by Hart, Taylor
“Hmm.”
She didn’t know what that noise was supposed to mean.
They continued on, eventually winding their way to a much larger street. The city was old. No one would miss that walking down this stretch of road. They stopped at an intersection, and Brogan pointed up the road.
“Is that your castle church?”
Another church sat up that street, all of it except the steeple blocked from view by nearer buildings. “That’s not it.” She eyed him, curious. “You’re searching for the church I thought was a castle?”
“Mostly I’m curious to know how far you walked. You never take a break from working, but you did this morning to take a jaunt. I’m dying to know how long you were away.”
For just a moment, she was flattered that he had such curiosity about her. But she pushed it aside at the reminder that they had work to do. “How far away are the venues we’re looking at?”
“Not far.” He tucked his hands in the pockets of his pants and kept walking.
She moved faster to keep pace with him. “All the times I dreamed of coming to Ireland, I always assumed that the Irish people would be friendly.”
“We are friendly,” he said.
“You’re grumpy.”
“That’s part of the Irish charm.” He leaned nearer as they walked on. “We’re both.”
“Sterling manages to be charming without being grumpy,” she said.
“What he manages to be is rich. The charming or the grumpy of it doesn’t matter much after that.”
“That’s unfair,” she said.
“But is it untrue?”
The tiniest moment of doubt kept her from responding immediately. But she came back to her senses. “Of course it’s not true.”
“You know him well, then?” Brogan asked. “Spent lots of time with him? Seen him in a lot of different circumstances?”
“Well, no, but I have gotten to know him. We put on an event together.”
“Ah.” That was all he said about that. He was so frustrating.
A green double-decker bus passed. A man’s voice, singing a song, floated off of it, sounding like it was coming through speakers.
“Was the driver singing?” she wondered out loud.
“They do on the tours sometimes,” Brogan said. “Adds a bit of color to the drive.”
It was probably considered cheesy and totally touristy, but that sounded like a blast. A tour of the city while being sung to… she could get into that.
“The whole loop doesn’t take long. You ought to tuck it in to your schedule in the next day or two.”
Oh, it was tempting. But she shook her head. “I’m here to work, not tour.”
“Don’t you think Boss Charming would give you time off enough for a bus ride?”
She pulled her jacket more firmly around herself. The wind was a little too chilly for comfort. “Why don’t you like Sterling?” she asked.
“Why do you?” he tossed back.
The question set her a little off balance. Why did she like him? She just did. And if Brogan hadn’t caught her off guard, she could have told him the answer in detail.
“Where are these venues we’re supposed to be looking at?” She was all business again.
He just laughed. Of course he did.
Keighley met Sterling in the lobby early the next morning. He wanted to know how plans were coming along, but had meetings all day long. She didn’t mind. She liked mornings, even with the jetlag.
“We looked at two venues yesterday. Both were promising in their own way, but neither really jumped out at me as the perfect spot. Brogan said he’d send me a list of other places to check out.”
Sterling nodded. “I knew you were the right one to plan this.”
She needed the compliment. He offered them often, something Brogan seemed to be allergic to.
“How do you like Dublin?” Sterling asked over his coffee mug.
“I’m enjoying it. Reminds me a little of New York.” She sipped her tea. “But wetter.”
He smiled at her quip. He had a very charming smile. She doubted many people got to see it over a friendly breakfast chat. “And the business heads here are harder to schmooze.”
She kept both hands wrapped around her teacup. She appreciated the warmth. “Is that what we’re doing? Schmoozing?”
“Schmoozing. Smooching. Whatever it takes.” He chuckled a little as he took another sip of coffee.
She didn’t know whether to laugh, blush, or take him entirely seriously. That she had no idea which gave her pause. Maybe she didn’t really know him that well yet. Yet.
“I would like to get invitations out in the next couple of days,” he said. “So try to find a location soon and get that all worked out.”
“Not a problem.”
“I knew it wouldn’t be.” It was little wonder women melted when he smiled at them.
“I will plan on having a venue selected by tomorrow morning,” she assured him. “The rest of the details should fall quickly into place after that.”
He rose. “You’re the best, Keighley.”
“Thanks.” She stayed outwardly relaxed, but inside she was a little giddy. “We can touch base tomorrow.”
He raised his coffee mug as he stepped away. “I look forward to it.”
She watched him walk out. Which meant she also saw Brogan walk in. She ought to have been annoyed, but he’d been kind of fun to go back and forth with the day before. She looked forward to doing it again.
He walked directly to her and, smile pulling at the scar on his chin, dropped two cards on the table in front of her. She looked at him from around her teacup. “Hop-on Hop-off bus,” she read aloud.
“No American can come to Dublin and not ride the green bus.”
The green double-decker. That had looked like fun. But, she couldn’t. “I promised Sterling I’d have a venue for his event selected by morning. I can’t spend the day on a tourist bus.”
“Wouldn’t take all day,” he said. “And we might think of another venue option while we’re out.”
“We? You were born here. Why would you want to ride a tourist bus?”
He picked up the tickets once more and waved her toward the door. “Because it’s fun to see the city through the eyes of someone discovering her for the first time.”
Keighley rose, but hesitantly. “You’re going to make fun of me?”
For once, there was no laughter in his expression. “Not at all. You said yesterday you used to dream about coming to Ireland. You can’t spend the next week missing everything. Give yourself the morning to do something massively touristy. You’ll enjoy it.”
“And you’re coming too?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”
“You mean it’ll be ‘good craic’?”
A quick laugh. “You’re learning.” Another motion toward the door. How she wanted to go.
“Sterling will be upset if I don’t have things worked out.”
Brogan eyed her doubtfully. “The same Sterling you insisted was charming and wonderful and everything amazing, and not because he’s rich? That Sterling would begrudge you a morning of seeing this beautiful city?”
She didn’t have a ready answer.
“Well I can see why you find him so appealing. Sounds like a keeper.”
They walked along the usual narrow, winding streets. “Why does my opinion of Sterling matter to you?”
“Because the mark of a good man is that he doesn’t stand silent when another man takes advantage of the undeserved loyalty of a woman who could do a whole lot better.”
She didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. Probably both.
The iconic green bus pulled to the stop just as they arrived. Brogan hopped on. “Two for the loop,” he said to the driver as she stepped in behind him.
“You sound too Dublin for this,” the driver said.
“I’ve an American in tow.” He nodded toward Keighley. “First time in I
reland. Hasn’t seen a thing.”
“We’ll show her around.” The driver motioned them back.
Tourists in ball caps emblazoned with “Ireland” or shamrock covered sweatshirts and sporting backpacks and fanny packs filled the benches, phones out and ready to take pictures.
“There’s not a lot of room,” Keighley said.
“There’ll be room up top.” He took the steps upward at a fast clip.
She followed, excitement bubbling. She had seen Instagram posts from the top of these busses, and it always looked amazing and fun and exactly the sort of cheesy touristy thing she’d enjoy doing.
Brogan wasn’t wrong; there were plenty of empty benches on the upper deck.
“Why does no one sit up here?”
He shrugged. “Easier to get off if you’re inside. Warmer in there. They’re not as bright as we are.” He plopped down on the back bench and leaned back, obviously ready to relax and enjoy a ride around town.
She sat next to him, not bothering to hold back her excitement. “This is kind of great.”
“Isn’t it, though?”
The bus pulled back into traffic and the driver’s voice sounded over the speakers. He told them the things they were seeing, a little history, a joke or two. Or seven. Before too many more stops to pick up or leave off passengers, Keighley was laughing out loud, no matter that the jokes were usually really bad puns or completely ridiculous stories that couldn’t possibly be true. And each time they passed a church, which happened a lot, Brogan pointed at it and said, “Is that your castle church?”
And every time, she said, “No.”
After three or four no’s, he asked, “Are you certain you remember this church?”
She laughed. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
“Just how far did you walk that first morning?”
She didn’t know, exactly. “Far.”
He looked at her. “Were you escaping?”
“No, I wasn’t—” But then something stopped her. “Maybe a little. I was in an unfamiliar place and that room is—don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful and huge, but…” She sighed.
“But it’s not you.”
She shook her head. “I’m not fancy like that. I like it, but it’s hard to feel relaxed, and that makes it hard to work.”
“Well, then.” Brogan motioned to the open air around them. “Take in this grand old town. It’ll ease your mind and let you relax. I do some of my best thinking out on the living streets.”
She filled her lungs with cool, humid air and let herself just enjoy the ride.
The driver announced Dublin Castle to the left.
“That’s not my church,” she stated before Brogan could ask the question she knew was on his mind.
He laughed and, for once, it didn’t bother her in the least.
Mere moments later, directly in front of them she spotted it. “That’s my castle church.” She pointed at it. “That’s it.”
“Ah, Christ Church Cathedral,” he said. “You did walk far that morning. She’s a grand lady. I commend your taste.”
The closer they got, the more beautiful it became. “You don’t suppose they hire out for events, do you?” She asked with a grin.
“Blasphemy. Careful or they’ll toss you in the catacombs.”
That brought her full attention to him. “There are catacombs?”
“Oh, there are catacombs.”
When the bus stopped at the cathedral, they got off. He showed her the cathedral, the catacombs, the Viking museum next door. They walked up to St. Patrick’s Cathedral and Marsh’s Library next to that enormous church. The green bus took them all around the city. They’d hop off any time something caught her fancy or whenever there was something he thought she’d enjoy.
The entire day passed that way. Fun and joyous. And, though he likely didn’t realize it, it was a dream come true. She’d always wanted to see Ireland, and Dublin in particular. And she had, though the experience had convinced her there was so much more to see than she would ever have time for.
But as they returned to the hotel in the early evening, a horrible realization struck her. She was supposed to have a venue for Sterling’s networking event booked and ready in time to tell him the details in the morning. She hadn’t done a lick of work.
“Breathe a bit, Keighley,” Brogan said. “You can sort this.”
She’d faced tighter turn-arounds than this. She could manage it. And, though she’d resented the help at first, having Brogan’s knowledge of the city would help.
A bit of calm settled over her again. “We can grab dinner at the hotel restaurant and toss around ideas while we eat.”
It proved a bit of genius. They talked through a lot of possibilities, narrowing down their ideas until they knew better what they were aiming for: elegant and sleek, like the rooms Sterling had chosen that fit him so well, and something that called on the feel of the city itself, to make certain his possible business partners knew he wasn’t sweeping in to change things, but to add to the strength the companies already had.
But where to find such a place?
“The Leprechaun Museum?” Brogan suggested.
She couldn’t hold back the laughter at that idea. That particular stop had been a favorite: goofy and fun, but nothing at all like what they were looking for.
The server came with the bill for her to sign. Brogan kept him there a minute, though.
“Do you have any venues for hire here in the hotel other than the meeting rooms and ballrooms?”
Keighley had thought of hosting the event here, but none of those spaces made sense.
“We’ve the rooftop terrace,” he said. “Can’t say it’s often hired out entirely, but now and then.”
She met Brogan’s eye. “Promising.”
“It is.”
“Let’s have a look.”
She was hopeful but kept herself grounded as they took the lift to the roof. It’d be a godsend to find something workable right there at the hotel.
In the end, it proved perfect. The space was sleek, modern, impressive. But all around was the city itself. The hotel could provide catering. Brogan would definitely know some two- or three-piece musical groups who could come in to provide background entertainment.
“This could work,” she said, relief mixing with excitement.
“You got your job done and saw a good bit of the city. I’d call that a successful day.”
It had gone well. Excellent, in fact.
But in the morning, the real work would begin. She liked her work, but she found herself wishing she could spend another day seeing the city.
With Brogan.
Keighley sat in the usual spot in the hotel lobby the next morning, waiting for Sterling to join her for their morning debriefing. She sipped her tea in one hand and scrolled through Instagram with her other thumb.
After a couple of stops on the Impromptu Dublin Tour the day before, she’d gotten into the spirit of being a cheesy tourist and posted shots. Brogan had even convinced her to snap a selfie on the top of the double-decker bus, photobombing her at the last moment. She scrolled back until she came to that post. It made her laugh every time she looked at it. Friends and family had commented on it, more so than any of her other posts, all saying how happy she looked and that she seemed to be having fun.
She was. She’d had fun all day. It was hard to remember the last time that happened. Even while scrambling to find a venue last night, she’d still been enjoying herself. A text had come in while she was asleep—the time difference made that happen—from her best friend, asking, “Who’s the redhead?!” And another from her mom—an animated GIF of a cat saying, “Who dat?” Mom was a little obsessed with GIFs.
She’d posted shots with Sterling at the event she’d planned in New York. No one had to ask who he was. Everyone knew Sterling Westcott.
She swiped through the pictures she’d taken at Christ Church Cathedral. At Phoenix Park. The Leprechaun Museum. She laugh
ed at those last ones. The museum itself had been entertaining, with lots of enjoyable folktales and an interesting tour guide. But the pictures they’d taken in the gift shop were her favorite. There had been a giant plush leprechaun to pose beside, complete with leprechaun wardrobe accessories to sport. She’d said no at first, but Brogan, being Brogan, had talked her into it. She was glad he had. If nothing else, the pictures were priceless.
She looked up at the sound of purposeful footsteps. That would be Sterling.
And it was.
He sat across from her, coffee cup in hand. She’d seldom seen him without some degree of a smile on his face. It was missing this morning.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“A long day yesterday.” He took a swallow from his steaming cup. “You seem to have enjoyed yourself, though.”
She was confused.
“Your posts,” he said. “You forgot I follow you on Instagram, didn’t you?”
“I guess I did.” Was she in trouble? She wasn’t a child, and like she’d told Brogan, Sterling wasn’t technically her boss. But his tone hinted that she’d broken some rule of his.
“Did you book a venue for the mingle event?” he asked. Sterling was always very business minded, but he wasn’t usually this gruff.
“I did.”
The man actually looked surprised. Keighley pushed back her offended frustration.
“I told you I would have a venue booked, and I do.” She closed out Insta and pulled up her note app. “Friday night. The rooftop terrace here at The Marker. It can easily accommodate a group the size you’re planning on. The bar will be open. The hotel will cater, plenty of cocktail foods and hors d'oeuvres. I’m going to bring in a private serving staff so no one is trying to work the restaurant downstairs and your event. We’re also looking into hiring a small musical group to provide some background ambiance.”
He nodded. Was that approval or simply acknowledgement? He was usually more complimentary.
“Are you unhappy with the arrangements?”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said.
This was odd. “If there’s something specific you’d like for the event, now is a good time to let me know, while I’m still finalizing everything.”
