by Magan Vernon
“Would you rather me call you a bird? I could go back to just calling you pinky as well.”
“Do there need to be any nicknames? What if I called you something like Lucky Charms?” she asked with a laugh. She was a spitfire all right; I’d give her that.
“If you’re just after my lucky charms…” I said, untucking my shirt before I tugged on my belt.
Her eyes widened, and she looked behind her then back to me, but no one around us was even looking at our quiet corner of the pub. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Pulling down my jeans just below my hipbones, I smirked, meeting her eyes. “These are my lucky charms, pinky.”
Her gaze trailed to the shamrock tattoos on each hip, and she swallowed hard before she met my gaze again. “Did you need to do that?”
“If you were going to give me a smart-ass nickname, I figured you might as well have a reason for it. Now should I pull my trousers back up so we can head up the street or am I going to have to pour you some more whiskey?”
She sucked in a breath and then slowly stood up, smoothing out her dress. “I’m not saying I’m agreeing to anything more than going to another pub with you. And I figure you’ll pull out little Connor or bug the hell out of me until I do, so I guess I’m stuck.”
“Little Connor? Oh, pinky, I think my cock needs a better nickname, too,” I murmured, leaning forward and brushing my lips against her ear.
The last time she was this close to me, I was spilling coffee all over her, and not looking at her beautiful blue eyes that couldn’t be hidden behind her red-framed glasses. She smelled fecking amazing. Not like the food she’d just devoured, or the whiskey—that was still a hint on her plump red lips—but like what I imagined sunshine would smell like. All flowers and fresh.
If she said the word, I’d be more than willing to have her as a fake wife and invite her into my bed whenever she pleased.
“Let’s go on an adventure,” I said, taking her hand. For a moment, her fingers pressed against mine, an electric jolt coursing through me from one little touch.
“Whoa, buddy, I don’t think we’ve made it that far yet in this friendship,” she said, pulling her hand back.
“So we’re friends now? Is that what we’re calling this? I would go as far as this being the first date, so I should at least get a little hand-holding action.” I held up my palm, wiggling my fingers. “Look at this little fella. He’s lonely.”
“Friends don’t hold hands unless one is falling down drunk, or doesn’t want to get lost in a crowd,” she said, standing up straighter.
“Can I offer you my arm, at least? You’ve had quite a bit of whiskey, and in the cobbled streets of Dublin, I wouldn’t want you to catch your heel and take a fall,” I said, holding out my elbow.
She let out an audible groan before she looped her arm through mine. “Fine, friend. A chivalrous arm loop is fine.”
We didn’t say anything along the walk. I couldn’t remember the last time I enjoyed such a comfortable silence. I almost didn’t want to finish our trip down the road; I’d rather just keep walking. But if this girl hadn’t seen much of Ireland, she needed dancing and a little fun; I owed her that much. Maybe after that, she’d finally say yes, and we could move on with this marriage agreement that was starting to fully form and make sense in my head. I’d get the company, she wouldn’t have to worry about money, and we could both go on with our lives within a few months.
I opened the door to the jam-packed pub. People sat at little bistro tables, sipping from pint glasses as they crowded around the band that contained a gray-haired man on the mandolin and another one sitting next to him with a flute. In front of the two of them was a young lad, no older than fifteen, with shaggy hair and a fiddle on his shoulder.
“This is the Irish band you love?” Fallon asked with a slight laugh to her tone.
I smirked. “Don’t get too judgy until you hear them. That lad with the boy-band haircut is one of the best fiddlers I’ve ever heard.”
We took a seat at a table by one of the windows looking onto the street. I signaled for a waitress, holding up my hand for two pints.
“I’ve never seen a fiddler, so I won’t have anything to compare it to,” she quipped.
“That just means we need to get you out more. We can start with the pub and dancing, but tomorrow I’ll take you somewhere more exciting. Maybe we can even get out of Dublin, and see the Cliffs of Moher. We can call that date two. You’ll need better shoes than those things, though. Unless you plan on wearing only those heels, and we’re alone in my bedroom.” I leaned in, my voice low, causing goose bumps to perk up her arms.
“I have—”
Her words were cut short as the young lad tapped on the microphone.
“Looks like they’re about to start. Trust me. You’re going to love this.” I winked then turned toward the band.
The fiddler pushed his hair aside before putting his instrument to his shoulder and started at the beginning of “Whiskey in the Jar.”
“Hey. I know this song. It’s by Metallica,” Fallon exclaimed and tapped my arm.
“Maybe the American version is. But the original Irish version is always better. That goes for music and whiskey,” I said, looking at the genuine smile lighting up her face.
“Connor Murphy?” a snotty tone asked. I got the whiff of cheap perfume and stale beer before turning around to see the redhead from that morning looking at me with her hands on her hips and way too much eyeliner circling her eyes. At least she’d run a brush through her hair and just looked rough instead of recently shagged.
“Hey, Not Erin,” I said with a grin. If she was looking for seconds, she wasn’t going to get it tonight or any night, for that matter, if the first time wasn’t good enough for me to remember. And now that I would hopefully soon be a taken man, I couldn’t have the bar birds trying to claw for me.
“You have some nerve coming back here, but if you fancy buying me a pint after my shift, I won’t turn you down, either,” she said, licking her bright red lips.
“Sorry, Red, he’s with me,” Fallon’s hand was on my arm before I could respond.
I smiled, despite the verbal catfight I was in the middle of. I didn’t need a girl to stand up for me, but just hearing her say those words gave me hope that she was considering what I’d asked. That this was only the beginning.
Not Erin raised an eyebrow and tilted her head toward Fallon. “Does the American know you were with me last night and this morning?”
Fallon stood up, pulling down her dress so her tits practically popped out into Not Erin’s face. “I’m very aware that I was his escape call.”
Fallon looked back at me and grabbed my hand. “Shall we dance, Lucky Charms? No use wasting a good song.”
I grinned, trying not to laugh as I stood up then looked to Not Erin with a shrug. “Sorry, Not Erin.”
She muttered a curse before Fallon pulled me to the dance floor where a few older couples were moving to the beat.
I put one hand on Fallon’s hip and the other in her hand. “So, this is what you consider friendly?”
“Friends help each other out when an ex shows up, right?” she asked earnestly.
I grimaced. “I wouldn’t call her an ex.”
She laughed. “Is that really the girl whose bed I called you out of this morning? Because I thought you had way better taste than that.”
I smirked, pulling her close and moving our bodies and feet to the music. We fit together perfectly. “You’re pretty confident there for a Yank. If you want to put your panties where my mouth is, I won’t protest.”
She opened her mouth, but instead of letting her talk, I spun her around. Her blond hair swirled with her, and a giggle escaped her lips before she was back in my arms, still smiling.
“So is this Irish dancing?” she asked.
“It’s not the two-step, but it works for now. Gives me a chance to be closer to the band, as long as the singer stops staring a
t your arse,” I said, leaning close to her ear so she could hear me over the music.
“Jealous?”
“I wouldn’t have to be if you let me put a fake ring on your finger,” I said, taking the chance to bring up the marriage proposition again. If nothing else, she knew I could show her a good time for a few months.
“A ring? You really want to do this, don’t you?” she whispered, leaning in with her lips pressed to my ear so only I could hear.
The touch of her plump lips and tight little body pressed to mine had every part of me standing at attention, including the one below the belt. “Ah. I think we should at least try courting for a bit, make a show for the board and the office. We’d have to make them believe this is real.”
She looked up, her bright blue eyes meeting mine. “The whole idea is crazy.”
“Crazy, but it could work out for both of us, and after six months it’ll all be over.”
“Gee sounds romantic when you put it like that,” she muttered.
“What would you rather I say? I could have lied and tricked you into marrying me for the company, but I’m not a complete waster.” I put my hand under her chin, tipping it slightly, so my eyes met hers. “I want to help you, too, Fallon.”
“You’re a nicer guy than I thought, I will say that.” She sighed.
“You make me sound like my beastly brother.” I frowned.
“You’re not like him, either. You both have the same drive, and I admire that, but…”
As the song came to a close, my eyes stayed on Fallon’s, waiting for her to finish her thought. I couldn’t figure out what was going on inside her head, and I wanted to know where she was. Where we stood on everything. But before the band could start the next set, her gaze flitted from mine, and she muttered, “I should go.”
“Why? The night’s still young.” Shit. I was trying not to push, and now I was scaring the girl. Even though she was saying one thing, I knew, deep down, by the look of hope in her eyes and trembling lip that she was considering my offer.
She turned away and headed to the door. I followed her outside to the moonlit street and waited until we were away from the crowd and on the pavement before I spoke.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so forward. You told me you wanted to think it over and I should have listened. Can I at least walk you home?” I asked, putting my hand on her shoulder.
She shook her head, stepping away and keeping her eyes closed.
I nodded, not used to being turned down so much, but knew I could recover. This was just a business deal, I kept telling myself, and like a business deal, I had to negotiate. “I know. As I said, this is for the company.”
An idea dawned on me, and I leaned in closer, keeping my voice low. “My job in Boston was running the American franchises. When I take the position as CFO, I’ll need to hire someone to take over my part, maybe even have that person operate from the Chicago headquarters. That person could be you if you wanted the position and the salary. That, combined with a prenuptial agreement in the millions, should be enough to take care of your loans and your nana. If you don’t want that position, I can find you something comparable with the company back in America.”
She opened her eyes slowly, her mouth forming a perfect O before she spoke. “Wow. That’s quite an offer, but I’m not a gold digger. I don’t want to just take your money in exchange for marriage and whatever else this entails.”
I nodded. “Then maybe you’ll think about how this is not just about the money for me. This is about a company that has been in my family for years, staying with my family. Keeping the Murphy name in this company my da worked so hard to build with my granddad. If nothing else, think about my brothers and me keeping our jobs, thus you keeping yours. Who knows what would happen if someone else took over? At least this way, we know the company, and both of our futures can be secure.”
She let out a slow breath. “Can I at least have some time? This is a lot to think about.”
“Of course you can. What kind of lad would I be if I didn’t let you?”
She bit down on her bottom lip. “Okay. Good night.”
She started in the other direction, and I put my arm out, catching her hip. “What? That’s it? Not even a friendly goodbye hug?”
She smiled before leaning in and pressing her lips to my cheek, and my entire face heated from the small touch. “Good night. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”
And with that, she left me standing there in the middle of the Dublin Street, wondering what the hell I was getting myself into with an American girl who was easily the most intriguing and confusing bird I’d ever met.
Chapter Four
Fallon
I shouldn’t have even been thinking of Connor’s proposal when it could just have easily been the alcohol talking.
The fact that I was attracted to him didn’t help matters, either.
When I woke up from my night of tossing and turning and mulling over every detail of our encounter, trying to piece together what was real, I got up to shower then stood over the counter, looking at my bread and the jar of peanut butter and the jar of jelly.
This was the same meal I had every day at my desk. I didn’t venture out because every single penny I got went into my loans and Nana. I was living in Dublin, but I wasn’t really living. Maybe a chance to date and marry, albeit all fake, Connor Murphy could lead to a real adventure and be worth it.
I shook my head. What was I doing? Was I thinking of marrying a guy I didn’t even really know, with a reputation for loving and leaving girls, just to save his company and possibly get a job and payout? What would Nana think of me? Hell, what would I feel about myself?
I finished packing my lunch then dressed in a pencil skirt and white blouse before sitting at my makeshift desk and opening my laptop. Pulling up a blank word document, I typed in Pros, underlined it, then tabbed down a few spaces and typed in Cons.
“Okay. Pros of marrying Connor,” I said to myself. “It’ll save the company from being bought out by a grabby-handed old man.” I typed that and added a few more pros under that, like a prenuptial agreement that would provide enough money to keep Nana in her home and pay off my student loans.
Then, without thinking, I typed in: staring at his sexy dimpled face and seeing more than just his shamrock tattoos. I deleted that statement, mentally chastising myself.
This wasn’t about the fact that I found him attractive or that he made me laugh. This was just an agreement. Besides, he was a major player, as shown by the random waitress who approached us at the pub. There was no way I could fall for a guy who did that to women.
I slowly closed my laptop, thinking I’d have to go back to my list later and try not to think about Connor or what he said. Maybe it was all a joke. Bile rose in my throat thinking that I was getting overworked for nothing.
I shook off my thoughts of Connor and finally left for work.
Dublin reminded me of how I imagined Chicago would have looked like before the Great Fire in the 1800s, with its brick-paved streets, and history breathing from every corner. I worked on the second floor of the building, right outside of Jack Murphy’s office, with a view of the street below and a hint of the green hills in the distance.
My desk was meticulously organized, just like the arrogant and cranky Jack Murphy liked it. All of my pens and Post-it notes were in a particular place, and if my computer monitor moved even a fraction of an inch, I’d know it. But when I got to my desk, there were sticky notes on every surface, and on top of my keyboard was a bouquet of white and green flowers.
“What the hell?” I muttered, my cheeks flaming with everyone whispering from the cubicles around me. I crossed the room to my desk, plucking one of the sticky notes from the side of my monitor.
“See a show at the Abbey Theatre,” I read in terrible handwriting.
I set that sticky note down and picked up another. “Kiss the Blarney Stone. The one at the castle and the one in my pants.” I whispe
red the last part of the note.
“Dammit, Connor,” I groaned.
“I love it when you say my name like that.”
I gasped, whirling around to see him standing there with his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, stubble still on his cheeks, and that cocky smirk on his face. I couldn’t decide right then if I wanted to smack him or kiss him.
“What the hell is all of this?” I asked, circling my hand as if it was going to encompass my entire desk.
“Well, those are some flowers I picked up at the market since I was able to get an early run in this morning. You know, because I went to bed alone and without my beautiful American girlfriend.” His smirk turned into a grin that brought out his dimples, and I felt my shoulders fall, even though I wanted to stay mad and not sigh at his utter cuteness. I hadn’t agreed to anything, and now he was making public displays of affection in front of the entire office. There was no way I could get out of this now. I was either going to be the object of every girl’s hatred or pity for nailing the billionaire playboy.
“Oh, and the notes are all of the places I’m going to take you. They may not have the view of the city that you get in your flat, but I think you’ll appreciate them.”
I opened my mouth to protest his statement about being his girlfriend but then closed my lips immediately when a gruff voice sounded behind Connor.
“Brother, are you being a fool and still bothering my assistant?”
Jack was always impeccably dressed in his tailored blue suits, with his light brown undercut neatly styled, and a perfect shave. But he wore a permanent scowl, and it was even more pronounced since his younger brother came to town.
When I started working for the company, I’d see some of Jack and Connor’s father around the office. Then his visits became less frequent, and Jack’s mood was even more dismal. When the old man passed, I think he took all of Jack’s happiness with him. Now Connor was poking the bear with this whole “fake dating and marriage” thing.
I didn’t even understand why he wanted to put up this front. Why all of this work? He could have easily found a girl from his boarding school or even the trampy girl from the bar to say that they’d been dating for a while and were now in love. The biggest question, out of all the pros and cons I had, was, why me? Even with his sweet answer last night, that voice inside my head still kept telling me this wasn’t real. This man was a Grade A player and knew precisely what he needed to say or do to get a girl.
