind of at home walking around this morning. It’s enough like New York that it’s a little familiar.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Did you go inside the ‘castle church’ you saw?”
“Of course not.”
His brows pulled down. “Why ‘of course’?”
“I have a lot of work to do. There isn’t time for—”
“Happiness?”
She turned her gaze back to her open laptop, choosing to ignore his sarcasm.
“Do you mean to spend all your time in Dublin just working?” he asked.
“Sterling brought me here to do a job, not to be a tourist.”
“I thought the man wasn’t your boss.”
“And I thought you were supposed to be helpful.”
Why did he always laugh?
“Fair enough.” He rose.
“Are you leaving?” She made certain he could tell she hoped he was.
His half smile tugged at an odd scar below his mouth. She shouldn’t have found that as intriguing as she did. He was basically the enemy, getting in the way of her work, evidence that Sterling didn’t think she could handle this assignment on her own.
“I meant to suggest we leave.” He jerked his head toward the door. “And don’t worry, I have nothing the least bit fun in mind. Would hate to enjoy ourselves. I’ll show you a few venues you might choose between.”
She motioned at her laptop. “You could just give me some websites.”
“Could do, but, personally, I like to see a place for myself. Do a bit of the work, you know.”
Her jaw clenched. “I do a lot of work.”
“Oh, sure. I’m not denying that. I’m banking on it.” Again, he jerked his head toward the door. “So let’s go do a bit of work.”
“I’ve done plenty already.” She rose. “And I’m not afraid to do more.”
“I don’t doubt you’re excited to do more work.” He pulled open the door. “Just take care you don’t accidentally enjoy yourself while you’re at it.”
“I’m not an unhappy person.” She grabbed her phone and wallet, then her jacket, and stepped out into the hallway.
“You hide your happiness really well.” Even talking, he sounded like he was laughing.
“And you hide your helpfulness really well.”
“Care to put a wager on that?” he asked as they stepped into the elevator.
He had her interest.
“If, by the end of the day, I haven’t proven myself helpful, I’ll buy you a pint at my local.”
She eyed him sidelong. “I’m going to be punished if you turn out to be useless?”
“It’s a fine spot. Good craic.”
That stopped her in her tracks. She turned wide eyes on him. “Good crack?”
He laughed loud and deep. “Another phrase you’ll have to learn.
Craic means good conversation and company and a good bit of fun.
” As they stepped out onto the ground floor headed for the lobby, he shot her an overdone look of dawning understanding.
“Ah, but there’s the problem, yah? You might enjoy yourself at a spot like that. Best not risk it.”
“Okay, here’s my bet with you. If, by the end of the day, I have proven that I do enjoy myself even when I’m working, then you bow out of helping plan this event and let me do my job.”
“Can’t do,” he said. “You didn’t hire me. Westcott did.”
They stepped out into the overcast, cool Dublin afternoon. The wind was blowing. She pulled on and buttoned her jacket. She pulled her phone out and opened her map app.
“I grew up in this city, Keighley,” Conall said. “We don’t need a phone telling us where to go.”
She popped her phone back in her pocket and let him lead the way.
When she’d first gone from the master-planned suburbs of Phoenix to New York City, she’d been a little overwhelmed, in a good way, by how old and historic and eclectic the city was.
She’d felt like she was stepping into a history book.
Dublin felt even more that way. More than just old . . . it was magical.
Of course, Conall didn’t need to know that. “Tell me about the venues we’re going to look at.”
“Always on the clock, aren’t you?”
“Humor me,” she said dryly.
“The first stop is a pub.”
“Shocking.”
Far from offended, he simply smiled. “This pub has an upper room that’s big and nice. Plenty of room for putting on an impressive do but keeping the congenial feel of an evening out with friends.”
That sounded ideal, actually. “Okay. You have my attention.”
“I also want to drop in on a performance hall I’ve hired before. Nice space. It can be set up any way at all. Tables and chairs, or cocktail tables and a long bar. There’s even a small stage to one end if you’re looking to bring in a band or something.”
She hadn’t thought about a band. But a little music might be nice.
They turned a corner down a narrow but busy street, lined on both sides with an unbroken row of colorful buildings, storefronts at the street level but, likely, apartments above.
“If we go with a venue that has room for musicians, would you suggest quiet instrumental or folk music?” she asked.
“It’s a shame you haven’t a better grasp of the language, Keighley.”
She looked to him, confused. They both were speaking English.
“We don’t call it folk music. It’s trad. Trad music.”
“Trad?” That was an odd word.
“It’s short for ‘traditional,’” he said. “And, yah, trad’d be a good choice. But you’ll want to hire a small group so they’ll not be too loud. People will want to chat.”
“I once made the mistake of hiring a band that thought they were catching their big break. When everyone in the room was talking instead of listening intently, they started playing louder. So the people started talking louder. And the music got louder.”
He nodded along with her retelling. “I’ve made that mistake.”
“You’ll warn me before I hire someone like that, won’t you?”
“You have my word.” He stopped their forward progress. “Now.” He pointed beside them. “Is that the castle church you saw this morning?”
She looked. It was a gorgeous old stone church. Absolutely beautiful. “That’s not the same one, but it’s amazing.”
“Hmm.”
She didn’t know what that noise was supposed to mean.
They continued on, eventually winding their way to a much larger street. The city was old. No one would miss that walking down this stretch of road. They stopped at an intersection, and Conall pointed up the road.
“Is that your castle church?”
Another church sat up that street, all of it except the steeple blocked from view by nearer buildings. “That’s not it.” She eyed him, curious. “You’re searching for the church I thought was a castle?”
“Mostly I’m curious to know how far you walked. You never stop working, but you did this morning to take a jaunt. I’m curious to know how long you were away.”
For just a moment, she was flattered that he had such curiosity about her. But she pushed it aside at the reminder that they had work to do. “How far away are the venues we’re looking at?”
“Not far.” He tucked his hands in the pockets of his jacket and kept walking.
She moved faster to keep pace with him. “All the times I dreamed of coming to Ireland, I always assumed that the Irish people would be friendly.”
“We are friendly,” he said.
“You’re grumpy.”
“That’s part of the Irish charm.” He leaned nearer as they walked on. “We’re both.”
“Sterling manages to be charming without being grumpy,” she said.
“What he manages to be is rich. The charming or the grumpy of it doesn’t matter much after that.”
“That’s unfair,” she said.
“But is it untrue?”
The tiniest moment of doubt kept her from responding immediately. But she came back to her senses. “Of course it’s not true.”
“You know him well, then?” Conall asked. “Spent lots of time with him? Seen him in a lot of different circumstances?”
“Well, no, but I have gotten to know him. We put on an event together.”
“Ah.” That was all he said about that. He was so frustrating.
A green double-decker bus passed. A man’s voice, singing a song, floated off of it, sounding like it was coming through speakers.
“Was the driver singing?” she wondered out loud.
“They do on the tours sometimes,” Conall said. “Adds a bit of color to the drive.”
It was probably considered cheesy and totally touristy, but that sounded like a blast. A tour of the city while being sung to . . . she could get into that.
“The whole loop doesn’t take long. You ought to tuck it into your schedule in the next day or two.”
Oh, it was tempting. But she shook her head. “I’m here to work, not tour.”
“Don’t you think Boss Charming would give you time off enough for a bus ride?”
She pulled her jacket more firmly around herself. The wind was a little too chilly for comfort. “Why don’t you like Sterling?” she asked.
“Why do you?” he tossed back.
The question set her a little off balance. Why did she like him? She just did. And if Conall hadn’t caught her off guard, she could have told him the answer in detail.
“Where are these venues we’re supposed to be looking at?” She was all business again.
He just laughed. Of course he did.