by Eliza Watson
The dollar was currently tanking to the euro. I wouldn’t have to worry about the exchange rate if I was paid in euros. And the job likely paid more in Dublin than back home due to the cost of living. An apartment in the north suburbs near Flanagan’s headquarters would undoubtedly be cheaper than in the city center. And it would be close to the airport, so easy access for Declan flying in and out of town. Maybe he’d want to store stuff at my place since he’d be there when he was in town anyway. Right now he had belongings at his brother’s in London and his parents’.
I stared at the Miami e-mail draft on my computer. My excitement faded, and an icky feeling tossed my stomach. Would the planner be a total nightmare like Blair? Would the meeting be more understaffed than this one? What if there were 1,500 attendees like one of Rita’s meetings?
I started hyperventilating.
I frantically revised the e-mail, declining the meeting.
I hit Send.
Panic pressed against my chest.
What the hell had I just done? I needed work!
Was Rachel right? Was I a quitter?
My phone chimed. A text from Declan wondering if I could talk. I blew out a calming breath, attempting to get a grip before I called him. The downside of FaceTime was trying to hide your facial expressions.
Racks of wine bottles lined a stone wall behind Declan. “Just a sec. I’m going out of the cellar so I have better service.” He passed by long wooden banquet tables lined with platters of food, wine bottles, flickering candles, and people loudly chatting. He headed up the stairs to a rustic room with flames dancing in a stone fireplace.
I told him about my visit with George Wood.
His eyes widened. “Jaysus. Didn’t see that one coming, did ya? How are ya going to tell your mum?”
“No clue.”
“Not sure how my mum would react to that.”
“Not sure how mine will either.”
“Maybe it’ll get her to visit Ireland and England now and I can actually meet her.”
I had to tell Mom about my relationship with Declan. Even if she wouldn’t go to Ireland to visit, he’d be over to the States someday. Without Rachel’s support, I certainly wouldn’t be living in Ireland anytime soon.
I told Declan about my idea to plan Flanagan’s meetings, leaving out that Rachel was against it.
“Brilliant. Get loads of experience helping Rachel so the CEO relies on you and can’t imagine a meeting without ya. The Monte Carlo and Miami trips will look grand on your résumé.”
“The Monte Carlo trip fell through and, ah, I turned down Miami.”
Declan’s gaze narrowed. “Why’d you turn it down?”
I’d panicked over possibly working another shit show like this one and had acted on impulse.
“To make myself go after the Flanagan’s position,” I lied.
I didn’t want to admit I’d been irrational, deciding this job wasn’t for me after only four months and a handful of meetings. I didn’t want to sound like a quitter. He’d likely agree with Rachel that I hadn’t given this job enough time. Were they right?
“What if you don’t get it? Don’t you think ya should have accepted the meeting until ya find out?”
Declan was usually my cheerleader. The one who had faith in my abilities when I didn’t. Who helped me make light of my mishaps and reminded me I wasn’t the only one who screwed up.
“You sound sure I wouldn’t get the job. Do you think I’d be in over my head?”
“Well, you could use a wee more experience. The CEO is more likely to hire you as a contractor.”
“What happened to fake it till you make it? You oversold me to Heather big time to get me on the Paris trip last fall.”
“I was there to back you up.”
Whoa. “You’re not backing me up on this program, and I’m doing fine.” Well, not fine, but I was surviving.
Declan shook his head with regret. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it like that.”
How else could he have meant it?
“You’re telling me stories about mishaps all the time,” I said. “What about you falling down bus stairs in front of a group? Why are mine any worse?” Because they happened more frequently and I handled them more poorly?
“They’re not. I’m sorry.” He started pacing away from the fireplace.
“If I lived in Dublin, we’d be able to see each other more.”
“You wanna live together?” Declan came to an abrupt halt, his expression frozen, panic flickering in his eyes.
The benefit of FaceTime.
“That’s not what I’m saying. Wouldn’t you want me to move to Dublin? Do you like only seeing each other every fifty days?” Maybe Declan was booking a full schedule because he only wanted to hook up a day here and there. I refused to settle for a part-time relationship like Mindy and Blair each had.
“No, I’d like to see ya more. You’re just throwing this all at me kind of fast.” Declan slipped off his suit jacket.
It was likely our conversation, not the fireplace, making him sweat.
My hand was shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone steady, and I couldn’t keep the trembling from my voice. “Again, we just went fifty days without seeing each other. Most couples at least live in the same country, for God’s sake.”
“I don’t live in Ireland.”
“You’re there more than anywhere else. Besides, I wouldn’t be moving there just for you, so don’t freak out.”
“Jaysus.” He raked a frustrated hand through his hair.
“Sometimes I seem to be working harder at seeing each other than you are.”
Declan’s gaze sharpened. “What does that mean? I flew to Prague to see ya.”
“That’d been my idea. So was meeting up in Chicago, and then you booked the Amsterdam trip without even telling me.”
“I don’t control how the programs fall. I wasn’t hiding the trip from ya. It’s on the calendar. I just forgot to mention it. I’m sorry. I should have said something.”
“It’s on the calendar because your flights linked to it. Why do you need to work twenty-seven days a month? That’s insane. You work nonstop. You can afford to be more flexible than me.”
Declan shifted his stance, glancing away.
Was it because he didn’t want to see me?
“I hate not knowing if I might not see you for months.” I shook my head in frustration. “This is way harder than I thought it would be.”
Declan’s eyes widened. “Saying ya wanna break up if ya don’t move to Dublin?”
My head was spinning. “No, I don’t know what I’m saying.” This was crazy. We were arguing over me moving to Dublin and working at Flanagan’s when I knew I couldn’t do it without Rachel’s blessing. “Let’s talk later.”
Click. Declan vanished.
That was the first time I’d ever hung up on him. If I hadn’t, I feared I’d have said something I’d regret. I couldn’t believe I’d just said everything I had after all the sweet things Declan had done for me this past week. But it’d been bugging me that he’d booked the Amsterdam trip, despite our plans for Chicago, without telling me, ruining my opportunity to do a big birthday surprise for him.
And like Rachel, he thought I couldn’t handle this job without him. Maybe they were right. I had to stop calling them for advice when things went to hell. But I was also calling my boyfriend and sister, not merely a coworker and client. More so than the job, I couldn’t believe Declan thought we were moving too fast and seemed satisfied with the way things were.
Was Rachel right—my main reason for wanting to move to Dublin was to live with Declan? And now Declan didn’t even want me living in Dublin?
I collapsed onto the chair. I e-mailed the planner for the Miami meeting, claiming I’d misread my schedule and was available. How depressing that this job might provide my only stability at the moment.
I felt like I was losing everything I’d worked so hard for the past six months. Declan, my job, my relat
ionship with Rachel, and what little financial stability I had gained were all biting the dust.
Chapter Eighteen
My 4:00 a.m. wake-up call was a text alert from Mom, wondering about my visit with George Wood. If I was still coming to terms with Grandma having a son, I couldn’t deal with Mom’s reaction in my current mindset and lack of caffeine.
On the way to the lobby to work departures, I opened an e-mail from Zoe with a pic of Mr. MacCool and her in matching green velvet leprechaun hats and tutus with gold sparkly shamrocks.
Thought maybe you and Mr. MacCool could wear these in the Dublin St. Paddy’s Day parade. No worries. You don’t have to be reserved to walk in the bloody thing. People crash it all the time. My girlies and I’ll crash it with ya.
I’d be working a Brecker meeting rather than crashing the parade. However, I smiled at the thought of Zoe and her friends coming to Dublin for the holiday and a girls’ night out.
Except for a front desk clerk, Mindy was alone in the lobby, sitting on a red velvet chair, sipping a cup of coffee. It didn’t take two of us to see off an early VIP departure. Blair was punishing me. Mindy spotted me and popped up from the chair, looking perky in her wrinkle-free suit, shiny pink earrings, and a pink silk scarf tied around her neck. I looked like I’d slept in my clothes, even though I’d barely slept.
“Sorry I wasn’t there to help with the emergency last night.” I gave Mindy an abbreviated version of my visit with George Wood while I made a cup of complimentary tea from a hot beverage display on a marble-topped table.
Her jaw dropped, and she placed a hand on my arm. “Wow, I don’t blame you for not showing up. I wish I hadn’t. It was a false alarm.”
Yet Blair had made me feel guilty for not having been there?
“Blair thought a speaker was going to need a print job done for a meeting he’s headed to today. I ended up rushing back from the castle for nothing. At least I made it as far as the courtyard this time.”
How many meetings would I have to work in Prague to finally have a chance to visit the castle?
After Mindy stuck the VIP in a sedan, we went to the hotel coffee shop just off the lobby. Glass cases displayed an assortment of pastries and breads. We both ordered an apple strudel. Mindy opted for a double espresso, while I took the plunge and ordered a black coffee, which I never drank. I needed the caffeine for my long, depressing trip home. We sat at a small round mosaic-topped table. Steam rose to my face, and I inhaled the scent of fresh roasted coffee. I was about to take my first sip when Chad strolled in dressed in blue sweatpants and a white T-shirt and tennies. Must be nice to have the time and energy to work out at five in the morning.
He removed an earbud from his ear. “Guess I’m going to see you in Monte Carlo,” he told Mindy. “Didn’t have a schedule conflict after all. Asked Blair about it last night, and she still needed one staff.”
Blair would obviously rather hire this lazy loser than me. I now sympathized with Gretchen, understanding her bitterness toward incompetent people stealing her work. Gretchen could be nasty, but she knew her stuff and was dependable.
“Awesome,” Mindy said. “I’m going to extend a day so I can take the train over to Portofino and stare out at the Mediterranean all day, drinking Chianti.”
Chad let out an exaggerated sigh, like he was so busy. “I have to head to DC the day it ends.”
Mindy peered over at me. “You should extend with me. That’d be a blast.”
I nodded faintly.
Chad left with a large coffee and grin.
“Blair didn’t ask me to work the Monte Carlo meeting,” I confessed.
Mindy’s gaze narrowed. “Maybe she just hasn’t gotten around to it.”
I doubted that.
“I’m working a meeting in Chicago in June. The planner is looking for a few local staff. I’ll recommend you.”
Even after finding me in a suite wearing the VIP’s slippers, Mindy was willing to hire me, unlike Blair.
I managed a smile, not wanting to appear unappreciative. “Thanks.” I glanced toward the lobby. “I should see if the driver is here yet for Courtney and Rita’s departure.”
“Oh, they were hopping into a taxi when I got down at four. Courtney changed to an earlier flight. Cost almost a grand, but she didn’t give a rip.”
“I wouldn’t either if I were her.”
“Exactly.”
Mindy had to pack, so we said our good-byes, hugging, promising to stay in touch, even though she didn’t do social media. I mentally added her to my Christmas card list like so many other people I’d met over the past few months that I knew I might only communicate with once a year, like Madame Laurent and her dog, Esmé, in Paris.
I stood in the lobby, reviewing the departure manifest on my clipboard. Ted had departed the hotel at 3:00 a.m. I slipped my name badge from the plastic holder and tore it up. A dog barked. Startled, I dropped the shreds of paper, which scattered like confetti on the tiled floor.
Madam Petrov and Fritzie were bundled up for their morning walk. She had on her purple coat and matching wool hat. Fritzie wore a purple sweater. The dog growled, his beady brown eyes glaring at me. With a determined walk, the woman detoured toward the other side of the lobby.
“Excuse me,” I called out, following them.
She came to an abrupt halt, staring at me with an intimidating gaze.
I cleared my throat. “Do you speak English?”
Her look turned wary. “Small bit.”
I took an encouraging breath. “Are you related to the Petrov vodka family?”
She shook a finger at me, spatting a few harsh words in Russian, looking seriously offended, as if I were soliciting her for donations to my worthy cause.
“To Sasha Petrov?” I said. “Are you her sister, Natalya?”
She snapped her mouth shut and slowly lowered her finger, wearing a curious expression.
If she came here often, it seemed like she must believe the spirit of her sister was still alive in the hotel. That she was hoping for a connection. People came into our lives for a reason. Maybe my purpose and Mr. Gauthier’s was to provide this woman with a bit of comfort. She didn’t appear to be a very happy person.
“The nice man in the elevator who gave you his hanky was staying in the Bridal Suite.” I pointed at the elevator and pretended to blow my nose, as if all the sign language might help her understand.
She looked confused.
Fritzie let out a bark.
“Is everything all right here?” the concierge asked, materializing. He conversed with Madam Petrov in Russian, then turned to me. “She is unsure what you are asking her.”
“Tell her that Mr. Gauthier, the nice man in the elevator who gave her his hanky to wipe up Fritzie’s pee, was staying in the Bridal Suite.”
“Why should she care about such a thing?”
“Why would she keep coming to the hotel where her sister died? She’s hoping for a connection.”
The man’s top lip curled back with disgust. “A dog’s urine on a hanky is a connection?”
“People will grasp at anything.” Grandma’s picture on my nightstand gave me comfort, like she was watching over me. “And Fritzie really connected with Mr. Gauthier. It’s a sign. I know it is. Can you please just tell her.”
The concierge once again looked at me like I was nuts, but reluctantly translated my message.
The woman’s features softened. She removed the hanky from her coat pocket. Eeww. However, it was no longer pee stained and appeared to have been washed, ironed, and folded with care. Something had possessed her to keep it. She massaged the soft material between her fingers, then slipped it back into her pocket. She gave me an appreciative smile, deep crinkles appearing around her gray eyes.
Madam Petrov and Fritzie headed toward the door, and I smiled at the bounce now in both of their steps. I turned to the concierge, who looked a bit baffled. “Thank you.”
He arched a brow. “You’re a peculiar woman, Ms. Sh
aw. Kind, but peculiar. It’s been interesting.”
“Better than being boring.” Usually.
He smiled faintly. “Indeed.” He turned and walked off.
When the ground company rep arrived midmorning and relieved me of my duties, I headed down to the office to tell Blair good-bye and good riddance. Before entering the room, I received a text from Declan.
Sorry. Can we talk?
I about collapsed with relief that we were still speaking.
Going into a meeting, then to airport. Will call at airport. Took Miami job.
I love you. He attached a pic of a cartoon sheep blowing a kiss.
I smiled. Love you too.
I was relieved we were still speaking, even though I was hurt that Declan had freaked out over the mere thought of us living together and that he didn’t believe I could handle this job without him having my back. Even though he’d talked me into finding the cricket and off the ledge over the missing macaroons… That was stuff a boyfriend would do.
Gretchen was alone in the office. I almost didn’t recognize her without the jade eyeshadow and thick black liner. Her eyes didn’t look as green, or as wicked. Her black suit jacket hung on the back of the chair, and her hair was pulled up in a loose twist. Was her casual appearance because it was the last day, or she was saying screw it?
“Blair’s at the hotel post-con,” she said. “I’m doing one later with Nigel since I don’t leave until tomorrow. But here’s his gratuity.” She handed me a white envelope. “I thought you might want to give it to him. He’d mentioned visiting the States next month, so I gave him dollars.”
That was considerate. Both the dollars and that Gretchen had listened to Nigel’s vacation plans.
“Ah, thanks. That’d be great.”
“He certainly has an interesting family history.”
“Yeah, you just never know.”
A look of longing filled her eyes. “No, sometimes you’ll never know.”
“If you want, I could do some research for you.”