by Hart, Taylor
Her phone didn’t automatically switch over to the international coverage she had enabled before leaving New York. She fiddled with it a little while as the car flew down a freeway. If Sterling called or the hotel texted information, she needed to be able to get the message. By the time she looked up and out the windows again, they were in the heart of the city. Of Dublin!
She held back a gasp of excitement. The driver probably drove all kinds of sophisticated people around. If she came off as a total noob, that would likely get back to Sterling. She didn’t want to repay his generosity by embarrassing him. But inside she was kind of freaking out. Her head snapped back and forth, looking out the windows on both sides of her. Some things about the city looked really modern. Others looked like something straight out of a BBC historical drama. Was the whole city that way, or just the part she was seeing?
A million questions swam through her mind as they inched their way through the much busier part of the city. How many people lived in Dublin? What was the name of the river they crossed over? Were all the spires she could see dotting the skyline from churches? How many were there?
They passed buildings with marble columns out front, iron gates that must have been centuries old, narrow back lanes, shops that were probably older than America itself. There were so many people walking around; that part reminded her of New York. But the rest was something totally different. It was new and exciting and spoke to her heart in a way she wasn’t sure she could have explained.
The car pulled up in front of a very modern building. It was at least five stories tall and looked like a glass and concrete checkerboard. The ground level was entirely glass. The walks crisscrossed over patches of grass and paving stones. It wasn’t at all what she thought of when she thought of Ireland. She liked it, but it wasn’t what she was expecting.
Giant silver letters above the brass-framed glass doors declared this The Marker Hotel. Her destination.
She didn’t know how Sterling had managed it, but she didn’t have to wait at the reception desk or explain who she was. The driver carried her luggage in and handed it to a bellhop. The man at the desk, sporting a suit and tie and the look of someone in charge, called her “Miss Ainsworth” and welcomed her before she’d even had a chance to introduce herself. She was personally accompanied to the “lift” and on to her room, all while hearing a list of impressive amenities, all spoken in a beautiful Irish accent.
Keighley had never been in such a fancy hotel suite. Her apartment looked like a dump compared to this place. And the suite was bigger. She crossed to the windows and the view of the city. A billion-dollar view. And Sterling was providing it. She could’ve pinched herself.
The bellhop and concierge had both left, leaving her room keys and luggage in the spacious living area. She almost felt like holding her breath.
“I’m in Ireland.” Her amazed voice echoed around the room. What hotel had accommodations big enough for echoes? And this wasn’t even the only room in her suite.
She peeked through the doorway to the bedroom. Gorgeous. Elegant. She’d always dreamed about visiting Ireland, but had figured she’d do it on a shoestring budget. This was luxury.
A knock sounded at the door to her suite. Housekeeping? Maybe she left something in the car? She pulled the door open and every word disappeared from her brain. Sterling. She hadn’t been expecting him, but she should have known he’d drop in. He’d flown in a few days ago. He was most likely staying in this same hotel. She was here to arrange an event on his behalf, and he liked to be involved in the details. Of course he would drop by.
“You made it,” he said with his trademark smile. “Does everything meet with your approval?”
Meet with her approval? How could it not? But she kept her composure. “It’s great. It will be an excellent home base for the work I have to do.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And your flight?”
“It was excellent. I was surprised how well I slept.”
He nodded. “Good. I want to run past you some thoughts I’ve had since arriving, and some useful information. But, I know you’ve just arrived, so take the time you need to settle in.”
He was going to leave? So soon? “Come in,” she instructed. “I’d like to get started right away. You’ve been here longer than I have. I’d appreciate whatever you can tell me.”
He came in, and she closed the door behind him. Turning to face the living room again took her breath away. It didn’t seem to have any impact on him. What would that be like, being so used to something like this that it basically went unnoticed?
She snatched up her messenger bag and sat at the round, glass-top table. Sterling joined her there. He pulled out his phone. She opened her laptop.
“First,” she said, “have you changed anything about what you’d like this event to be?”
He shook his head. “A memorable event to, basically, seal the deal with Facebook, Google, Amazon—all the big players.”
She looked over her laptop at him. “They’re all headquartered here?”
He nodded. “And they’re not the only ones.”
Dublin really was a tech hub. No wonder he’d come here. “How soon do you want to have this event? I’ll need a couple of days to narrow down locations and caterers, if needed. Entertainment. That kind of thing.”
“A few days will be fine. End of the week, maybe,” he said. “I know you’ll scout out the best places and manage your usual miracle.”
She smiled broadly. It was one of the nicest things anyone had said to her since she began working as an event planner. It was one-hundred percent trust. She appreciated that.
There was a knock at the door. “Strange,” she said. She wasn’t expecting another visitor.
“That’ll be Brogan,” Sterling said, not at all surprised. He rose and made his way toward the door.
“Who?” she asked.
“Brogan Malone.”
That name wasn’t familiar. Sterling opened the door and motioned someone inside. Keighley eyed the doorway with curiosity and a bit of annoyance. A guy stepped inside, probably not much older than she was. While his hair wasn’t truly red, it leaned that way. He was handsome—she couldn’t deny that—but in a quiet way. Different from Sterling. Even people who had no idea Sterling Westcott was a billionaire with influence and importance took note of him. This Brogan Malone wasn’t like that.
Brogan nodded in her direction. “Keighley Ainsworth.” Definitely Irish.
She leaned back a bit in her chair, quirking her brow upward. “Have we met before?”
He shook his head, even as a bit of a lopsided smile tugged at his mouth. “Mr. Westcott told me about you.”
“What, exactly, did he tell you?”
Brogan crossed to the table where she sat and, quite at ease, dropped onto a chair as well. “He told me you and I share a profession and, for the next week, we’ll also share an assignment.”
What? She looked immediately to Sterling. “I don’t understand.”
“There is a lot to get done in only a week, and you have never been here before. Someone local will speed up the effort. He knows people and venues. It’ll be helpful.”
Only a moment ago she’d been thinking how great it was that Sterling had total faith in her. Then this Brogan showed up, the billionaire’s plan B.
She recovered her equilibrium quickly, though. Sterling apparently didn’t know how capable she really was. They hadn’t done enough events together. And she was unproven overseas. But that would change in the next week. He would see.
She opened her mouth to insist she didn’t need Brogan to hold her hand as she made connections and scouted locations in Dublin, but Sterling had already boarded the gratitude train, telling Brogan how glad he was to have him on board.
Keighley kept her growl of annoyance silent. Sterling had total control over this job and who worked it. She’d simply have to show him—and Brogan—that she could manage on her own. Sterling valued hard work. So did she.
“So, your boss, is he wanting a fancy do or something more casual?” Brogan asked.
Keighley didn’t roll her eyes, but she was tempted. “As I’ve explained before, he’s not my boss.”
“He hired you, yah?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s paying you to be here, yah?”
Through tight lips she answered, “Yes.”
“And he calls the shots, yah?”
She pushed out a breath. “Yes.”
“What you have there, Keighley, is a boss.”
He was the most annoying guy. “Do you consider him your boss? Because your situation is basically the same as mine.”
He laughed. He always laughed. “I pay for my own flat, thank you. And I’m here only as a source of information. Books don’t have bosses.”
“Then be informative instead of obnoxious.”
Again, he laughed.
She kept her calm. “What venues could we book on such short notice that wouldn’t be a complete disaster?”
“We’re running at cross purposes, here. As I asked you before, is your b—is Mr. Westcott wanting a formal event or a casual one?”
“He has left those details to me.” Perhaps that hard truth would finally get through to Brogan that Sterling was not her boss.
“Then what is it you’re wanting?”
“At the moment?” she grumbled.
His grin was almost as grating as his laugh.
“My aim is an event that will be both impressive enough to give those in attendance confidence in the investments that are being proposed to them, but also enjoyable enough that they build a more personal connection. That is Sterling’s strong suit when it comes to forging new business relationships. He convinces them every bit as much as his business track record.”
“I’d say, then, an upscale venue but a low-key program.”
As annoyed as she was with the man, that was exactly what she had in mind. “What upscale venues could we book quickly?”
“Based on the way the staff here falls all over themselves whenever your man walks in the room, I’d say he could have the ballroom here for the asking, even if it’s already booked.”
“He’s not ‘my man.’”
Brogan held his hands up in a show of innocence. “Not what I meant. If you’re going to spend any amount of time in Dublin, that’s a phrase you’ll have to learn to understand. Speaking of ‘your man’ doesn’t mean a man that actually belongs to you in any way. In America, you’d say something like ‘you know who’ or ‘that dude.’”
His attempt at an American accent made her smile despite herself.
“Ah, you do know how to not look sour. Shocking.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Maybe I’m only sour with you. Did you think of that?”
He nodded. “I did. But, I’m certain that’s not it.”
“Are you saying you think I’m just a sour person?”
A shrug. “Is there anything that makes you not sour?”
As a matter of fact. “I went for a walk this morning,” she said. “I saw what I thought at first was a castle, but then I realized it might have been a church.”
“Probably a church,” he said. “We’re overrun with them.”
“And the air smelled like rain.”
“This is Ireland.”
She even a smiled a little. “I know it’s expected, but it was a different rain smell than we get in New York. It was cleaner or wetter or something.”
“New York must be filthy for it to smell worse than this dirty old town.”
“It is, actually. And loud.”
“We’ve a fair bit of noise around in Dublin.”
She set her elbow on the table, leaning her head against her upturned fist. “Maybe that’s why I felt kind of at home walking around this morning. It’s enough like New York that it’s a little familiar.”
He leaned back in his chair. “Did you go inside the ‘castle church’ you saw?”
“Of course not.”
His brows pulled down. “Why ‘of course’?”
“I have a lot of work to do. There isn’t time for—”
“Happiness?”
She turned her gaze back to her open laptop, choosing to ignore his sarcasm.
“Do you mean to spend all your time in Dublin just working?” he asked.
“Sterling brought me here to do a job, not to be a tourist.”
“I thought the man wasn’t your boss.”
“And I thought you were supposed to be helpful.”
Why did he always laugh? “Fair enough.” He rose.
“Are you leaving?” She made certain he could tell she hoped he was.
His half smile tugged at an odd scar below his mouth. She shouldn’t have found that as intriguing as she did. He was basically the enemy, getting in the way of her work, evidence that Sterling didn’t think she could handle this assignment on her own.
“I meant to suggest we leave.” He jerked his head toward the door. “And, don’t worry, I have nothing the least fun in mind. Would hate to enjoy ourselves. I’ll show you a few venues you might choose between.”
She motioned at her laptop. “You could just give me some websites.”
“Could do, but, personally, I like to see a place for myself. Do a bit of the work, you know.”
Her jaw clenched. “I do a lot of work.”
“Oh, sure. I’m not denying that. I’m banking on it.” Again, he jerked his head toward the door. “So let’s go do a bit of work.”
“I’ve done plenty already.” She rose. “And I’m not afraid to do more.”
“I don’t doubt you’re excited to do more work.” He pulled open the door. “Just take care you don’t accidentally enjoy yourself while you’re at it.”
“I’m not an unhappy person.” She grabbed her phone and wallet, then her jacket, and stepped out into the hallway.
“You hide your happiness really well.” Even talking, he sounded like he was laughing.
“And you hide your helpfulness really well.”
“Care to put a wager on that?” he asked as they stepped into the elevator.
He had her interest.
“If, by the end of the day, I haven’t proven myself helpful, I’ll buy you a pint at my local.”
She eyed him sidelong. “I’m going to be punished if you turn out to be useless?”
“It’s a fine spot. Good craic.”
That stopped her in her tracks. She turned wide eyes on him. “Good crack?”
He laughed loud and deep. “Another phrase you’ll have to learn. Craic means good conversation and company and a good bit of fun.” As they stepped out onto the ground floor headed for the lobby, he shot her an over-done look of dawning understanding. “Ah, but there’s the problem, yah? You might enjoy yourself at a spot like that. Best not risk it.”
“Okay, here’s my bet with you. If, by the end of the day, I have proven that I do enjoy myself even when I’m working, then you bow out of helping plan this event and let me do my job.”
“Can’t do,” he said. “You didn’t hire me. Westcott did.”
They stepped out into the overcast, cool Dublin afternoon. The wind was blowing. She pulled on and buttoned her jacket. Out of habit, she reached for her phone to pull up her map app.
“I grew up in this city, Keighley,” Brogan said. “We don’t need a phone telling us where to go.”
She popped her phone back in her pocket and let him lead the way.
When she’d first gone from the master-planned suburbs of Phoenix to New York City, she’d been a little overwhelmed, in a good way, by how old and historic and eclectic the city was. She’d felt like she was stepping into a history book. Dublin felt even more that way. More than just old… it was magical.
Of course, Brogan didn’t need to know that
. “Tell me about the venues we’re going to look at.”
“Always on the clock, aren’t you?”
“Humor me,” she said dryly.
“The first stop is a pub.”
“Shocking.”
Far from offended, he simply smiled. “This pub has an upper room that’s big and nice. Plenty of room for putting on an impressive do but keeping the congenial feel of an evening out with friends.”
That sounded ideal, actually. “Okay. You have my attention.”
“I also want to drop in on a performance hall I’ve hired before. Nice space. It can be set up any way at all. Tables and chairs, or cocktail tables and a long bar. There’s even a small stage to one end if you’re looking to bring in a band or something.”
She hadn’t thought about a band. But a little music might be nice.
They turned a corner down a narrow but busy street, lined on both sides with an unbroken row of colorful buildings, storefronts at the street level but, likely, apartments above.
“If we go with a venue that has room for musicians, would you suggest quiet instrumental or folk music?” she asked
“It’s a shame you haven’t a better grasp of the language, Keighley.”
She looked to him, confused. They both were speaking English.
“We don’t call it folk music. It’s trad. Trad music.”
“Trad?” That was an odd word.
“It’s short for ‘traditional,’” he said. “And, yah, trad’d be a good choice. But you’ll want to hire a small group so they’ll not be too loud. People will want to chat.”
“I once made the mistake of hiring a band that thought they were catching their big break. When everyone in the room was talking instead of listening intently, they started playing louder. So the people started talking louder. And the music got louder.”
He nodded along with her retelling. “I’ve made that mistake.”
“You’ll warn me before I hire that band, won’t you?”
“You have my word.” He stopped their forward progress. “Now.” He pointed beside them. “Is that the castle church you saw this morning?”
She looked. It was a gorgeous, old stone church. Absolutely beautiful. “That’s not the same one, but it’s amazing.”
