by Magan Vernon
A smile crossed his face as he shook his head. “You’re a little spitfire; I’ll give you that.”
A younger guy with fiery red hair and a green Murphy’s polo shirt approached the table, setting down two large pints of dark beer and two smaller rocks glasses filled with amber liquid, knocking us out of our conversation.
“A toast,” Connor yelled, holding up the smaller glass. “To Fallon Smith, the best damn assistant a Murphy’s ever had.”
He clinked his glass to mine then dipped it back, downing the whiskey all in one gulp.
I took a tiny sip, not wanting to be rude, since Connor was burning a hole into me with his stare, and the waiter just gawked.
I’d never actually had hard alcohol, except for the terrible cheap stuff in college that was usually mixed into some fruity drink. The whiskey that hit my lips was smooth, with a warm, toffee-flavored burn. If I wasn’t careful, I could easily get pretty drunk on the stuff. Which was probably why people kept coming back to the Murphy brand of alcohol and pubs—the multi-billion, maybe even trillion-dollar company. And I was sitting across from one of the sexy heirs to the enterprise, tipping back drinks like we were old friends.
“I’ll come back to get your order,” the waiter choked out.
Connor sat down his empty glass and shook his head. “No need, lad. If Fallon doesn’t mind, I think we both would like an order of the fish and chips. And can you start us out with some ale and cheddar dip and another whiskey? Been a rough day.”
The waiter eyed me warily, and I nodded. Maybe I should have protested and said I wanted coddle or some other Irish dish, but there was a time for banter, and I didn’t know if the waiter thought I was another Connor conquest, or wondered what the hell the sexy guy was doing with me.
“I’ll be right back with that Mr. Murphy,” the guy said before turning and heading toward the kitchen.
“The meeting that bad?” I asked tentatively, taking another small sip of my drink.
“Do you really want to know?” Connor raised his eyebrows.
“Your dad leave the company to Sean, and now he’s going to turn every pub into a rugby theme with photos of his abs on the wall?”
He laughed, shaking his head before taking a swig of his pint. “Naw, I wish it was that simple. It’s actually pretty fecking complicated. I have no idea what the hell was going through my da’s head when he wrote it.”
I nodded, unsure of how to respond. I’d dealt with all of the brothers in a working relationship for the past few months and gotten to know the ins and outs of their personalities. Jack was a stickler for order while Connor was more of a go-with-the-flow guy. Sean I wasn’t even sure wanted anything to do with the business, but he made it on time to every meeting with the board, even if he did come wearing his rugby uniform straight from practice.
Their dad was a mixture of all three of them. The little I worked with him before he got sick, I knew he raised his boys with those qualities in order that they could run the company together. I hoped that was what he put in his will, but from Connor’s sullen expression I feared that wasn’t the case.
He sighed, taking a big gulp of his pint. “Aren’t you curious to know what the will said?”
I shrugged. “Not particularly. It’s probably legal jargon talking about how you three have to split your shares of the company.”
“Ha,” he bellowed, causing a woman at the table behind us to whip her head around then quickly turn back when she caught his stare.
“I wish it were that simple,” he muttered, finishing his drink.
“Is it really that bad?” I asked softly, dread creeping through me.
A million scenarios ran through my head, and the worst one was that the boys didn’t inherit the company and one of the chavanistic board members with grabby arthritic hands would take over. That would leave me either without a job and money for my loans and Nana, or something even worse. I downed the rest of my whiskey before my mind could go there.
The waiter came to our table and set a tray of cheese dip and pretzels between us before he politely nodded then left without saying a word.
I thought Connor would answer my question, since he seemed to be baiting me, but instead he grabbed a pretzel, dipping it in the cheese. “Ever had ale dip?”
“We do have this in America, too, you know,” I muttered, taking a pretzel and dipping it in the cheese. I took a tiny nibble, surprised at the burst of flavor that hit my taste buds.
“What is that? Horseradish? Not that I’m overly impressed by what you ordered or anything, but I guess it’s okay,” I said, trying to be aloof like he was and slowly finishing my pretzel, though I just wanted to gobble it down.
“Ah, I believe it is horseradish, and I know you have it in America. I lived there, too, as you know from our many phone calls. Boston to be exact.”
I smiled but quickly hid it with my hand, bringing another pretzel toward my mouth. I never memorized phone numbers anymore, but Connor’s was one I had by heart because I’d called him so much for work. “I did know that about you and Boston. Never been there, though, or anywhere on the east coast.”
“Really?” he raised an eyebrow.
“Really. My parents didn’t go much for vacations, but I did take my nana to the farmer’s market in Madison a few times,” I said, immediately shoving a pretzel in my mouth to stop my rambling.
“Madison? As in Wisconsin? I was there once, maybe twice. I think you actually booked me my flight there in February when it was cold as shite,” he said with a laugh.
I smiled, remembering our phone call and how I told him it would be better to visit the Madison location in the spring or even fall. But he and Jack wouldn’t listen, and I ended up having to order parkas and long underwear to be sent to their hotel room.
“I probably should have realized there was something wrong when flights were so cheap, and you kept asking me over and over again if I was sure. But I did get to see my first Midwest snow, which is something not everyone can say.”
“I may not have ever had the famous Murphy fish and chips, but I can say that I’ve seen enough Midwest snow.”
He leaned back in the chair, his blue eyes locked on mine. I swore they were the same color as sparkling sapphires with hints of gold flakes, and I could have stared into those eyes and listened to his accent all night. But this was a guy I worked with, and one I’d interrupted on more than one sexual tryst by calling him for a meeting. Not a guy I could fall for.
He didn’t say anything as the waiter came and replaced our empty glasses, then brought two baskets overflowing with flaky white fish and crispy fries.
I stared at the fish before picking up my fork and knife, expecting this to cut like a steak, and laughed when it immediately crumbled just from my fork touching it.
“Something wrong?” Connor asked, peering at my plate as if he expected there to be a fly in my food.
I shook my head and sucked in a breath. Did I really want to tell him my embarrassing story?
“No. It’s silly, really, but usually when I have fish back home, it’s made by my mom and usually out of a box. By the time she’s done burning it in the oven, I need a steak knife to cut it,” I stuttered, another bout of rambling, and immediately tried to think of something to say so I didn’t sound like an American redneck, which I pretty much was.
“I just mean this stuff cuts nicely, like how I think fish is supposed to.”
“The look on your face was the same one I had when I discovered twenty-four-hour convenience stores in America,” he said, the smile broadening on his face.
“Yeah, they don’t have those here, do they?” I asked, leaning forward slightly. No longer did I feel stiff or on edge, which was either because I finished a whiskey and a pint, or because I was starting to get comfortable with the guy.
“My brothers and I all went to boarding school in Switzerland, and they didn’t have twenty-four-hour stores, either. When I started university in Boston, I was introduced to ev
erything American. Including the joys of getting cheddary puffed crisps after your fraternity brothers keep you up drinking until two a.m.”
I laughed, covering my mouth so I didn’t snort. “Are you talking about Cheetos?”
The grin broadened on my face as he pointed at me. “That’s it. That’s what those blasted things are called. I always forget. But they are good. Same with late-night pizza. Who knew you could order those greasy, cheesy things at all hours in American university towns?”
I took a drink of my fresh pint. “I remember a lot of late night pizza. I think that’s how I survived college.”
“That was my first year in America. Instead of coddle and fish, everyone around me ate pizza, that horrible green soda, and Cheetos. By the end of my freshman year at university, I had to stop eating all of those things for fear I’d die by the time I was thirty. Everything except Cheetos.”
“Do they not sell those around here?” I asked, setting my drink down.
He shrugged. “Probably in the American sections of the stores, but I’ve never looked for them. They don’t have the same appeal if you aren’t eating them after spending a night with shitty keg beer.”
“You’re right about that one. I’m not much of a drinker, but I will say I’m getting used to this whiskey. And the non-burned fish, too.”
He laughed instead of cringing like I was doing internally. Then he lifted his glass. “To non-burned fish, Cheetos, and whiskey.”
I laughed, holding up my glass and clinking it with his. “To all.”
After he finished his whiskey, he set the glass down, and his expression darkened. “Why haven’t we hung out more?”
I raised an eyebrow, finishing a bite of fish before I spoke. “Because you just got into town a few days ago?”
He stared at his empty glass. “I didn’t answer when you asked me what the meeting was about, but that was before I realized that maybe you’re the best person to tell.”
My muscles tensed. I’d already played out the worst-case scenarios and thought we were past that, but now wariness took over as I cocked my head to the side. “Okay?”
His eyes roamed to the sweetheart neckline of my dress, the one that made me look like I had more of a B cup. Just as quickly as I thought I saw a flicker of something else go through him, he shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “Turns out Da put a clause in the will that only his solicitor knew about.”
I nodded, waiting for him to continue. My heart was beating so fast that I was going to burst if he didn’t just get out with it soon.
“As an old-fashioned man, Da wanted his sons to be married in order to inherit the company. Not just Jack so he could be CEO. Within a year of Da’s death, we all have to be married for at least six months, or none of us gets a stake in the company and it goes to the highest bidder on the board.”
He said it so casually, as if he were reading off the dessert list, that I wasn’t even sure I heard him right.
“You…you all have to be married to get the company? That sounds…well…that just sounds weird,” I muttered, taking a sip of my drink.
“Yeah. But it’s the truth.” He downed the rest of his glass before his steely gaze locked on mine. “So, whataya say—think you wanna marry me and help get the company?”
My breath caught in my throat, and I had to pound my chest before I could get air back in my lungs to speak. “I beg your pardon? Is this the whiskey talking?”
He shook his head, leaning forward and taking my hand in his, an electric jolt warming me from his mere touch. “This is me talking. I don’t want the company to go into the board’s hands, and, hey, we like each other well enough. All we gotta do is get married and stay married for six months. We can even do a prenuptial agreement, so you don’t walk away empty-handed. No extra job needed for you, just marrying your favorite Murphy.”
My thoughts flitted to my student loans and Nana’s bills. How all of those could go away so easily. But that would also require marrying a guy who by all accounts was a player and a pain in the ass.
My muscles went rigid, and my heart beat in my ears. I’d been with Ray a long time, and never once did I think about marriage. My only thoughts were about finishing school so that I could have a better life and take care of my nana. Things like fake marriage proposals for money didn’t happen in real life.
What kind of girl was I if I took his offer? If it was even real and not just a drunken idea. He had plenty of other girls that would fall at his feet for a proposal. There was no way he was serious about his brother’s nerdy assistant.
He smiled, squeezing my hand. “Whataya say, pinky? We have some whiskey, a wedding, and just a little white lie. What could go wrong with that?”
Chapter Three
Connor
“What’s your story?” I asked, running my thumb along the bridge of her knuckles.
“What? My story?” She shook her head as if she was knocking herself from a daze.
I smiled, glad she answered at least one of my questions. “Yeah. I want to know about you. If we go through with this marriage, I think I should get to know my future wife. I know you’ve got something to tell. Maybe a story about the gobshite who ran into you and spilled coffee all down your dress then later took you for a pint and asked you to marry him. That sounds like the great American love story if you ask me. Or maybe an Irish one.”
“Now, that is a story. If I weren’t sitting here, across from you, living that story, I wouldn’t even believe that tale. Or that I’d be considering it,” she muttered, finishing her drink.
My eyes widened, and I swallowed hard. Was she really agreeing to the idea? Was I ready to go through with it? Hell, if it meant saving the company, then I’d do it. “Does this mean I can call the priest and set a date?”
She shook her head, keeping her gaze on the table. “I haven’t said yes to anything. This isn’t something a girl can just decide over dinner and drinks. You’re talking about a commitment, here.”
“There’s always dessert, too,” I added.
She frowned. “We don’t even know each other.”
“Hey, you’re the only girl whose number I’ve had memorized, let alone called back, in years. That has to mean something,” I said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
She smirked, her eyes still cast downward. “That’s because I’m your brother’s assistant and bail you out every chance I get. Why? I don’t know.”
“Because you fell for my Irish charm the first time you had to wake me up for a meeting. I remember it like it was yesterday,” I said with a melodramatic sigh.
She laughed, finally looking at me. “If I remember correctly, it was literally my first day on the job, and you were still drunk and leaving some poor girl’s bed.”
I barely remembered the girl or much of that night, but I did remember the first time Fallon yelled at me to sober my arse up and get on the conference call. Right then and there, I knew I was going to like this assistant of Jack’s and hoped she lasted longer than the others he scared away.
“I’m sure that girl or the one from this morning would accept your proposal if you asked them,” she quipped bitterly.
I shook my head. “Why would I want another girl?”
She chewed slightly on her lip. “I may be blond, but I’m not some voluptuous vixen that’s fawning at your feet. I’ve heard enough stories around the office, and witnessed for myself that you don’t have a problem finding women.”
I raised an eyebrow. Surely, she was just being modest. “First off, you and I both know that I would take you right here if you let me. That you’re the most gorgeous girl in the office without even having to try.”
Her cheeks flushed scarlet. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m saying what I mean. But not only are you beautiful, but you also have a heart of gold to go with it.” I reached across the table, cradling her hands in mine. I tried to ignore the rush of heat wafting through my body.
“No oth
er girl would take care of Jack, this company, or me, for that matter. And I don’t know anyone else who would want a second job just to take care of their Nana. It’s the most unselfish and honest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’d like to be the one to help you with the money and whatever else. We can both help each other with this.”
She let out a deep breath, her shoulders falling. “Wow. You know what to say to make a girl speechless.”
I grinned. “Speechless is better than a no.”
“I’m not saying yes, either,” she muttered.
“Why don’t we head to a pub down the way and you can think about it there? This band I like is playing. We can have another pint or two, some dancing, and maybe by the end of the night you won’t be speechless or saying no.”
“I’m afraid to say yes to going with you because you’ll take it as yes to something else,” she said, her shoulders falling. Her posture was already looser, and she’d finally uncrossed her arms, giving me a better look at what she had been hiding under that pink dress and cardigan earlier. A fake marriage with a girl who was this discreetly sexy could be a good thing.
The more I thought about the arrangement, the more I thought I could have some fun with this girl. She hadn’t said yes to an agreement yet, and the more we talked about it, the more I also saw her smile.
“Never danced to a fiddler? What the hell have you been doing these last six months besides yelling at me?” I asked.
She shrugged. “A lot of sitting in my flat and social media stalking.”
I laughed at her honesty, but a twinge of guilt hit me. No one should have that kind of life when they were living in the most beautiful city in the world.
“If you’re going to be my girl, fake marriage or not, we can’t have that,” I said, standing up and putting my hand out. Our drinks were done, and so was the food. I knew the waitress already added whatever it was to my tab, or didn’t even charge me, so no use sticking around and waiting for Fallon to find a reason to back down.
“I never said I was going to be your girl. That’s very chauvinistic, don’t you think?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, looking to my hand and then to my face.