The Irish Lottery: A Friends-to-Lovers Contemporary Romance (Irish Kiss)

by Sienna Blake

  “Uh-huh, and what’s in the cards for boys’ night?”

  All three brothers spoke at once.

  “Movies,” said Michael.

  “Pub,” Darren said.

  “The zoo,” said Eoin.

  I frowned.

  The zoo? I caught Darren mouthing to Eoin.

  What? Eoin mouthed back.

  Michael was the only one who remained unfazed. “What my brothers and I are trying to say is that we’re going to the pub, then the movies then…er, the zoo.”

  My frown deepened. “I didn’t think Dublin Zoo was open this late.”

  “They aren’t,” Michael said, his voice slowing. “Right. Yeah, I suppose it’s just the movies and the pub then.”

  The boys were so lying. They obviously didn’t want me to know where they were going. Which meant they were probably going to that exclusive millionaires’ club Michael was a member of, not that he was a millionaire himself, at least not yet, but because he had millionaire clients and one of them gifted him access. An Seomora Ban it was called—Michael always corrected my pronunciation to awn showm-ra bahn—which meant The White Room in Irish.

  You had to be invited to join. The details of what went on within those walls were kept well-guarded.

  “There he is. Finally,” Eoin said, looking over to where Noah was walking out of the storeroom towards us, carrying a box of O’Hara’s pale ale on his shoulder.

  I found myself staring at the bulge of Noah’s bicep as he lowered the box onto the counter behind the bar. I shoved that thought away and kept my face neutral. At least I tried. I found Darren watching me, a curious tilt to his lips.

  “You took your time getting ready, princess,” Eoin ribbed Noah, tapping his watch. “We said 9 p.m. on the dot.”

  “Settle yourself, boss,” Noah said. “It’s only 9:07.”

  “Are you coming dressed like that?” Michael said, eyeing him over.

  Noah looked down at himself. He was in his usual ripped jeans and black band t-shirt, this one with The Untouchables written across the front. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? It’s not like—” He cut off, his eyes glancing to me.

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, secret squirrel. Don’t tell poor Aubrey about the terrible things you’re off to do because her innocent female constitution can’t handle it.”

  “Rey, you know it’s not like that,” Noah said, his voice softening.

  I lifted a finger to him. “I’ll have you know, mister, that I can be just as devious and salacious as you lot. Maybe even more.” I shot him a wink and fist pumped internally when Noah looked fit to burst.

  “Alright. We best be off.” Darren grabbed Noah by the shoulders and steered him towards the door before Noah could respond.

  Michael and Eoin followed them, waving goodbye to me as they went.

  “You’re in charge, Rey,” Noah called back over his shoulder.

  “Okay,” I yelled back. “I’ll try not to have any orgies on your bar counter.”

  I swear I heard Noah choking over the sound of his brothers laughing.

  Noah

  Once we got over standing around in just our jeans, the photo shoot went off without a hitch. The photographer was professional and we’d booked out a private studio so the lighting and plain white backdrop was already set up. We managed to get a stack of usable shots in less than an hour. Michael convinced us to spend the rest of the night at this exclusive club he was a member at, An Seomora Ban—The White Room—located on the top floor of a building that overlooked the River Liffey that ran through the centre of Dublin. It was a Saturday night, after all.

  I’d only ever been in there once before. It was one of those poncy places that had thousand-euro designer jackets in racks ready for you to wear if you didn’t have one.

  “Damn, this suit is nice,” Eoin said as he ran his hands down the pinstriped suit jacket.

  Darren let out a whistle as he checked himself out in one of the full-length mirrors that covered the walls of the lobby area. He looked great in a jacket that fit his wide shoulders perfectly and buttoned up around his waist like it was tailored for him. “I usually can’t get a jacket to fit like this. Where would you get one of these?”

  “Try Armani and the monthly paycheck of one of your mechanics,” I said.

  Darren’s eyes bulged out of his head. He stared down at the jacket in awe before looking back to the mirror. “Hey…” he whispered. “Do you think they’ll miss it if I walk out with it?”

  Michael shot him a dirty look as he let the attendant help him with his own navy-blue jacket.

  I slipped on the jacket the attendant had picked out for me, dark grey wool and double breasted. Damn. This was lovely. And fit perfectly. “Maybe if we knock out the attendant…” I whispered to Darren.

  Eoin was the only one of us that didn’t look impressed. “I look like a feckin’ eejit.”

  I let out a snort as the attendant shot him a startled look. It had been the first time that the older man had shown any sort of emotion since we got here. He’d probably been trained to act inconspicuously.

  “You look smart,” Michael said with a frown. “It’s nice to see you out of those damn hoodies and sweats you always wear.”

  Eoin’s jacket was a light blue colour. It fit him perfectly and made him look older than his twenty-one years.

  My chest squeezed. Our little Eoin was a man now.

  Eoin placed his hands on his hips. “I look like one of those rich bastards named Reginald who wears boat shoes and smokes cigars.”

  “What the hell is wrong with cigars?” snapped Michael.

  Darren and I hid our laughter. Michael loved his Cubans. And his collection of boat shoes.

  I clasped my hands on Eoin’s shoulders. “Come on, Eoin, you don’t look poncy.”

  “Nah,” interjected Darren. “More like…a knob.

  “A knob-end even,” I said.

  Eoin, Darren and I stared at each other before bursting out into laughter.

  Michael rolled his eyes as he herded us into the club, but even he had a smile to his lips.

  The club took up four entire floors according to Michael. Apparently, there were private ensuite bedrooms for guests to stay in, a sauna and gym, a Michelin-starred restaurant that also did room service if you required a caviar bruschetta or lobster bisque at two in the morning and didn’t want to get out of bed. There was also a private rooftop garden area that was open only when the weather was warmer. Supposedly. Us mere mortals, or “club guests”, were only allowed as far as the bar area.

  Even so, the bar area was swanky enough.

  I stared around us as a gorgeous hostess in a wine-colored cocktail dress led us to our table.

  An oil sheik would feel at home here: gold-leaf vines snaking around grand columns, leather and marble everywhere, and a huge crystal and gold chandelier dripping from the center where a stiff-necked man sat at a glossy grand piano, playing lounge classics. Waitresses in classy cocktail dresses carried slim trays of dew-rimmed drinks.

  The bar was dotted with low tables clustered with leather armchairs and curved booths that gave guests some semblance of privacy. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the river and the Dublin city lights shone like diamonds below, the Dublin spire like a giant needle over the other side of the river. Balcony areas overlooked the whole bar.

  “Holy shite,” Eoin said, his voice echoing just a little too loudly. “This place looks like Rockefeller hurled up all over it.”

  Darren chuckled.

  “If you’re just going to embarrass me, I’ll make you leave,” Michael hissed under his breath.

  “Be cool, Eoin,” I said, even though I was trying hard not to gape. The sheer opulence of the place made me a little dizzy. I guessed this was how the other half lived.

  We were seated at a low table in a corner as the hostess handed us all menus and flashed a brilliant pearly white smile before slipping away with promises to send a waitress over in a few minute
s.

  I looked around at the other club members hoping to see either Danny or Declan. Danny O’Donaghue from The Untouchables was someone I’d call a friend. He was back in town last I heard. He and his best friend, Declan Gallagher, would be the only people I’d have a chance at knowing in here. Declan Gallagher was the current world number 1 MMA fighter, who happened to own the gym where I was a member.

  “Holy shite, Mick,” Darren said as he stared at the menu. “Do they have a whiskey here that’s under three hundred quid a bottle? I could fit my bike out with new tires for that.”

  “Relax, I have a tab,” Michael said.

  Darren raised an eyebrow at Michael. “If you have that kind of money to throw around for gargle, why the hell are we doing this lottery shite to raise money for Ma?”

  Michael flushed. “Okay, fine. It’s the company’s tab.”

  “You’re not going to get in trouble with the boss if you put our drinks on the tab, are ye, Mick?” I asked.

  Of all the brothers, my relationship with Mick had never been as close as my relationship with Darren and Eoin. But he was still my brother and I loved him to bits, even if he was a bit of an ass sometimes. I didn’t want him to lose his job over a couple of glasses of drink.

  Michael waved his hand. “I have a spending budget. My partners want me to come here at least once a week and schmooze with the other members. Besides, your money’s no good here. They don’t take cash or card. It all goes on the member’s tab.”

  “Hello, gentlemen. My name is Delaney Evans. I’ll be your server for this evening.” A soft melodic tone interrupted our conversation. She had an accent, American, I think.

  As she took our orders, I noticed Eoin, Darren and Michael all giving her their most charming smiles.

  I looked at her closer. Delaney was a shapely girl, her black dress clinging to her curves, hem to just above her black-stockinged knees, the collar scooping just across the start of her generous cleavage, all enough to be sexy, not too much to be trashy.

  Her face was a pleasant sweetheart shape framed by thick dark locks that fell down to her mid-back, enough of a tan in her skin which clued me in to her mixed heritage, cute nose, soft cheekbones, dark eyes, but it was her mouth that drew your eye. Painted in a sinful vixen red, her plump, wide lips could rival Angeline Jolie’s. It turned her features from cute to downright sexy.

  She didn’t do anything for me, though.

  I gave her my order—a Jameson and ginger ale—and handed her my menu with a polite smile. After taking everyone’s orders, she sashayed off, Eoin and Michael drooling down their chins as they watched her.

  I caught Darren looking at me instead. “Attractive girl, Delaney is, don’t you think?”

  I blinked. What was he getting at? “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Not as hot as Aubrey though, is she?” Darren winked at me.

  What the—?

  Before I could protest, Michael let out a strangled kind of noise. “Don’t look now, but up over there,” he said, “are none other than…Ronan O’Hara, Kane McCabe and Shay Kavanagh!”

  Of course, we all looked up. There on the balcony were three men in business suits leaning over the balcony.

  “I said don’t look, for God’s sake,” Michael hissed.

  Too late for that.

  Not that the three gentlemen in question were paying us any attention. They were too busy watching someone on the floor. I glanced in the direction of their stares and my eyes fell upon a familiar curvy girl with a distinctive walk.

  They were watching Delaney Evans, our attractive waitress.

  “Who are they?” Eoin asked.

  “Who are—?” Michael spluttered. “Only three of Ireland’s richest men.”

  I gazed back at these three wealthy men. They’d be in their late twenties or early thirties. I watched them talking, their hands animated before they laughed and shook hands with each other. Whatever they just agreed upon…it had something to do with Delaney. I almost wanted to warn her when she came over but…what the hell would I say? “Hey, those three men were just staring at you and then they shook hands, so watch out?” I’d sound like a lunatic.

  “O’Hara is hotel royalty,” Michael continued in a hushed reverent voice. “His family owns the Merrion luxury hotel chain that’s all throughout Europe. McCabe is a business investor, Europe’s answer to the US’s Warren Buffet. And Kavanagh is one of the largest developers in Europe.” Michael let out a wistful sigh.

  Darren snorted. “Put your hard-on away, Mickey. You’re drooling.”

  Michael shot Darren a glare. “If I could get even one of them to sign over one percent of their legal work with my firm, I’d…I’d make my career.”

  “Well, go then,” I said. “We’ll mind your whiskey if it arrives while you’re gone.”

  Michael glanced up, chewing his lip as us three boys sang out words of encouragement.

  “Fuck it.” Michael smacked the table with the flat of his palm. “They’re just men. I’m a man—”

  “Questionable,” muttered Darren with a chuckle.

  Michael either didn’t hear Darren or was ignoring him as he continued his pep talk to himself. “—why wouldn’t they talk to me? Why wouldn’t they want to do business with me?”

  “That’s the spirit!” I cried, lifting an invisible glass.

  Michael leapt to his feet, brushed down his jacket and strode across the room, assumedly to wherever the stairs were to get to the balcony.

  “Ten bucks says he strikes out,” Darren said as soon as Michael was out of earshot.

  “Daz, come on,” cooed Eoin. “Michael deserves a little respect.” He paused. “At least bet twenty bucks.”

  “If only I could find someone stupid enough to take that bet,” Darren said, before the two of them cackled like teenagers.

  I shook my head, a smile on my face. With all this brotherly banter and affectionate teasing, I could almost forget about Ma—the center of our universe—being sick. I’m glad we all went out after the shoot. It’d been a while since we all just kicked back and enjoyed a few drinks and laughs. Even if this place was a little…pompous for my tastes, as I preferred the laid-back, raw, earthy feeling of The Jar. Who knew, Michael might even get a professional contact out of it.

  Darren and Eoin suddenly sat up, both smiling at someone over my shoulder.

  Delaney must be back.

  She placed down our drinks, having to bend over to the low table as she did. I rolled my eyes as Darren and Eoin’s tongues nearly lolled out of their heads. She sent me a warm smile as she placed down my Jameson.

  “Thanks,” I said before paying her no mind. Unlike Darren and Eoin.

  She was attractive, but…

  Delaney looked complicated.

  I guess I preferred someone more…girl next door. The kind of girl you could be best friends with.

  Minutes later, I was halfway through my drink, tuning out Darren and Eoin’s arguing over who was going to ask Delaney out, when Michael returned, falling into his chair with a dumbstruck look on his face like he’d been slapped.

  “You struck out?” I asked. Maybe he had been slapped.

  “You should be used to it with women,” Darren said.

  Eoin chuckled and gave Darren a high five.

  Michael didn’t react.

  “You okay, Mick?” I asked him.

  Michael looked at me, as if only realising where he was. “I got a meeting to pitch my business.”

  Damn. Good for him. “Congrats, Mick,” I said raising my glass to him. “With who?”

  “With…all three of them.”

  I whistled. This was big news for Michael.

  “That was easy,” Eoin said.

  Yeah. A little too easy, it appeared. Michael still looked stunned.

  “What did you do? Offer to sell them your soul?” joked Darren.

  “Or your virginity?” added Eoin. That earned him a fist bump from Darren.

  Michael shook his head. “All
I had to do was—” He cut off as Delaney came by to ask if we wanted anything else.

  We all shook our heads, Darren and Eoin openly drooling again, before she walked—sashayed—away.

  Michael was staring at her with a strange look on his face.

  “Mick?” I said.

  “Huh?” He turned back to me.

  I frowned. “All you had to do was what?”

  Michael shook his head. “It must be nothing.”

  “What’s nothing?” Eoin said.

  “Delaney Evans,” Michael said. “Our waitress. They just wanted her name.”

  Noah

  “I thought you had plans with Prince Charming.” I could only hope my dislike for Sean didn’t bleed through in my voice. It still seemed surreal that Aubrey was going to marry that eejit. That she hadn’t tossed him out after he ditched her on the fundraiser night.

  Aubrey leaned against my truck as I pulled the noodle dish from the back seat to take into Ma’s house for lunch. She glanced up at me with a slight curve at the corners of her lips. “And miss Sunday lunch with the O’Sullivans?”

  “He cancelled on you, didn’t he?” I was teasing, but the flash of hurt in her eyes told me I’d hit home. She stared at the ground and I slid an arm around her shoulders, knowing I needed to apologize for the dick she was with. “I’m sorry.”

  She lifted both shoulders slightly. “He had work.”

  “Well, isn’t that the shit?” Darren asked, walking past us with a casserole dish in hand.

  His grin told me all I needed to know about how long he’d been listening and how much he knew. I wanted to flip him a middle finger, but Aubrey beat me to it. A flash of pride buzzed through me as she shouted after him.

  “I’ll dump that casserole dish over your head!”

  “Good luck, short stuff,” Darren said over his shoulder as he stepped into the house.

  Eoin scurried past us, a bag of rolls in hand. “Want me to hit him?” he asked Aubrey with a grin that made me want to hit him.

  “With that?” she asked, gesturing to the rolls in his hands. But he was already gone.

  A moment later I heard Darren shout something profane and my mother spoke up, her sharp voice rising over all else. “Darren Rory O’Sullivan, put your brother down right this second!”