Mismatched

by Elle Casey

  She nods once. “Okay. I can do this.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  I slowly shut the door as she turns and walks down the hallway. She thinks I can’t hear her when she mumbles, but she’s wrong. Her words come to my ears loud and clear.

  “I don’t care what you say. He’s not my enemy.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ERIN

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘FULL access’? You said that he wouldn’t be able to see how the business is run, Rid!” I have to stop myself from stamping my foot. It’s early Sunday morning and I have come down to the office in the bar to call Ridlee in private. She texted me late last night to let me know that she had finally gotten in touch with Micheál’s lawyer. It’s as quiet as a tomb; there’s no one around. I kept Micheál up as late as I could last night and then snuck out this morning without waking him. He has been shadowing me faithfully since Friday afternoon and I haven’t let him have a minute’s rest. All this work is taking its toll on me too, though, and I’m knackered.

  “Erin, stay calm. This is the situation and this is what we have to work with,” says my friend stifling a yawn. A pang of guilt reminds me what a favor she’s doing me.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “When did you talk to her?”

  “Yesterday. On Skype, actually.”

  “On a Saturday? She works Saturdays?” I imagine some gorgeous, successful young thing who has boundless energy and the hots for Micheál.

  “In this game, honey, we all work Saturdays. And Sundays for that matter. This call is a case in point.”

  “Are you charging me for this?” I pretend to be alarmed. I’m trying to keep things light but the situation with Michaél is becoming untenable.

  “No, Erin, like I told you on Friday night, it’s pro bono.”

  “Oh yeah, thanks.” Of course I hadn’t forgotten. “She’s probably working pro boner for him.” I add bitterly.

  “Bono.” She corrects me.

  “Bono? Huff! You think I should contact Bono and get him to talk to Micheál about debt forgiveness? Ha!”

  “Focus, Erin,” cautions my friend. “Where is he now?”

  “He’s still asleep. Or at least I hope he is.” I open the door to the office and peek outside. The coast appears to be clear. I close the door. “So, Rid, what do I have to do?”

  “Well, I’ve agreed to let him see the books, business operations, employee records, tax documents, etc.”

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, Ridlee! I won’t be able to afford to buy him out once he knows what the bar makes. I pay the bank manager, my staff, my costs and there’s barely anything left.”

  “Well, let him see that. We’ll negotiate a good deal, if it comes to it. Maybe you should appeal to his better nature, Erin.”

  “He doesn’t have one anymore. He left it in Ireland. He’s different now, Rid. Edgy. Cold, even.”

  “So, no hanky-panky then? That’s good. Remember what I told you,” she says in her most serious lawyer tone.

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, there’s no danger of that. He hates me. Meanwhile, the girls who come into the bar are throwing themselves at him. They keep asking him if he’s Colin Fooking Farrell. It’s extremely annoying. I can’t believe that I have to suffer this for twelve fooking weeks!” I moan bent over double in despair.

  Just then the door opens. “Ah, there you are! Why didn’t you wake me? It’s almost 7 am.”

  It’s him, standing in the doorway, bright as a button.

  “Ok, well deliveries all come round the back. Yup, Yup.” I pick up a bit of paper that I spy on the floor and stand up properly. Putting my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone I whisper, “Delivery stuff. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Okay!” he mouths back, exaggerating the O and the K.

  “He’s gone,” I say into the phone. Just then the door opens again.

  “Say hi to Ridlee for me,” says my pest-guest, ducking his head quickly out again before I can respond.

  “You see!” I hiss. “Shadow-man!”

  “Look, be nice to him. Be transparent. We don’t want his lawyer getting up your butt, okay?”

  “But you said…”

  “Erin, I know what I said. He should have done his due diligence and I stand by that. Just don’t antagonise him, okay?”

  “Was she pretty?” I ask. The question has been burning in me since she mentioned the Skype call.

  “Who?”

  “The lawyer, Rid, the lawyer!”

  “Not as pretty as you,” she says without missing a beat.

  “Ahh… is that an honest answer or a best friend answer? ‘Cause I can take the truth…”

  “Goodbye, Erin.” And with that the line goes dead.

  I take a deep breath and open the office door to go in search of Micheál. He’s sitting at one of the high tables in the window having a coffee. I duck out of the bar and run into the fancy French bakery next door to grab us a couple of croissants.

  Time to make peace. The last couple of days have been tense with Micheál shadowing me and watching my every move. I’ve felt his eyes on me all the time and it’s not a friendly feeling. I come back inside and stop at the coffee machine to make myself an espresso.

  “Good news!” I declare as I sit down across from him handing him a croissant.

  “Delivery arriving on time?” he asks archly.

  I smile at him genuinely for the first time since Ireland. “Truce?”

  “Maybe,” he says taking a bite of his croissant. “What’s the good news?”

  “Well, the lawyers have talked and basically they recommend that we work it out between ourselves.”

  “Another deal?” he asks, amused.

  I ignore the remark and continue. “You can have access to the books, business operations, employee records, tax documents, etc. Full transparency. And, after a designated period of time, enough time for you to get a sense of the business, we may come to a new arrangement.”

  “New? Don’t you mean fair?”

  “Micheál, please.”

  He stares at me for a long while and I shift uncomfortably. It’s like he’s looking right into my soul and I’m not sure that I want him to. A smile begins and the corners of his beautiful mouth and spreads into a full-on grin. God, he’s gorgeous.

  He reaches his hand across the table and I take it. A fizzy electricity passes from him to me. We shake. Well, he shakes, really, because I’m immobilized. It’s a deal.

  “Come on, I’ll show you how things work.” I get up and go into the office and he follows. We spend the next few hours looking at spreadsheets and discussing the merits of one supplier or product over another. Micheál clearly has a good head for business and even makes a couple of helpful suggestions, making me wonder why his business in Ireland is struggling. It’s lunchtime by the time we reemerge and the staff are all set up for Sunday lunch.

  “What have ye got planned for today?” asks Micheál.

  We’ve been getting along well and I misinterpret the question. “Eh, I should really stay here and make sure everything’s ticking over. But you should go out and explore the city.”

  “No, Erin. I mean what have ye got planned at the bar? And, just to be clear, I’m not here on holiday. I want to get the best out of this situation.”

  “Right, of course,” I say embarrassed. “Um, Sundays we usually don’t do very much…”

  “Why don’t ye offer a Sunday Roast lunch? And get some Gaelic football or a hurling match on the TV in the back room? And, ye’d be mad not to do a brunch on a Sunday— people love that.”

  “Really?” I ask. “We kind of have a young crowd. They don’t really eat much.”

  “You mean the cokeheads? No, I don’t suppose they have great appetites. Is that who ye want to cater to, Erin? Twenty-somethings trying to get off their tits on shots or coke? Is that what a pub is to ye?”

  “Look here, Micheál,” I begi
n, grabbing a handful of knives and forks, ”that’s what the punters want. Cheap shots and loud, bangin’ music. And, yes, neon flashing leprechauns! They don’t want traditional music and readings of Ulysses or bloody bodhrán players.” My voice rises with each syllable.

  “Okay.” He puts his hands up in surrender. “Ye’re the boss.”

  “That’s right,” I say and busy myself with setting up tables. Of course I know that cokeheads and burgeoning alcoholics are not the kind of clientele that I had hoped to attract, but times have changed and I’ll be damned if I’m going to turn away paying customers because I’m pining for some lost version of ex-pat Ireland.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  RIDLEE

  WHEN A LAWYER TELLS A family member she’s sorry for not being around for two weeks because she’s been too busy, they usually have a hard time understanding. A best friend in crisis is worse than that. Talk about a downward spiral. Erin won’t even look at me as I sit across the bar from her.

  “Erin, I swear to God, I’ve been working non-stop for two weeks!”

  “Right,” she says as she yanks down the tap for a beer she’s pouring for another customer. “Too busy. Got it.”

  I lean in to plead without letting the entire bar know our business. “It’s a mass-tort action, Erin. Millions of dollars are at stake. If I didn’t stay there at that office until three in the morning and then at the hotel where they were preparing, I would have been fired.”

  She moves away to serve the beer, and I watch her as she goes. Her movements are stiff and I could swear she’s lost weight. Looking around the bar, I can probably guess what’s bothering her, but I don’t need to. Her constant stream of angry texts over the past week have told me the whole story. Michaél has more than made his presence felt; he’s pretty much taken over. No more neon leprechauns, no more drinking contests, no more of any of the things that Erin had incorporated into the business over the last year exist here anymore.

  Erin’s back at the beer taps and her mood isn’t any better. She fixes a bitter smile on her face. “So you hung out at the Ritz with all your lawyer friends, too busy having room service to just drop by, is that it?”

  “Hung out? Room service?” I shake my head at her. “Listen, Erin, I know you’re pissed at what Michaél’s done, but that has nothing to do with me working on a case at the firm.”

  “No,” she leans in and hisses at me, “but it has everything to do with me following your legal advice and ending up in this situation.”

  So that’s it. That’s what’s bothering her above everything else. It’s like a knife has been stabbed into my heart and twisted. She really believes what she just said.

  She stops talking and then presses her lips together. I can’t tell if she feels angry or guilty about her accusation, but it doesn’t matter. Now I’m pissed, and not at her.

  Michaél saunters over from the other side of the bar where he was chatting with some woman he was serving drinks to. According to Erin’s texts, he’s working here full time ‘to get a feel for the business’ or so he says.

  “Do you want to continue to discuss this here or should we go into your office?” I ask in a carefully measured tone. The last thing I want is for the enemy to know that Erin’s in a weak position emotionally. If she’s blaming me for this mess, that means she feels like she doesn’t have a friend in the world, and I need to fix that.

  “My office would be lovely,” she says with fake cheer. She throws a bar towel down under the bar top and moves off, not even acknowledging Michaél.

  “Everything okay over here?” he asks. The dick has the gall to smile at me.

  I watch Erin’s back, making sure she’s far enough away that she won’t hear our conversation. Then I lean in and pretty much growl my words at him.

  “No, asshole, everything is not fine here. And I’d love to have a conversation with you about what a fucking scammer you are, but I can’t because you have an attorney and I can only talk to her.”

  He’s still smiling. “I’d be happy to waive that rule so ye can get whatever ye have to say off yer chest.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not happy to wave it.” I give him a sour smile as I get off the barstool. “Because the things I’d want to say to you would probably get me dis-barred.” I pause for just another moment before leaving him at the bar. “Enjoy playing your little game, Michaél, because it’s almost over. And when it’s over, you’ll not only not get jack shit out of this bar, you’ll also be missing out on the best woman you will ever meet in your lifetime.”

  I start to leave, but he grabs me by the hand, holding me back. “I’m not here to hurt her.”

  I yank my hand out of his slimy grip. “Tell that to the girl whose heart you’ve broken.” I leave him standing there at the bar with his eyes storming over.

  What a jerk. I shake my head in disgust as I walk to Erin’s office. He thinks he can just saunter in here and scare the shit out of my friend over some false and completely empty threats? I’ve got news for that asshole. He has another think coming. He is so going down. I’ve had enough, and I can see that Erin clearly has too. When I open her door, I find her sitting at her desk with her head in her arms, crying.

  I shut and lock the door behind me. “Baby, please don’t cry.” I rush to her side and crouch down with my arm around her back. “It’s not as bad as you think it is, I promise.”

  “Yes it is!” she wails into her arms. “It’s worse. Worse than I ever could have imagined.”

  I rub her back and speak calmly. “Tell me. Tell me what’s so terrible that you hate me now.”

  She lifts her head and graces me with a perfect view of her red-rimmed, swollen eyes and her boogery, runny nose. Even her cheeks look extra puffy. “He was just supposed to stay in Ireland, okay? Not come here. And not come here to destroy everything I’ve worked for!” She hiccups a couple times before she can continue. “He wakes up every day all cheery faced and happy-go-lucky and he works really hard and he gives suggestions all day long that sound stupid and then he somehow convinces me to try them out and what do you know?” She throws her hands up. “Everybody loves his ideas and they hate mine!” She drops her head into her arms and starts to cry again. “I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. Of course you can. You’re Erin O’Neill, the strongest, toughest, smartest, cutest, Irish badass I’ve ever known.”

  “I’m not tough.” Her cries peter out. Now she’s just being argumentative.

  “Sure you are. Tough as nails.”

  She lifts her head. “If I’m tough, how come I can’t say no to any of Michaél’s ideas?”

  I shrug. “Maybe you don’t want to?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m hung up on his dick or something?”

  I smile. This is more the Erin I know. “No, I don’t mean that. It’s been two weeks and you haven’t slept with him, right?”

  “No! When would I have time? I work eighteen hours a day. The floor of this place has never been so clean. I even vacuumed the walls yesterday!”

  “Excellent. You’re following the plan.” I stand up and lean on her desk, trying to get the circulation going in my legs again. “I think there might be a reason why you’re not arguing too much with Michaél’s ideas.”

  “What is it?” she asks, wiping her nose off with a tissue she pulls from a box on her desk.

  “Maybe you like his ideas.” I shrug again, trying to take the sting out of my revelation. “Maybe other people like them too because they’re good ones.”

  She sighs long and loud and then takes a minute to wipe the smeared mascara out from under her eyes. “Well, the clientele has changed a bit, and it hasn’t been entirely for the worse.”

  “Tell me about it.” I move over to sit in a chair across from her.

  “Well, he took down some of the more Americanized Irish decor and replaced it with more authentic stuff.”

  “I saw that drum thingy on the wall.”

/>   She gives a half laugh. “He literally climbs up there two nights a week and takes it down to play. He always waits until the bar is full. Full of upwardly mobile types who like to run big tabs and order bottles of champagne. Now people are calling out to him by name, begging him to play. We have musicians coming from all over the place to join in. The word is getting round.”

  I smile warmly. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  She shakes her head sadly. “Sure, if we were partners. But we’re not. We’re enemies, remember?”

  I frown at her. “I think you might have taken my advice a little too literally.”

  She throws her tissue at me. “When my lawyer tells me to treat a man like the enemy, I do it. Am I to apologize now?”

  “No, and don’t get all bitchy on me again. I’ve had about enough of that nonsense for one lifetime.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbles, looking into her lap. “I’m just at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do, save throwing the keys at him and telling him to just have fun with his new bar.”

  I pull my chair in closer and lean in, lowering my voice just in case the asshole is at the door listening in. “Okay, so here’s the deal. I’ve done some research on the relevant case law.”

  She shrugs, still not looking at me. “Okay…”

  “It’s all in your favor, babe. All of it.” I’m not going to tell Erin this, but this is also part of the reason she hasn’t seen me in two weeks. I wanted to get the legal research done before I came, so I could bring news with me. I was finally released from the litigation team yesterday, and I spent the entire day at my computer looking up and reading cases for her situation.

  She finally looks up and meets my eyes. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means that he can say what he wants, but if he tries to bring a lawsuit against you for misrepresentation or any bullshit like that, it won’t work.” I smile so I can deliver the icing on my lawyerly cake. “And you haven’t even heard the best part.”