Until Ireland

by Tl Reeve

  Landon followed after me. “Famous last words for the Banks clan before falling head over heels.”

  Shit. He was right. I’d seen it with my brothers, and I could admit, I’d been a victim of love a time or two. I also had a thing for men who were unattainable—see my ex for details. “I guess I’ll just have to keep my tits in my coveralls, huh?”

  The roar of laughter from Landon had me joining him. “Damn right, baby girl.”

  Chapter Two

  Ireland

  * * *

  I’d spent the last several hours talking myself out of meeting Mack for dinner. It wasn’t like me to socialize with my clients, but there was something about him. Not only did he ping my bullshit meter, but with one meeting, he’d crawled under my skin a way no one ever had—including Edgar.

  Stepping out of my grape-colored Mercury after parking my baby, because no one drove my car—not even a valet, I stared up at the building housing Flame. Even the outside of the restaurant screamed money. Though not flashy, because I didn’t think Mack did brash things, it exuded power and quality. I took a second to fluff the bottom of my vintage 1950’s floral halter swing dress, hoping to tamp down some of the nervous energy squiggling through my stomach.

  Some women bought shoes, purses, or even makeup. Not me. Nope. I spent my money on dresses. Retro dresses, to be exact. They were my passion, and my bedroom closet reflected it. The one I was currently wearing had a white background with black trim and big bold black flowers with pops of red blossoms mixed in. My retro clothes tended to draw a lot of attention, and not just from men. More often than not, women stopped me, often asking for the designer’s name and to compliment me. Nine out of ten times they’d ask where they could find clothes like mine. I wasn’t a stingy bitch. If they wanted to explore their fashion sense, well then, call me the fairy godmother of vintage shopping.

  Don’t get me wrong, men were equally fascinated, just for other reasons. Often, they thought the way I dressed meant I was easy to get into bed. I wasn’t. Sex without love wasn’t my thing, and my sexual encounters took place within an established relationship.

  Which had been all of three.

  Don’t get me wrong, a lot could be said about bad boys and their appeal, but I also wasn’t stupid or willing to risk my health for a romp between the sheets. Having three over-protective, all-Alpha brothers came in handy in those situations when a guy couldn’t take the hint. As the only girl, however, they liked to drive me nuts, which could be aggravating as fuck.

  News flash, they weren’t always funny.

  They also required a lot of energy, and after watching a revolving door of women coming and going from their beds, I’d become cynical to most men’s charms.

  Which brought me back to why I was here, at Flame, staring at the entrance like a fool. I still didn’t know why I had accepted Mack’s invite for dinner tonight. I’d convinced myself earlier it had everything to do with how he looked in a suit. The sexy as fuck asshole should be illegal. I suspected he dressed in suits mostly because, for him, it was about projecting the right image and power.

  It was effortless.

  Under those expensive clothes he wore, I suspected he was rocking a killer body too, hopefully with a bunch of hot tattoos. I’d thought about him a lot in the last twenty-four hours. If my siblings knew, they’d blame it on my attraction to bad boys.

  And Mack screamed bad boy. At least to me.

  Admit it, Ireland, you want to climb him like a tree, hussy. I pushed aside the wayward thought and crossed the parking lot to the entrance of the restaurant. I knew exactly why I’d gone to such efforts tonight and had shown up at Flame.

  Mack Redman.

  We had a spark. A connection. I’d felt it when he touched me. My belly had wobbled as if filled with butterflies.

  Or maybe it had been the Chinese food I ate for lunch.

  Blaming it on food poisoning was a better idea than claiming I was nervous or, dare I say, excited. For some reason, I needed to show Mack I wasn’t always the bitch I acted like during our first meeting.

  Okay…I was lying again.

  I could totally be that person when it was warranted.

  I had three brothers, for fuck’s sake.

  My reaction to Mack was odd, and quite honestly, I’d never experienced it before. Pitiful as hell to admit, since I’d been a normal twenty-something year old woman, not some virginal bride. Of course, I could take the easy way out and blame him. Mack had been an asshole, after all. He wasn’t the typical guy who caught my attention. I also knew he’d reacted to my insecurities and distracted state, and I hadn’t helped the situation by lashing out at him. Even though I’d sworn off bad boys, I suspected this man could seriously change my mind.

  And the prospect scared me.

  I needed to stop overanalyzing everything.

  Mack had simply asked me out to dinner to apologize for his behavior. He wasn’t looking to start a life-long relationship with a crazy red-headed mechanic who often had grease on her face and under her fingernails—although not tonight, because I’d cleaned my nails and painted them too—with a bitchy attitude to boot.

  Taking a deep breath and pressing my hand against my lower belly with the hopes of calming those pesky jitters, I stepped over the threshold of Flame. The cacophony of noise surprised me. Chattered conversations and laughter accompanied the music pumping through the establishment’s sound system. The flutter of butterflies in my belly I’d had since yesterday pulsated and drew me back into my nervous thoughts. Maybe I couldn’t do this after all. Mack had been out of my league. I could say that without admonishing myself for being a Debbie-downer. It was cool. Most days, I could overlook the anxious energy rolling through me, but today, not so much. Since I’d shaken his hand, I swore I could still feel his touch.

  I wished now that I’d wimped out, called Flame, and left a message for Mack, telling him something had come up and I had to cancel. Instead, here I stood, probably looking like an idiot, staring out over the restaurant, unable to move.

  Suck it up, Ireland. Get your ass moving, I admonished myself.

  I wasn’t a quitter. Which explained why every time I picked up the phone to call Flame this morning to decline, I’d hung up after the first ring. So, instead of concentrating on the nerves wreaking havoc on my body, I worked a full day then spent an obscene amount of time on my appearance, especially my hair, which I had a love-hate relationship with because, well duh, it was red. To my knowledge, no redhead truly loved the color of their hair. I’d done it with lots of long soft curls, piled it up, and then expertly pinned it on top of my head. Paired with my dress and understated make-up, it screamed Hollywood starlet.

  And I rocked the whole look.

  Confidence and calm were the tones I was looking for—at least on the outside. On the inside, I’d be a hot freaking mess.

  I also convinced myself this was a non-date. More of a business arrangement to talk shop, not hook up with my customer—I left that shit to Hunter and Landon.

  Taking a deep breath, I held it for a moment or two, then let it out and started walking toward the main floor of the restaurant. A young woman dressed in black with a bright smile stood beside the entrance. I smiled back in greeting.

  “Welcome to Flame. Please check-in at the hostess desk,” she said with a nod to where another woman stood behind a steel and glass podium.

  “Thank you,” I murmured, continuing to where the hostess waited.

  “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

  I shook my head because I didn’t. Mack said to meet him there. Since he owned this fine dining establishment, why would I need one? “No.” I fished through my clutch, trying to find the card Mack gave me.

  “I’m sorry,” she stated. “At this time, we’re only doing reservations.”

  “I’m meeting Mr. Redman,” I replied, trying to keep the nervous edge out of my tone. “He’s expecting me.”

  The woman behind the desk cocked a bro
w and narrowed her eyes. “And your name?”

  I couldn’t help but shiver at her icy glare and uppity tone. “Ireland Banks.” I could have been a bitch about it, but I chose to disregard the sudden attitude the other woman was throwing at me.

  She hit earpiece in her ear and spoke softly into a mic that rested near her cheek. With a nod of her head, her attention turned back to me. “Mr. Redman is currently dealing with an urgent and unexpected issue at this time. He’s requested you head to the bar.” She gestured to the left where the bar must be, separate from the main restaurant. “Wait for him there.” Her cold professional tone rankled my already tattered nerves.

  Again, the tirade I’d bit back seconds ago sat on the tip of my tongue. As far as first impressions were going, I’d done a shit job yesterday, and if I snapped at the girl for doing her job, well, I’d have to give myself two strikes. So, I bit back the string of curses and smiled before saying, “Thank you.”

  I strolled through the restaurant, taking in the modern decor, surprised by how understated the place was—until I saw the bar area. I gasped. Soft multicolored lights bounced off the burnt gold shelving unit and gleamed off the glass counter. The back of the shelves had been done in stained-glass windowpanes, and the multicolored lights were actually the reflection of white light shining through the glass. The seats around the bar appeared luxurious and done in a plush red, maybe crushed velvet from where I stood anyway.

  High-top tables littered the floor, and I recognized a couple of people who were sitting at them. They’d been our repeat customers. I couldn’t tell you their names to save my life, but I could tell you what type of car they drove and how well they took care of those vehicles.

  It was a gift.

  And a curse.

  When I sat at the bar, a hum of appreciation slipped from my lips. The cushion was comfortable and warm.

  Then I glanced down at the bar itself.

  It was a work of art all on its own.

  The same types of glass panes were filled like a cross between an art deco jewelry box and a fancy curio cabinet, showcasing everything below the surface. Glass inserts with small lights on the bottom created an opaque white shine with mirrors on either side, reflecting an eclectic array of odd items. The bar gave the area a whimsical feel, which utterly captivated me.

  “Welcome to Flame,” the bartender said, placing a fancy coaster with a small phoenix emblazoned in the bottom corner in front of me. “My name is Oscar, and it’ll be my pleasure to serve you tonight. First time here?” His grin said he already knew the answer.

  I smiled back. “How can you tell?”

  He chuckled. “The stunned look on your face. All our new customers get it when they have a seat at the bar for the first time.”

  I glanced up at him and replied, “It’s beautiful.”

  He laughed. I suspected, for him, the bar had lost its sparkle after seeing it all the time. “Sure enough.”

  My gaze shifted over the items artfully placed under the glass top in front of me. Little crystal treasure boxes were tucked around flapper hats. Other items included antique silverware, images of phoenixes, which looked as if they were etched into the glass panels, along with tarot cards with flames on them. I had no doubt in my mind that Mack designed this or had a heavy hand in creating the piece of artwork.

  Unable to help myself, I ran my fingertips over the etchings, imagining being able to touch the items below. All I ended up doing was smudging the glass with my fingerprints.

  I sheepishly looked up at the waiting bartender. “Sorry, Oscar.”

  “Don’t you worry about it, sweetheart. It’s glass. Watch.” He brought over a dry rag and wiped away my fingerprints. “Good as new. So, what can I get you?”

  “How’s your Cabernet Sauvignon?” I hedged, not sure what exactly Mack had in his reserves.

  Red wine, particularly good red wine, was my kryptonite. I’d been known to spend thirty or forty bucks or more for a bottle. Often on Sunday, after I finished with adulting for the day, I’d head out to the back porch and enjoy a glass, or hell, even the whole bottle.

  “Excellent.” His fingers tapped on the glass. “Are you staying for dinner?” He glanced back at me as he started down the bar.

  Although he didn’t say it outright, I got the feeling he wanted to know if I’d be dining with the opposite sex.

  “Yes,” I answered, keeping it simple.

  “Order a glass or two with your meal. But here, at my bar,” he said, stretching his arms out, “You should seriously try one of our specialty drinks. You won’t be disappointed.”

  Since this might be my one and only visit to Flame, I figured I’d go big or go home. “What about one of those flaming cocktails I saw when I walked in?”

  He smirked. “I got you. Just need to know if you’re a mixed or straight girl. And, if you like to taste the hard alcohol or if you prefer sweet.”

  I leaned forward as if I was about to reveal the nuclear codes for the country instead of a drink choice. Oscar grinned, and I didn’t miss the flare of interest in his brown gaze. “I like mixed and sweet, without the taste of alcohol.”

  He nodded. “I’ve got you covered, and don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” With a wink and a smile, he sauntered off to make my drink. Oscar was handsome, but my gut screamed player. And rarely was my gut wrong. Working at the bar offered him the perfect opportunity to pick up women. Going by his cockiness alone, I’d bet he didn’t strike out a lot.

  I wasn’t interested, of course. I also didn’t want to send the wrong message. Turning my attention back to the items under the glass bar top, I hoped Oscar got my meaning loud and clear. I wasn’t alone tonight, and I wasn’t interested in a one-night stand either.

  Oscar brought over a bright blood-red colored drink in a coupe glass. “May I present you with the Flaming Dragon’s Blood.” He placed the glass down first, front and center, then proceeded to pour the shot glass filled with some concoction of alcohol meticulously over the drink before igniting it. The flames were a mix of bright blue and red. I felt a slight brush of heat on my cheeks before the flames flickered and fluttered out.

  I couldn’t help the girly giggle that escaped my lips.

  “Enjoy,” he said, watching me intently before leaning against the bar, blatantly ignoring the other bartenders who were busting their asses.

  He was oblivious.

  Great.

  Wishing to hurry this up so he got the hint, I took a sip of my drink, then nodded in approval. “Excellent.” The liquor was covered by the cold bite of raspberries with a hint of lemon and the distinct flavor of thyme. It was heavenly.

  He, regrettably, didn’t get the memo there was someone I’d been waiting for, namely his boss. “You like?” The sultry tone of his voice had my shoulders inching up.

  Again, sometimes it sucked having manners. “Yes.”

  He leaned closer and oozed confidence. “Is your date late?”

  I placed my glass on the coaster and sighed. Why do guys, especially overly confident guys, assume a girl has to be on a date and not just enjoying an evening out? It was annoying, even if in my case it was true. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. “I don’t remember saying I was meeting anyone, least of all a date.”

  I realized my mistake immediately when a flare of arousal brightened his gaze. “A woman like you doesn’t get dressed up to have drinks or a meal alone, honey. We both know what you’re looking for.” He notched his game up a level.

  I arched a brow, narrowing my eyes and giving him my best warning glare—one I knew often sent my siblings ducking and running for cover. I needed clarification of his comment, although, I was pretty sure he just implied I’d been looking for an easy fuck. Like every other case with every other woman in the world, it wasn’t the first time a man had implied something so foul.

  Nor would it be the last.

  I seriously contemplated wasting my drink by dumping it over his damn head, but I’d possibly make y
et another horrible impression with the owner of this establishment—who had taken up way more time in my mind than I’d be comfortable to admit. Wasn’t I supposed to be over men and the drama that came with being in a relationship with them? I thought after everything I’d been through with Edgar, I’d have learned my lesson. Men were assholes, especially those who believed they were invincible.

  I cocked my head, struggling to remain calm, cool, and collected. No matter what Oscar’s thoughts and opinions were, I was a lady. Not exactly easy to remember when I had a wicked temper.

  “A girl like me?” I snarled coldly. “What exactly are you implying, Oscar?”

  He smirked. “You know,” he said, his eyes dropping to my chest, which only showed a hint of cleavage thanks to the cut of my dress. It was sexy, not slutty like his smirk implied. “A pretty looking girl is always looking for a man to take home for the night.”

  If he thought I’d be flattered, he was wrong. I was about to call him out too when a dark, rough voice I dreamt about most of last night and today growled, “She’s more than just a pretty girl, Oscar. And you’re being insulting to a guest. Again.”

  Mack pushed between the stools, his big body encased in yet another expensive suit. He leaned over the bar, getting into Oscar’s face.

  “Is there a problem, boss?” Oscar asked, oblivious to the building tension in the air.

  “Yeah,” Mack snarled between clenched teeth. I wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up with a cracked molar or two. “You’ve been warned—”

  Oscar appeared shocked. “You’re overreacting, Mack. We were just having a conversation and some harmless flirting.” Oscar was either very ballsy or very stupid. I’d have personally gone with stupid. He confirmed my impression of him when he hedged with, “What’s your problem?”

  “Bullshit. I heard what you implied. It’s insulting. Apologize, and then get your shit and get the hell out of my establishment. You’re fired, Oscar.”