by Elle Casey
“Micheál.”
“Erin.”
“Yes, very funny. Look, why are you here? What is it that you want?” I’m trying to hide my mounting irritation—well panic, really. “And don’t say that you’re here to visit me.” Pulling out all the stops I look down into my tea for a moment and then up at him again from under my lashes.
He gazes at me for a second too long and then shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, but I clock it.
“Ye scammed me, Erin. Ye scammed my dead grandfather. Ye scammed your own grandmother. And for what? Money?”
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa there, Micheál!” I hold up my hand to stop him from going any further. “That’s some serious language you’re using there. Some might accuse you of slander and all sorts.” I add a little tut-tut to my tone.
“Is that some kind of veiled threat, Erin?”
Dammit! We’re sparring. I don’t want to spar with him. “God, no! Jaysus, no, Micheál! I just think that you may have it all wrong. Just what is it that you think I have done?”
“Are ye trying to tell me, Erin O’Neill, that ye bought me out of half of that bar downstairs in good faith?” He lifts his mug of tea and takes a sip. “Now, tell the truth and shame the devil.” He puts the mug gently down on the bar, staring me in the eye.
“I absolutely did.” I stare back at him while trying to recall what Ridlee had said to me on the plane; she had made it all seem above board at least.
“Well, kid, that bar downstairs, while lacking in taste, is no dive; and judging from the lunch rush ye just had, I’d say that ye’re turning a good profit. Not, as ye’d’ve had my solicitor believe, operating at a loss.”
“You were here for lunch?” The blood is draining from my face. I take a mouthful of tea and burn the roof of my mouth. “Ow!” There’s no point in trying to explain that that was an office event, a one off, and that today was not typical of Friday lunches at The Pot O’Gold.
He smiles and goes on talking, “I was across the street, in a cafe. I don’t think I’d have been able to get at table at The Pot O’Gold — too packed.” He laughs but it sounds unnatural. “They must be some mighty fine buffalo wings ye got,” he says in a southern drawl. “Granny’s recipe from the old country, is it?” He smirks and there’s an obvious edge to his voice. “Funny, I never realised that buffalo wings and fries were quintessentially Irish fare.”
He’s angry with me. Like, really angry with me, and I don’t blame him. Without thinking I blurt out, “You don’t understand. I worked my fingers to the bone to turn this bar around only to have it gifted out from under my feet by an iron lady who suddenly had a fit of sentimentality on her death-bed.” I am panting with the effort of explaining. Ridlee is going to kill me— I’m not supposed to talk about the deal but I have to make him understand that I had no choice. Not really.
“So that makes it all right does it? That makes stealing what was legally given to me all right? ‘Cause that’s not what my lawyer says.” His eyebrows are almost touching his hairline; they’ve been climbing with each rhetorical question. Or at least, I’m assuming they’re rhetorical.
“Mr. O’Mooney?” I ask, a smile involuntarily tugging at the corners of my mouth. Jesus, Erin, don’t let nerves get the better of you now!
Micheál smiles pleasantly at me and explains, “No, not Cathall. He’s not actually an expert in international business law, so he put me in touch with someone who is, and she thinks I have a good case.”
I realise how bad the situation is when the she in that sentence wounds me more than any of the other words. I can’t help wondering, in the middle of this shit storm, if she is pretty.
“Right.”
Now it’s him who’s panting. “Is that it? Right? Is that all ye’ve got to say to me?”
“What do you want?” I ask quietly.
He leans back in his seat and spreads his hands out in front of him on the breakfast bar. “I want to stay for a while and assess the business. Then, based on real earnings, ye can make me a complimentary offer. Otherwise, I can force ye to sell the bar immediately and we split the difference.”
“What? No! I can’t sell The Pot O’Gold!”
“Fine. Let me stay and keep me informed and we’ll review the situation in, let’s say, twelve weeks.”
“Three months?” I ask, incredulously. “Where will you stay?”
“Well, I see the Hilton’s not far from here, but I warn ye that my lawyer tells me that all my expenses are to be covered by the bar while I’m here, so maybe ye’d prefer a more economical option.” He looks round the apartment.
“Micheál, be reasonable. That’s a crazy idea. I mean, you can’t just land in here one Friday afternoon and park your arse in my life like that. I hardly know you. You might be a mad axe murderer or something!”
“Erin, people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” He’s wagging his finger at me.
“I’m sorry, what?” I put my finger to my ear as though to hear better.
“Eh, obtaining money by false pretenses, defrauding someone, embezzlement. Grand larceny. I could go on, if ye like. They are all felonies in this country, I believe. So, maybe ye should play nice, Erin. You know, keep the country bumpkin sweet.”
How did we get here? I feel like crying. How did we get from sex on a magical island and to saving my life to threats? I barely recognise him. He obviously hates me, and frankly, I can’t really blame him.
“Fine, stay here.” I sigh, exhausted now. What else can I do? He seems to know his rights. “You can sit in the bar and watch how it runs but until I get legal advice you’re not getting access to a single receipt or bill.”
“Great!” he says jumping up and rubbing his hands together.
“Gee, I hope you’re not jet-lagged?” I say, though he doesn’t seem to hear my sarcasm. Or maybe he just chooses not to.
“Me, no. I never suffer from jet lag. Let’s get started. The sooner, the better!”
I clear up the dishes and tidy the kitchen before leading him back down to the bar. My phone pings just as I’m locking the door.
“You go on,” I say. “We’re setting up for the afterwork crowd. Barry will show you what’s what. I’ll be there in a sec.”
He nods and walks off toward the bar.
As ur lawyer I advise you NOT to speak to him about the bar or the deal. Repeat: DO NOT SPEAK TO HIM ABOUT THE DEAL!!!
“Bollox,” I mutter.
Too late…
I hit send and head into the bar after the shadow-man.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
RIDLEE
I WANTED TO GET OVER to the bar to see Erin and help her with her Michaél problem before it was too late at night, but my plans were foiled by my boss insisting that I stay and work late to help him and his team get ready for a big case that would be starting in the next week. I don’t normally work the mass tort end of things, but I was told this particular case could mean a whole new office building for us and bigger Christmas bonuses if it went well, so it’s all hands on deck, mine included.
I drag my sorry ass into my apartment after midnight, and I’m just sliding off to sleep at two in the morning when my doorbell rings and then some crazy knocking starts. It sounds like an entire flock of wood-peckers is going to town on my door.
I leap out of bed to stop the madness from waking my neighbors. I’m not surprised at all when the peephole reveals Erin with her forehead all wrinkled up and a grimace on her face. She’s using both hands to try and wake me up.
“Cool your jets, woman, I’m coming.”
“Hurry. I’m in crisis. Big, big, massive crisis mode.”
I turn the locks and pull the door in. “How’d you get into the building?”
She brushes past me and goes right for the kitchen. “Irish charm. Works every time.” Pulling open the freezer door, she hesitates only a second before she’s grabbing a half-gallon container of Ben & Jerry’s. Two spoons come out of the drawer and then she’s on the couch
, waving me over. “Come on. I only have a half hour.”
“Why only a half hour?” I’m amused by her mania.
“Because,” she says with her mouth full. She hands me a spoon. “That’s how long it’ll take for the bar to be cleaned and Barry to go home.”
“Barry?”
“My new barman.”
“So what’s going on with Michaél? Is he really here or were you just yanking my chain?”
She shakes her head, clearly miserable. “No, he’s really here and I’m in deep shit.”
I dig my spoon into her ice cream and eat it slowly to avoid the pain of a brain freeze. “Tell me.”
“He just showed up!” She waves her spoon around in outrage. “Out of the blue! Just walked right into the bar, sits down, and says, ‘Hello, Erin, I’m here for my real half of the bar.’” She shakes her head and digs into the ice cream again, taking out a chunk big enough to choke a horse. She nibbles at it as she reflects on her evening. “I told him he could stay in my place, because apparently he has some bitch lawyer telling him I’ll be paying all his expenses and he threatened to check into the Hilton.”
I put my hand on her arm to stop her. “He has an attorney? A female one?”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name? Where is she based? Here or Ireland?”
“No clue. I have zero clue. He said she does international law, though. That sounded scary.”
“You need to find out who she is and where she is. Having him be there while you’re both dealing with possible future litigation … it’s not a good idea.”
She glares at me, her mouth full of melted ice cream. “Ya think?”
“Just relax…”
“Ha! Relax? That’s a good one. I knew this was going to happen.” She jabs at the ice cream like she’s trying to kill it. “I should have told him the truth right from the beginning.”
I can’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. “Oh. So, you knew that he’d hop a plane two weeks after you got back, show up at your door, and demand more money, did ya?”
Her stabbing of the ice cream slows. “Not exactly. But something like that.”
“Listen.” I touch her arm so she’ll look at me. “You did the right thing from square one. This is how business deals always work. He had all the information available to him as a matter of public record. He could have asked for your records but he didn’t. That’s his stupid problem, not yours. I don’t care what he’s saying his lawyer told him. He does not have a case.” I squeeze her arm. “Do you hear me? He doesn’t. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I appreciate what you’re saying, Rid, but I feel like I have a lot to worry about.” She looks at me, sadness making her eyes red. “I don’t have the money for an attorney. I used the very last chunk I had to buy him out. If he takes me to court, I’m just going to have to give in because I can’t pay a solicitor to help me.”
I frown at her like she’s lost it, because clearly she has. “Hello? Am I not a fully-licensed attorney sitting right here next to you on the couch?”
She swirls the melting ice cream around in the container. “I can’t ask you to do that. Plus it’s not even up to you. Your big old law firm boss will never be okay with you working for free.”
“Bullshit. They do pro bono work all year long. We choose the projects we want to take on. I’ll take on yours.”
“Pro boner? That’s funny.” The first smile of the night lights up her face.
I lean back into the corner of the couch and nudge her with my food. “Stop freaking out. We just need to figure out how we’re going to handle this and come up with a game plan.”
Erin leans forwards to put the ice cream down on the coffee table. Then she takes the opposite side of the couch and faces me. We line our legs up next to each other and hug pillows as we plan and scheme.
“Okay, so first thing’s first,” I say, all business now, “do not under any circumstances admit to him that you did anything wrong.”
She looks uncomfortable. “Okaaaay…”
“What? What did you do?”
She cringes. “I might have whinged a little about how I’d worked my fingers to the bone and I wasn’t going to let my investment be given away to some stranger … or something to that effect.”
I bury my face in my pillow until I know I can give my friend a calmer expression. I slide the pillow down a few seconds later. “Okay. Fine. What’s done is done. But no more of that bullshit. I don’t care how tight his ass is, okay?”
She grins. “He does have a tight ass, that’s a fact. I’d forgotten just how tight until today.” Her eyes get a faraway look to them. “He’s handsomer in Boston. Is that possible, to be better looking in one country over another?”
I kick her thigh. “Focus, Erin. Seriously. Obviously he knows the effect he has on you and he’s playing you like a fiddle. Please don’t be so naive. This is your business. Your life. If you fuck this up, you put your entire future in jeopardy.”
She loses all that fantasy goo-goo eyed stuff and goes fearful. “Are you serious or are you just trying to scare me?”
I lower my head and stare her down. “What do you think?”
“You look serious.”
“I am. Worst case scenario, you say the wrong thing, he brings that info to his lawyer, they sue you, and you lose.”
“What happens then?”
“You have to get a loan to pay him off, which you probably won’t qualify for, or you bring him on as a partner if that’s what he wants — and then forget having control over the business decisions from then on — or even worse … you have a firesale of the bar.”
“A firesale? What’s that?”
“Where you sell fast to the highest bidder, and everyone bidding knows you’re in distress so they never offer even close to market value. You’ll lose pretty much everything. And then you share that terrible deal with Michaél!”
She buries her face in her pillow. I can barely understand her when she talks like that. “I am so fucked.”
“No, you’re not. Not necessarily.” I lean forward and pull her pillow off her face. “I need you to listen very carefully. I have a plan.”
She nods, blinking the tears away. “Okay, I’m listening.”
“Do you trust me?”
She nods again. “Completely.”
“Okay, then, do what I tell you to do without questioning it. Just do it.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Tonight, you go back to your apartment and you say nothing. Be too tired. Sleep alone, in your own room. Lock the door. You are not to have any sexual or semi-sexual interactions with him until this is all done.”
“I knew this plan would suck.”
I almost yell, I’m so frustrated. “What’s more important to you, Erin? A piece of ass or your bar?!”
She wrinkles her mouth up in anger, barely getting the words out. “My bar.”
“Fine. Then act like it. This is war, my friend, not love.”
She nods, seemingly resolute. “Right.”
“When you get up in the morning, you get to work. You work your ass off. You show him how running that bar is a six in the morning until two in the morning next day gig.”
“Right. Okay. Hard work. Got it.”
“Get his lawyer’s contact information first thing and text it to me. And you can inform him that you have been instructed not to discuss the business with him until the attorneys have discussed the situation. And then don’t do it, okay? Do not discuss the business at all. Not even for a second.”
“So he can’t work at the bar?”
“No, he can’t work at the bar. He can sit at the bar and be a customer, but no way in hell can he work there until I see what’s going on with his attorney.”
“Okay. So he’ll just sit there all day and stare at me.”
“If he wants to be a dick, sure.”
“How long? I mean, how many days?”
“Until I talk to the lawyer.
It could be only one day. It could be weeks. I won’t know until we have that conversation.”
“Okay and what about after-hours?”
“What after-hours? You’re sleeping four hours a day. You’re working otherwise. There are no after-hours.”
“He’s my roommate. Surely we’ll share a meal or two.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t. But you’re an adult, so I’ll leave that up to you. Just remember, keep it professional. No flirting, no sex, not even any kissing.”
“You have no idea how hard this is going to be for me.”
“I can imagine. He’s pretty cute.”
She grins. “He is, right?” A long sigh comes out and she shifts into sadness again. “Why did things have to turn out this way? I mean with him living in Ireland and us meeting at that pub? Destiny must really hate me.”
“You were bound to meet him anyway. If you want to blame someone, blame your grandmother. She’s the one who got you two together.”
“Do you think she did it on purpose?” Erin asks, intrigued by the idea.
I shrug. “Who knows what that old battle-axe had up her sleeve. She was a tricky bitch.”
“That she was.” Erin slides her legs off the couch and stands. “Thanks, Rid, for all your advice.”
“The advice is only worth anything if you follow it.”
“I know, I know. Jaysus, when did you become such a nag?”
“When I got you as a client.” I stand too and give her a hug, patting her on the back. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to work out okay.”
“I hope so. Because if it doesn’t, I’m moving in with you and becoming your housekeeper.”
“Excellent motivation to help me win your case.” I walk her to the door and kiss her on the cheek as she stops in the entrance. “Call me tomorrow?”
“Sure thing. And I’ll text you whenever I have any questions. Be on the lookout and don’t make me wait for your answers. I’m liable to screw everything up and lose the bar in the process.” She walks out into the hallway.
“Just remember,” I say, going serious again, “this is war. He’s the enemy, not your lover, not your friend, not your countryman. Until this is all settled, he is not to be trusted.”