The Irresistible Irishman: For St. Patricks Day (A Holiday Springs novel)

by MJ Fields

  Sitting back at my desk, my head spins with the memories of the night of my most memorable, hell, my only, indiscretion. I made Faith promise never to mention it, ever. And she made me promise never to regret it. We’ve never broken that promise in the months since the ‘morning after.’

  The phone rings, and I adjust my headset before answering. “It’s the perfect day to book your Hawthorne Holiday. This is Sarah speaking. How can I assist you?”

  After making the White family’s reservation, I decide to stretch my legs a bit and walk around the lobby. Stepping past the front desk, I see families smiling excitedly. The hotel is simply magnificent, with enormous floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the majestic mountains. The lobby is clean lines, creamy brown wood, and comfortable seating. Ever since Hawthorne bought the hotel, it’s gotten a spectacular facelift with upgrades all around. With the new employee incentives and discounts coming, I feel lucky just to work here.

  “Come for me, sweet Sarah.”

  I can hear his gruff order so clearly, as if he’s whispering it to me where I stand gazing up the majestic mountains, feeling just as elevated by the memory of that night. A blush creeps up my neck as I glance over to Julia who nods toward my abandoned desk. “Yes.” I cock my head confused as she waives her hand, her eyes wide as she mouths, ‘email.’

  To:

  S.Golden@HawthorneResorts.com

  From:

  J.Newhouse@HawthorneResorts.com

  Subject: Heads up!

  I’d been told months ago by HR at the Headquarters in the UK that we wouldn’t be meeting the new owners until they’d studied our operations for four months. Apparently, they’ve finished their homework and plan to come in on Monday to visit and hold meetings with some of the upper management. I’m freaking out. Like totally freaking out because I don’t consider myself upper management, and what if they hate me? I’ve only held this position for four months. If I lose my job, that means I may have to take the deadbeat back to court for child support, and ain’t nobody got time for that. I don’t want his damn money. I want him to leave Lyla and me alone. She’s a nightmare when she sees him and…I just can’t.

  Distract me. Tell me something this new Sarah would tell me.

  Top ten freakish fantasies since you’ve been reading these books and had your amazing one-night stand, Letterman style.

  I’ll start, just to get some idea flow.

  Ten things I now need because of these books and nonexistent sex life due to singlemomdom.

  Number 10: A collection of vibrators, one for each day of the week.

  Number 9: A subscription to one of those porn sites, so when I am all hot and bothered and have nowhere else to go, it doesn’t end with an ‘O’-cliffy. *I need book 2*

  Number 8: To find a real man on one of those dating sites and not just someone who wants me as a third.

  Number 7: A whip to beat the ass of the next fool who lies to me.

  Number 6: A weekend with someone who will take my mind off missing Lyla when the deadbeat does show up, and I’m not talking: Sarah and a bottle of wine.

  Number 5: A self-filling wine glass.

  Number 4: The beefcake at the gym who makes my lady parts clench.

  Number 3: Something dramatic and exciting to happen to me. Maybe I should join you at Blizzards!

  Number 2: Boobs like yours. I breastfed for eighteen damn months. And let’s be honest here, my tits point to my bellybutton at this point.

  Number 1: To find a lover who will love me for all I am and love my daughter even more.

  PS- I had one hell of a dream last night starring Henry Cavill as Mr. Cross.

  PSS- I need book two, like, yesterday.

  Letterman style.

  Awaiting your reply!

  Julia

  I laugh until I get to number one. That one makes my heart hurt.

  Chapter Six

  May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, the foresight to know where you are going, and the insight to know when you have gone too far.

  - Irish proverb

  Beckett

  The last time I was in Colorado I woke to a note on the pillow beside me instead of the woman I’d fallen asleep entangled with, Sarah. I returned to Aspen and signed a purchase agreement for a smaller resort than we’d typically acquire. It’s a beautiful hotel that clearly needed some upgrades. There is some upside, but not at the scale I prefer. Still, my brothers had been bothering me over it for months, wanting to expand our Hotel and Resort chain to Colorado.

  Once I arrived in Dublin and walked into our family home on the bay, they busted my balls as I expected. They would never have imagined that I actually went through with it. After they bitched for long enough, I told them that I did, in fact, sign the contract after all.

  I told them it would enable me to see Nathaniel and Raff more often than once every two years. It wasn't a lie. I do want to spend more time with them, but I also like the possibility of running into Sarah again. After my parents’ death, I was given total control of the US resorts and expansion efforts. So, the decision and my choices are mine alone.

  After my brothers and I dented a bottle of Bushmills 21, and toasted to the new hotel, I found myself on a run, thinking of her as I had since I got on the plane to Dublin. Though I thoroughly enjoyed my tryst with sweet Sarah, maybe too much, I had to remind myself who I was. A man who has no intention of getting married, as I already have a wife: My business.

  A woman like Sarah deserves better than an illicit affair with no future. Surely she dreams of settling down to raise kids.

  I don't have the time nor the inclination for that.

  I remember a time before money was abundant in our family. I saw the sacrifices made in the name of building something worthy, while my brothers, on the other hand, were too young to notice. Working side by side with my father, taking on the business that has carried my family for years, gaining us all financial freedoms, and the luxury of worriless operations was a no-brainer for me. I didn’t want to just live and enjoy life. I wanted to work to ensure my parents could enjoy their much-deserved retirement. I didn’t think that eventually I would dream of making the business bigger—and better.

  Hawthorne Hotels & Resorts needed not only to remain a five-star award-winning operation throughout the world, but it had to grow. I wanted our brand to thrive.

  My parents built an empire while raising a family and giving us more than we could ever dream of. I learned everything I knew from my father in business and matters of the heart from my mother. I owe them, and I am not a man who ever wants to let down the people I love—even in death. I, alone, feel responsible.

  At times my brothers act expectant, and frankly, it's bothersome to me. I love them, but the difference between them and me is like night and day.

  My mother kept a home, and my father ruled the empire. When he died at sixty-five at his desk in his home office, she followed suit just a few years later from cancer. We all mourned for what felt like years, and rightfully so.

  My brothers settled with wives and children while I continued to work endless hours to ensure Hawthorne’s success. Mother used to worry that I would wake someday and see that I have missed out on what’s most important. But I am my father’s son, and what he taught me is priceless. I have acquired a skill set that cannot be taught in books, only by life experiences. For that, I will maintain his legacy. No—I will make it greater.

  I look out the window to the clear blue sky before I lean back in my leather seat, tossing back the rest of the whiskey Erin, the flight attendant, served up when I boarded my jet. I took the drink, but the blow job she offered—I declined.

  I loosen my tie, a bit unnerved by my recent behavior. On my past flights, Erin always accompanied me to the back bedroom after serving me a drink. I exhale, trying to figure out what’s going on in my head. Over the last few months, the nameless, faceless encounters with women who let me screw them in the way I need, each ended with Sarah’s ima
ge in my head as I came. Sarah. This is precisely why I hadn’t returned to Colorado, despite the fact that I should have months ago. The new hotel has been updated, and I should have gone to oversee the details of construction. She’s too sweet. Too naïve. Too…fucking perfect to get tangled up with a man like me. I knew that if I went back there, I would have reached out to her.

  You’re acting like a feckin’ wanker, Beckett.

  I pull out my laptop, determined to get a leg up on my workload before landing.

  After the purchase, I followed my standard protocol and allowed HR to handle the transition for the employees. Unfortunately, I was alerted that the hotel had broken one of the terms, namely the hiring freeze. I require sufficient time to watch the daily operations and make changes only after four months. After learning of the broken terms, I did some of my own research.

  I quickly found what HR should have. The hotel simply replaced Annie Humphrey—who had retired from manager of reservations—and promoted a long-time employee, Julia Newhouse, to fill the post Annie vacated. Then, they hired someone to fill Julia’s position.

  Yes, we should have been contacted, and they should have waited for approval, but they hadn’t actually hired more employees than they previously had. Payroll hadn’t changed. In fact, the new hire wasn’t even receiving benefits yet. She had a probationary period until they began.

  The new hire is apparently a personal friend of Julia’s, which is also a firm no-no. Not only was she a friend, but they’d exchanged personal emails through the company network. Nothing horrible, lengthy, or in my opinion deserving of termination, but completely unprofessional nonetheless. They could have easily texted each other on private phones—yet didn’t.

  The new employee? S. Golden.

  I scratch the back of my neck, wondering if there are any new emails as of late. I scroll through the company Outlook in search of S. Golden and... Well, look what we have here. It turns out there’s a new one.

  To:

  J.Newhouse@HawthorneResorts.com

  From:

  S.Golden@HawthorneResorts.com

  RE:

  Heads up!

  Is this even ethical? I mean, we are working. But since you’re the boss, I guess I should do exactly what is asked of me.

  Ten things I now need because of… one hot and drunken night at Blizzards.

  Number 10: A closet full of sexy heels.

  Number 9: Drawers full of silky and lacey lingerie.

  Number 8: Never waiting years without having sex again.

  Number 7: Never to be called vanilla.

  Number 6: Never get caught up in a text conversation through a dating app with someone whom I can’t stand but feel guilty letting him down.

  Number 5: A man with the decency to get me naked and fuck me through several orgasms without taking his own.

  Number 4: A man whom I would go to my knees for because of the way he looks at me, preferably in a kilt.

  Number 3. An all-night sex fest that lasts through all three nights.

  Number 2: I want to be tied up, bent over a knee, and begging for just the tip.

  Number 1: In short, I want a dominant man, maybe even a Dom like in our books.

  Best Regards and several O’s,

  S. Golden

  Scrambling to log in to the security footage at the new hotel, I let out a groan when I realize the in-flight WiFi isn’t strong enough. And the question burns through me the remainder of my flight.

  Who the fuck is S. Golden?

  The minute we’re wheels down and in range, I log back into security through my cell phone and search through a few minutes of camera two’s feed, searching for any sign of staff. We don’t have cameras directly in the office, but we have a clear view of the hallway that leads to it. The minute I spot her—I rewind. I replay the footage until I’m convinced the woman I’m seeing in a form fitting dress and heels isn’t a figment of my fucking imagination.

  It’s her. It’s definitely her. A wolfish grin spreads across my face as I freeze on a shot of her with a morning latte in hand.

  Once in the Escalade, I re-read the email several times and searched the web for Dom, which brought up more information than I was expecting and to be honest, I saw some shit I will never unsee.

  It’s very disconcerting to me that the woman I fucked on Paddy’s Day is not only working for my company but—if I’m reading the email and the information I found on my search correctly—she may want a fist in the arse.

  I look up from my laptop toward Alfred and clear my throat to see if he is, in fact, sleeping or is just resting his eyes.

  He opens one eye immediately when he senses me watching.

  “You’re awake.”

  “I seem to be,” he says dryly as he sits up straight. “What can I do for you, Mr. Hawthorne?”

  “S. Golden,” I state, knowing damn well the man knows and remembers everything that goes on in my life and has for the majority of it.

  He nods. “One of the women that HR’s feathers were ruffled over.”

  “Yes. She’s also the woman from Blizzards.”

  His eyes narrow. He was pissed that I didn’t follow our long-standing parodical that evening. “The woman who didn’t sign an NDA.”

  I nod.

  “What have you done?”

  “Nothing yet,” I state as I look down at my screen, send him the last email and a screenshot of the security camera.

  “What do you mean, yet?”

  “Open your messages and walk through this with me.”

  Grumbling curses, he sits up, takes his phone from the charger, and taps on the screen.

  I give him a few minutes to read it.

  “Are you searching for my advice?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I nod.

  “Stay away from her,” he states firmly.

  “Let’s look at this as a problem to solve and not a situation to dismiss.”

  “You’re asking for trouble.”

  “No, I’m asking for you to walk me down a path, one that leads to the desired outcome.”

  “The desired outcome being between S. Golden’s legs.”

  I sit back in my seat and look at him sternly. “Aye, for a short period of time.”

  “More specifics are needed to solve a problem because as I’m looking this email over, I still strongly suggest you take a wrecking ball to the idea of bedding a woman whose fantasy comes from romance novels when you are admittedly and happily married to a harem of hotels and resorts.”

  “Again, this a problem to solve, not a situation to—”

  Annoyed, he cuts me off, “Find out the books she reads and deliver—”

  “You know I don’t have time for leisurely reading.”

  “This is well above my paygrade,” he mumbles as he looks down at his phone. “She wants sexy heels and lingerie. When you can’t deliver, and she grows disinterested, have the decency to walk away.”

  I huff, “No woman has been disinterested in what I have to offer.”

  “This one began without an NDA.”

  “So write up an NDA.”

  “Would you also like me to write up a Dominant and submissive contract?” he asks cheekily.

  I nod. “We have lawyers. Have Dante attend to that.”

  “It’s right up his alley,” he mumbles.

  Chapter Seven

  Shtek nit dem kop tsum volf in moyl arayn.

  (Do not stick your head in a wolf’s mouth.)

  -Yiddish proverb

  Sarah

  As far as Mondays go, it’s a typical one. I’m exhausted, but it’s not because I was up all night throwing up or trying to map out my life without the possibility of hitting all the milestones women are expected to hit. Marriage and children are no longer on the cards for me because cancer sucks. I am a survivor. I’m happy to say that I’m sleep-deprived because—Kindle. Every time I’m done with one book, Amazon throws me another it thinks I’d like, and let me just say, Amazon hasn’t been wrong
yet.

  My night with the Irishman literally gave me a new lease on life. I finally feel like a woman again. I feel stronger, too.

  I’m excited for the first time about becoming a career woman. I’m excited about the possibilities of sex without shame and with only two expectations: mutual respect and satisfaction. I’m even more excited about searching for a man who can fill my fantasies, inside and outside the bedroom.

  Julia walks beside me, hands me a cup of coffee, and whispers, “Mr. Hawthorne has arrived, alone. Neither of his brothers made the trip. He’s requested to speak to me. I’m freaking out. Apparently, he’s the worst of the three Hawthorne brothers. All business, no wife or kids. I need this job, Sarah. This is how I take care of Layla. I can’t—”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re a great supervisor and a faithful employee. I’m sure he’ll see that.”

  “But what—”

  “No buts. Go in with confidence.” I sit down at my desk, placing the coffee on my blue ceramic coaster. Kicking off my heels and putting my feet in my flip-flops, I’m ready to give her more confidence when Sandra calls, “Julia!”

  From what I’ve heard, Sandra was upset she didn’t get the promotion Julia received. From working with her, I completely understand why. Resting bitch face and customer service do not mesh. Neither does her 80’s bouffant, for that matter.

  We both look back toward reception to see Sandra giving us a smug look. She straightens her black suit jacket. “Mr. Hawthorne will see you now, Julia.”

  “Check your email,” Julia grumbles. “See if he’s beckoned you, too.”

  “Go.” I nod toward the elevator banks across the foyer. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

  I watch her walk away as I answer the first incoming call, “It’s a beautiful day to book your Hawthorne Holiday. This is Sarah speaking. How can I assist you?"