Irish Fling

by Valerie Douglas

She, who’d never known this place, would be reborn here. Some part of her mother had returned home at last. There was that, at least.

  And Ali, herself, would get a new start.

  Maybe.

  The theatrical lights were bright, hot. She was tired and thirsty.

  Wandering off stage, Ali nodded. It was enough for now. There were other details to see to, props, choreography, getting the timing right. It would be an amazing show, fun, entertaining, different. That was important. She wanted to get people’s blood fired up, she wanted to leave them excited, inspired.

  On the short drive back to the hotel she wished there was someone she could tell about it, someone she could talk to about what she was doing. Cam, Molly and Jesse were so far away, it was so late for them. She missed them. And, stupidly, she missed Aidan, missed being able to talk to him even more. The ache hit, burned, her eyes blurred with unshed tears.

  Blinded by them, though, she turned the corner to the elevators. Impatiently she dashed them away.

  The surprise of running into someone in front of the lift doors, causing both of them to stumble back and the tall, dark man to drop his portfolio, spraying papers all over the floor, caught Ali off guard.

  “Oh,” she gasped, mortified, “I’m so sorry.”

  Instantly she knelt to help him pick them up, her mind automatically registering them even as he stammered in an accent that was a blend of Irish and something else that sounded both familiar and exotic to Ali’s ears.

  “It’s all right, I don’t need help,” he said, insistently.

  There were all kinds of diagrams, electrical, blueprints, wiring. It seemed he was some kind of engineer, electrical or mechanical.

  He was horrified, shocked as he frantically gathered up the papers.

  “It’s nothing,” he stammered, his voice an odd amalgam of Irish and something else, his expression shocked and alarmed. “Nothing.”

  Almost habitually, Ali found herself following the accent, mimicking it, swallowing some of the consonants and vowels the way he did. It sounded oddly lovely, exotic.

  Unconsciously she absorbed each paper, each diagram she saw, touched.

  He had beautiful eyes, long-lashed, dark and lovely, a fine-boned face that looked drawn, tense. Who wasn’t under too much stress these days?

  Understandably uncomfortable, he smiled uncertainly, ducked his head uncomfortably and hurried away.

  Ali stepped into the elevator, grateful for the distraction. At least it had gotten her mind off the other things she was resolutely determined not to think about. Something about his diagrams intrigued her, though. She turned one of them over in her mind.

  She was moving on with her life, though, putting it all behind her. Everyone who’d doubted her, everyone who’d thought she wasn’t good enough, that the girl from the wrong side of the tracks couldn’t, shouldn’t, rise so high. She’d fallen once before. She wouldn’t fall again.

  This was for her mother, who’d tried so hard to give Ali all the opportunities she could, all the opportunities she hadn’t be able to take for herself. And for Ali herself.

  Letting out her breath, she went to hotel room to practice some more. And to talk to Cam, Molly and Jesse again, moral support.

  She could already hear Jesse. “Screw them all, Ali, don’t let the bastard or bastards, get you down, babe.”

  The thought made her smile as she picked up the phone.

  Molly would say, “One for all…”

  And all for one.

  The memory made her laugh. Jesse as D’Artagnan, brash and arrogant, Cam was faithful dependable Porthos, with Molly as romantic, dramatic Aramis, and Ali herself as Athos, the brains―playing in the woods as children with sticks for swords. In their minds there was no reason girls couldn’t be Musketeers.

  They had been friends through thick and thin, through disastrous relationships, family difficulties. They were the Fantastic Four. She smiled at the fancy.

  She would make it, Ali knew…with her friends behind her.

  Once more she played everything out in her mind.

  Don’t look at the man behind the curtain, she thought, with a grin.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Aidan stared out the window at the fading spring flowers at the base of the conference room wall on the other side of the square of offices. It was that time of year. He felt heavy, empty, listening to the voices of those behind him.

  The new upgrade to the software was about ready to be released to the public with the inevitable upheaval. Aidan had sworn he would never be like some other software companies, testing his product on the consumer. Yet even though they’d tested it three ways to Sunday a glitch had shown up. The software technicians were going over each line of code as was Aidan himself, trying to find a solution, but either they weren’t seeing it or they had seen it so often it seemed right.

  Brian, of course, was no help at all, simply repeating that they were going to have to delay the release. With the possibility of the sale pending, Aidan couldn’t delay the release, as Brian well knew.

  “There’s still time, “Aidan said, sharply. “The Symposium starts this weekend and continues all this week, we have time…”

  Tall, spare, slightly slouched, Brian just looked at him.

  Aidan tried not to shake his head. He’d found himself increasingly out of control of his own company, having to fight the Board with Brian whispering in every ear.

  “It’ll get done, Brian,” Aidan said firmly, and turned to the programmers. “Go back over it, line by line, print it out if you have to…” abhorrent to any tech… “until you find it.”

  The techs nodded, filing out as Margaret came in, frowning uncharacteristically, a sheaf of messages in her hand. One in particular she seemed reluctant to release.

  Aidan looked at it.

  ‘Missed you, Devon,’ was all it said, and a phone number.

  The look in Maggie’s eyes was eloquent.

  Well, if it didn’t rain but it poured, Aidan thought, looking at it. Something inside him twisted. Why the hell not?

  Cynically, he wondered if the Saudi prince had dumped her or if she just wanted someone more amenable in reserve, backup in case the prince fell through.

  With a sigh, he wondered though if Devon was just what he needed to push a small, elfin blonde out of his mind.

  He walked to the windows.

  One thing was certain. He couldn’t hurt Devon as he’d hurt Ali. There was that.

  The Electronics Symposium was coming up. That was something. Some of it would be fairly dry but there promised to be at least a few surprises.

  It would go on all week, with most of the major technological companies represented there, national and international, including Kerry. The important work would be done in the seminars and the networking behind the scenes. More importantly, representatives of one of the major companies on his short list for buying Kerry would be there, giving him some informal time with them. In business it was sometimes the personal connections that got things done.

  He looked at the message in his hand.

  Missed you…

  Had Devon ever truly missed anyone?

  And Ali, did she miss him? His heart ached. The pain hadn’t lessened one whit. Could they have made it work? Would it have lasted forever? Had he made the mistake of his life?

  There was Devon for example.

  In the end, it didn’t matter, the thing was done.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Presentation Hall filled pretty rapidly, wait staff moving among the attendees with champagne. It was an impressive room, unusually so for most conference venues. This one had been done in wood, to create a more classic yet relaxed atmosphere in its primary function as a location for state functions. The interior had been set up theater style with a stage and podium at one end of the room. It could easily seat hundreds and would need to this night.

  It was lush and elegant.

  With a smile, Aidan saw several faces he knew amo
ng the attendees. Jacques Martin from the Consortium Electronique, the Frenchman with the English last name, and Adam Delaville, Consortium’s American representative, the American with the French last name. An international affair, this would be Ireland’s biggest technological exposition. Here were a great many international companies doing business in Ireland in the wake of the Celtic Tiger.

  This particular show would be Ireland’s announcement of its place in the new world of technology. As he’d intended, being part of the board.

  It was opening night, when many of the major companies would make their presentations. Typically it would be an extravaganza.

  Technically and technologically, Jacques was Aidan’s competition but it was a friendly competition most of the time. He was also the most likely buyer of Kerry Electronics. An English company had been interested but while Aidan was Irish to the core he wasn’t a Fenian, yet still he couldn’t quite see selling his company to the Brits.

  “Bonjour, Jacques,” Aidan said, smiling at the elegant dark Frenchman and at his tall, lanky, sandy-haired American counterpart. “Adam.”

  The Frenchman was tall, sharp and handsome, his dark eyes startlingly perceptive. He had a reputation of being a shark. Aidan had always got on well with him but he also walked warily around the man.

  “Good to see you, Aidan,” Jacques said. “Are you looking forward to some of tonight’s programme?”

  He had some anticipations of the purchase of Aidan’s company, but there were concerns. Of which Aidan seemed blithely indifferent.

  With a grin, Aidan said, significantly, “Some.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, Adam said, miming a wince. “Keller’s speaking.”

  With a wince of his own, Aidan said, “That’ll be dry.”

  “There promises to be more excitement later,” Jacques said, “there are whispers of a special presentation, some very exciting new technology but they’re being very hush hush about it. Have you heard anything, Aidan?”

  As the Irish representative of an Irish symposium, there was a chance…

  Shaking his head, Aidan said, “Nothing but the same whispers.”

  A consortium of vendors had purchased that time, but given no indication of their plans beyond promising a grand finale for the evening.

  “You, Adam?”

  The tall sandy-haired man shook his head, swallowing a smile, grateful no one noticed.

  Adam had heard rumors. If they were true, it promised to be a very interesting evening. He wouldn’t be one to spoil a well-kept secret.

  To check himself, Aidan glanced in the programme but all it said was, ‘Special Presentation’ as the last demonstration of the evening.

  They settled into their seats. Blocks of them had been set aside for certain companies, while others were reserved for dignitaries or special attendees like Aidan himself, Jacques and a few others.

  As with most technology forums some of it was fairly dry stuff in the beginning. Microsoft, Google and some of the American companies did their usual song and dance, although Bill Gates himself hadn’t shown up yet or even the current president of Microsoft. But the presentations had been done with some degree of glitz and glamour, the usual thing.

  They would all return at the very end of the Symposium for the grand finale of the event at the end of the week, when the Prime Minister would appear to bring the event to a proper close.

  A representative of a German company, Keller’s presentation, was very…German.

  The sudden burst of music and light that followed had them all sitting up in their seats, a surge of excitement going through them almost involuntarily. Suddenly everyone was awake.

  It was slow and elegiac to start then the music swelled, with a clearly Celtic power and rhythm to it.

  In time to the stirring music a spotlight focused on a man who suddenly appeared on the side of the stage. More spotlights focused on three sets of large wall screens as they were quickly wheeled to the back of the stage as the music rose, vaguely martial, somewhat powerful, moving stuff. Aidan had to appreciate the theatricality of it.

  “Gentlemen and ladies,” the man at the podium said, his voice rolling histrionically, “our special presentation…The Future of Technology…”

  As the music soared three figures appeared on stage to stand before the screens, all in dark rimmed glasses, black business suits and white shirts. All pretty women were in three inch heels―clearly secretaries, each with their hair in a bun, a blonde in the center flanked by two brunettes. They pushed computer workstations on small wheeled tables.

  His voice soft and admiring, Jacques said, “Nice legs on the blonde.”

  They were very nice, Aidan had to admit. In fact they were incredible, shapely, if the skirt hadn’t been so long…

  On the center screen, a conference of sorts was taking place, very familiar, a spreadsheet opening to the touch of the center secretary.

  Even that in itself was surprising. Although Aidan had heard of it, he hadn’t known the software had been developed that far to accommodate it, despite the TV shows. Certainly not enough to be affordable to the masses.

  The voice of the announcer droned… “Please open the spreadsheet to show the figures for the next fiscal year.”

  Obediently the central figure skimmed the mouse arrow to a commonly used spreadsheet program.

  An unseen voice cried, “No, no, stop…”

  The iconic image of a young woman sprinting down the aisle of a hall filled with human drones, the only figure in color, to spin and swing her hammer to smash the screen at the end exploded before them.

  With a sweep of their hands all three ‘secretaries’ banished the images in front of them.

  A buzz of excitement ran through the room as a text document appeared on one screen, on another an on-going on-line game, the players and text off to one side. Icons swirled around all three screens while the ‘secretaries’ picked them down as needed.

  “This…” the unseen voice cried, excitement swelling, “is the Future. On-line Internet communications. P to P to P, not peer to peer, but person to person to person, real people in real time.”

  A figure burst through the images.

  It took a moment for everyone to understand as the three women appeared on each other’s screens. Each manipulated the data in front of them in real time, their changes appearing on the screens of the other as the new woman stepped to the center of the stage.

  Now that was something no one had seen, not in front of their eyes…

  On the stage the women looked at each other, grinned and ripped off their boring black business suits to reveal tight, sexy suits in rainbow colors, red, green and yellow, the stage lights brilliant. They reached up to release their hair, the long lengths tumbling around their shoulders and down their backs. The central figure stepped to the center of the stage with the pacing of a step dancer, in time to the music.

  Around the audience the music swelled….

  Each ‘secretary’ pushed their podiums away, stepped back from the screen and gestured. Applications opened and closed, one swept a spreadsheet aside with a gesture to clear the way for a program to write notes. Another typed, her hands in the air on a virtual keyboard on the screen. Another made an on-line call…

  Now Aidan was excited as well. This was what he’d been dreaming of but made real. The possibilities. A thousand other applications appeared in his mind’s eye.

  As they did to everyone in the room.

  In the central screen a new program appeared, clearly a video game, in the center of which was the screen was a hooded figure. Around it the computer-generated image of an ancient castle appeared, a dragon roaring behind it, the detail incredible…

  “Imagine,” the man’s voice said, “a video game like this. This is not your father’s game system…”

  Lightning flashed as the music throbbed.

  “Encryoyable” Jacques whispered but not just about the technology he was seeing. It was an incredible show. “Very,
very nice.”

  The man on the stage said, “You may have heard of A. J. Dearborn, late of Jensen Electronics, developer of Asset and MindGame, the designer of Argent...”

  Music swelled…shifted to the exhilarating rhythms of Irish dance.

  The rumored wunderkind of the American communications industry, Dearborn had virtually put Jensen Communications on the map, turning it overnight into the next best thing to Google―but not. A software development company, Jensen developed software for the user, not the other way around. And A.J. Dearborn had been the driving force behind it.

  Suddenly Aidan took a breath. Dearborn. It couldn’t be.

  The man at the podium smiled and said, laughing, “Will the real A.J. Dearborn, please stand up.”

  Someone in the audience made to stand up then sat down.

  Onstage, the actor peered out over the audience, pretended to take off his own jacket.

  Fireworks exploded on the screens, the sound of them clear over the speaker system.

  One of the secretaries turned, as did the cowled figure behind her and tossed away the dark-rimmed glasses before she stripped the constraining comb from her hair as she stepped out in time to the music of traditional Irish dance.

  Spreading her arms gracefully she presented the screens around her even as her feet flashed in time to the music.

  She was beautiful, sophisticated, graceful, sexy. Golden ringlets spilled and bounced over her shoulders and back.

  “My name,” she said, smiling to the assembled congregation, “is A. J. Dearborn.”

  The audience gasped.

  Recognition shot through Aidan even as she turned to give them all a shot of her molten gold eyes before tossing the glasses away, the green crescents in them reflecting the color of the tight-fitting, short-skirted suit. That suit made the most of every inch of that lovely body and those gorgeous, shapely legs.

  She spread her arms to encompass the screens, her feet moving in time to the music.

  “Encroyable,” Jacques breathed.

  She was.

  Ali.

  Stunned, breathless, Aidan could only agree. The last place he’d expected to find Ali was here.