by Hart, Taylor
“Your event will be a success,” she said, standing up. “That is a promise I always deliver on. It’s the reason my event planning services are in demand. It is the reason the last event I put on for you was so impressive that you gave me this event to plan as well.”
Brogan stood, watching Sterling with firm silence, arms folded, jaw set.
“I’ll email you updates as needed, but I don’t think these morning meetings are necessary.” She gathered up her papers. “And I’ll contact your travel secretary directly to get the details of my return flight and hotel check-out.”
She walked away without giving him a chance to either defend himself or rip into her. Brogan remained behind, but she made directly for the elevator. She felt like she didn’t even breathe until she was in her room, door closed, curtains pulled.
What a nightmare this job had turned into. It had seemed like the ultimate opportunity: a dream trip to Ireland, working for someone as influential as Sterling, the stupid stars she’d had in her eyes for him.
I was such an idiot.
There was a knock. So help her, if it was Sterling…
She squared her shoulders and pulled open the door. It was Brogan. Of course it was.
“You holding up?” he asked.
She sighed and motioned him in, closing the door behind him. “What was it Sterling actually said?”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to repeat it.”
Keighley dropped onto the sofa and slumped down, tired and frustrated. “He always seemed so…”
“Charming?” Brogan sat next to her.
She could smile a little at that. “I did describe him that way, didn’t I? How was I so blind?”
He shrugged. “I’ve worked for a few people like him: wealthy, used to getting whatever they want, able to be whatever they needed to be to get things from people. I know his type, so it was easier not to believe the lie, ya know?”
“I live in New York. I should know the type as well; we’re crawling with them.”
He took her hand. “Don’t be ashamed of thinking well of people. It’s not a failing.”
“But it makes me look like an idiot.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
She leaned against him. The jet lag hadn’t been too bad, but in that moment she felt tired to her bones. “So, is he pulling me off this event?”
Brogan half-laughed, half-snorted. “He can’t afford to.”
“He’s a billionaire,” she said. “I don’t think there’s anything he can’t afford.”
“I don’t mean the money. If the event falls apart, he’ll be humiliated. If there’s one thing these wealthy, spoiled, always-get-their-way types can’t endure, it’s embarrassment.”
“Maybe I should sabotage the whole thing and get my revenge.” She wasn’t at all serious, but it felt good to make the threat.
“I have a better idea,” he said. “Let’s go see a few sights. You didn’t get to tour Dublin Castle.”
“An actual castle?” Her heart flipped a bit.
“More of a palace, really, and nothing so grand as Buckingham, but a castle.”
“I would like to see a castle.”
His smile sent waves of warmth over her. “I thought you might.”
“But you said you had another event to work on this morning. I wasn’t expecting to see you at all, and definitely not run around the city with you.”
He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “Are you turning down the invitation?”
“No,” she whispered.
“I’m glad to hear it.” His breath tickled her lips.
“I’m guessing you didn’t mind that I kissed you last night,” she whispered.
“Oh, I didn’t mind.”
He closed the gap and brushed the lightest of kisses to her lips. Such a soft and fleeting touch, but it sent jolts of electricity through her.
He stood, her hand still in his, and tugged her playfully toward the door. “Let’s go see a castle.”
A castle. A handsome Irishman. A heart-fluttering kiss.
She could get used to this.
Every invitation had been accepted. The rooftop terrace looked amazing. The waitstaff wove around effortlessly with hors d'oeuvres and finger foods. The band played toe-tapping music without preventing mingling and conversations.
Keighley ran go-between for all the bits and pieces, checking on things and answering questions for the people behind the scenes. Brogan put out the proverbial fires, though there weren’t many. They exchanged a few high-fives, tossed each other thumbs up across the way. All-in-all, the night went off without a hitch.
Even Sterling paused his schmoozing long enough to tell them, “This turned out fine.” Considering he’d apparently said something really insulting only a few days earlier, she took that as a compliment. “When you’re done here tonight, submit your invoice to my business manager.”
Brogan nodded. Keighley offered an “okay” and that was it.
As Sterling walked away, Keighley said to Brogan, “That was less rude than I’d braced myself for.”
“I’d guess he didn’t want a scene,” Brogan said.
“I wouldn’t have made a scene.”
He shook his head. “But he knows I might have.”
She took his hand and pulled him aside where they could talk with a little privacy. “What did you say to him that morning in the lobby?”
“A few home truths is all. He knows where I stand.”
She stepped closer. “And where do you stand?”
“With you.” He pressed the same feather-light kiss to her lips he had once before.
A shiver slid down her spine even as her heart dropped to her toes. “I’ll be standing in New York tomorrow.”
“I’m doing my best not to think about that,” he said. “The Atlantic’s an awful big ocean, Keighley.”
“I know.”
The kitchen coordinator motioned to her from across the way.
“You’d best go,” Brogan said. “No point ending the night with a disaster.”
She hoped he was talking about the kitchen and not the confession they’d been tiptoeing toward.
In the end, she couldn’t be sure. He sent her a text as everything was wrapping up, saying another event that night was short-staffed for clean-up and he needed to go help them find a solution.
“I head to the airport at 8 tomorrow,” she answered. Surely she was going to get to see him one more time before she left.
“8 in the MORNING?”
She smiled. He’d said exactly that to her before. She could hear his voice in her head saying it now.
She was going to miss him.
This trip to Dublin had seemed like the perfect opportunity for getting to know Sterling better. Spending even another moment with the billionaire no longer held any appeal. But her heart was breaking at the thought of an ordinary, amazing, exactly-what-she-dreamed-of Irishman.
Fate was sometimes a total jerk.
She didn’t hear from him that night or the next morning before she checked out of the hotel. She made it through security and customs and all the way to the gate where her flight to New York would be taking off. Not a word.
Maybe she’d read too much into things. They’d had fun, and they’d become friends. The kisses and hand holding, maybe that didn’t mean as much in Ireland as she thought.
Then again, what could have even come of it? As Brogan had said, the Atlantic was a big ocean. It wasn’t like they were going to see each other again. Cutting off everything abruptly was probably smart. It hurt now, but it would be easier in the long run. She hoped.
She pulled out her phone again, telling herself she wasn’t checking for a text. She was, though. Nothing.
Her flight didn’t leave for over an hour. She had almost no time left in Dublin. And she was spending it sitting alone. She should have gone more places and seen more things, instead of wasting so much time worrying about what Sterling would think about her w
ork ethic and dedication.
She should have gone with Brogan to see all the things he’d told her about. There would have been time. And maybe the friendship between them would have grown into something more. And maybe he would have said goodbye. Maybe.
Walking around might distract her a little while she waited to board. She pulled her wheeled, under-seat bag along behind her as she began a circuit of the small terminal.
Not many steps along, she swore she heard her name. She looked around but didn’t see anyone. Then she heard it again, behind her.
She turned back. Brogan was rushing toward her.
Every ounce of air rushed from her lungs, every thought fled except one: Brogan was there.
By the time he reached her, she’d found her voice. “How did you—? Why did they let you back here?” Then she spotted his carry-on slung over his shoulder. “You’re flying.”
He smiled that uneven smile of his and shrugged a little. “I’ve never been to New York.”
Her heart leaped in her chest. “You’re coming to New York?”
“Thought I might.”
He was coming to America. “On my flight?”
“I figure we can convince someone to switch seats with one of us.”
“You’re coming to New York.”
“It’s a big ocean, Keighley,” he said. “But there’s something here, between the two of us. Something I’m not ready to let go of. I figure I’d rather be on the same side of that ocean as you while we sort out what it is.”
Her grin only grew. “I thought, when you didn’t even text this morning to say goodbye…”
“I’ve been working to figure out what flight you were on, and getting myself on it, and getting things together to be gone for a while, and I—” He laughed. “And it’s more romantic to just show up, I figured. Maybe it’s just lame.”
“It’s amazing.” She didn’t think she would ever stop smiling. “You’re coming to New York.”
“Honestly”—he slipped his arm around her—“I’m just coming to you. Wherever you’re going.”
She set her hand against his chest. “Let’s cross an ocean, Brogan. I think that’s a good start.”
He bent his head toward her but paused mere inches away. “I’m not a billionaire, you know.”
“That’s a very good thing for you,” she said, “because I have no intention of ever falling for a billionaire.”
On that declaration, she kissed him, right there in the airport, in Dublin, in the country she’d always wanted to visit, where she’d met him, and where everything had changed.
Where her dreams had finally begun to come true.
Read the next romance by Sarah M. Eden!
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Sarah M. Eden is the author of multiple historical romances, including the two-time Whitney Award Winner Longing for Home and Whitney Award finalists Seeking Persephone and Courting Miss Lancaster. Combining her obsession with history and affinity for tender love stories, Sarah loves crafting witty characters and heartfelt romances. She has thrice served as the Master of Ceremonies for the LDStorymakers Writers Conference and acted as the Writer in Residence at the Northwest Writers Retreat. Sarah is represented by Pam Victorio at D4EO Literary Agency.
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