The Claddagh Trilogy: Irish Affair - Irish Love - Irish Heart

by Amanda Heartley

  “Look, this is a huge deal for the record company, and twenty percent royalties for you,” Max replies. “My friend loves your music. He’s happy to give you the spot if you want it, so what are you waiting for?”

  “Uh, I don’t know. Let me think about it,” I say.

  She narrows her eyes at me and puts her elbows on the desk, interlacing her fingers into a steeple. “I don’t want to put any pressure on you, Rory, but may I remind you that you haven’t finished that fucking album you promised me yet, and there are a dozen other singers waiting in the wings if you can’t handle it.”

  “I’m not saying no,” I mutter, “of course, I’ll do it.” I’m suspicious is all, not stupid. “So, I fly over tomorrow and do what exactly? The awards aren’t until the weekend, right?”

  She nods. “Right. I want to line you up with a few shows beforehand. I’ll coordinate with my contact in New York to line up a few impromptu events for you. Small, intimate concerts, that kind of thing. Maybe some radio interviews or TV appearances if I can get them. Then you’ll do your performance at MTV awards, and fly home.”

  “You think you’ll fill a venue at such short notice?” I ask. I can just imagine the embarrassment of walking out on stage to a near empty venue.

  Max laughs. “I think you’re underestimating how popular you are around the world right now. You know Taken By You is sitting at eighteen on the country music charts in the US, right?”

  “Are you kidding me?” I say with a laugh. “I had no idea.”

  I don’t pay too much attention to how my music is doing, especially overseas, because the second I start focusing on that, I’ll lose sight of why I do this in the first place. So long as I’m producing music I love, and people enjoy what I’m putting out, then I’m happy. I hate being under contract to the record company, and I’d leave the fame behind me altogether if I could.

  “Okay,” I grin. “Let’s do this.”

  “So, I can tell them you’re good to go?” she asks. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and personal to me, so no backing out, or your balls will be on a spike on the old city wall. Understood?”

  “Sure,” I nod, as it slowly sinks in. I’m kind of attached to my balls. We’ve been together a long time, and the thought of them blowing in the breeze on the old Dublin City wall has me crossing my legs and wincing. “Count me in.”

  We shake on it, and I walk out of the office, still in a daze. I’m headed for fucking New York!

  I snort, knowing exactly where my head is going with that. Maybe I’ll run into Amelia, I muse, but realistically, I know the chances of that happening are a million to one, considering the sheer number of people that live there. It’s not like a little town in Ireland where everybody knows everyone else, and with her loathing for country music, I can’t see her turning up at any of my shows.

  Yeah, I can pretty much guarantee I won’t be seeing her.

  I pull out my phone and call Siobhan. If anyone’s going to freak out over this, it’ll be her.

  “Are you fucking shitting me, Rory?” she screams. “The MTV music awards? You can’t be fucking serious, but if you are, can I please, please, please be your plus one?”

  “I’m pretty sure they don’t give me a plus one,” I laugh. “But if they do, it’s yours.”

  “Mother of God, I’m so jealous of you right now,” she whines. “You so have to get me Steve Tyler’s autograph. I don’t care if you get kicked out in the process, you have to do that for me, at least.”

  I chuckle to myself. “I’ll try my best.”

  “Hey, does this mean you’ll catch up with Amelia?”

  “Considering she hates my music, and didn’t leave me her details, probably not,” I say.

  “So? We can track her down, can’t we?”

  “How?” I ask, ignoring the ‘we’. “I don’t know her last name or anything about her.”

  “She stayed at Aunt Maureen’s pub, right? She’d have her credit card details, or her number, or something.”

  “No way. I’m not asking Maureen for that,” I say with a frown. “I’d never hear the end of it. Besides, if she wanted me to get in contact with her, she would have left me more than a two sentence note. Maybe she doesn’t want me to find her. Maybe she thought we had a good time, but there was no future for us. Long-distance relationships rarely work out, you know.”

  “Oh, stop being such a tool,” Siobhan grumbles. “Grow a pair, won’t you, and do something about it if you like her.”

  I laugh. “I can always count on you not to sugarcoat the pill.”

  “I don’t care if you’re an international superstar. You’re still my brother. God, I can’t believe my friends actually think you’re hot,” she groans.

  “Really,” I chuckle. “Which friends?”

  “I’m hanging up on you now, you eejit,” she retorts.

  * * *

  The next morning, I madly throw things into a suitcase, ten minutes before I’m due to leave for the airport. I had intended on packing last night, but I got distracted when Siobhan insisted on taking me out for a celebratory drink. One drink turned into two and led to us staying out half the night. At least I can sleep the whole flight over.

  I throw my luggage into the taxi that’s waiting out front for me. On the short drive to the airport, I think about what’s ahead of me. Holy shite, I’m going to be singing at the MTV Music Awards. I’d probably be excited more about it if I wasn’t so terrified. After having so many issues with my current album, and getting it ready for release, this just feels like a whole extra layer of stress I don’t really need right now.

  What if I freeze on stage? It’s a live event. I’ve done one or two TV show’s before, but they were pre-recorded, so it didn’t matter if I fucked up. This is a whole new ballgame. There’ll be millions of people around the world watching me perform. Fuck-ups just aren’t an option I want to even consider.

  * * *

  I arrive in New York, feeling knackered before I even start the day. I’m grateful to have a few days here before the big performance because I’m still nervous as hell about messing it all up. My plan to sleep on the flight hadn’t exactly gone as well as I’d hoped, either. When I boarded the plane, I learned that the Aer Lingus flight attendant in First Class was a big fan of mine. I found that out when she tried to woo me into a special private area, which turned out to be the crew rest compartments above the main cabin. She practically threw herself at me, but I made my excuses that I already had a girlfriend. That might’ve worked if she’d tried that last month, but that was before an American girl broke me for anyone else.

  I walk through the airport towards the baggage collection area where I’m supposed to meet Max’s contact. All I know is his name is Ben. I glance around, looking for the mysterious Ben. Finally, I see a guy around my age holding up a sign with my name on it. I wave at him and he breaks into a grin that immediately puts me at ease. He steps forward, taking my hand in a firm shake.

  “Rory, how are you? I’m Ben. Welcome to New York!” he says.

  “Thanks,” I grin. “Glad to be here.”

  “Good. So, just relax and enjoy the next few days. Consider these couple of shows a warm up to the big event. I’m very easy going. You can ask me for anything and I’ll do my best to get it for you. Alcohol. drugs, women, German porn. Whatever you’re into. Your secrets will be safe with me,” he winks.

  I don’t want any of that right now, but I laugh at how readily he offered it and follow him out to his car.

  I’m liking this guy already.

  Chapter Seven

  Amelia

  I walk into the classroom and take a seat, trying to ignore the nerves fluttering in my stomach. It’s Monday night, the first night of my new course, and I’m thrilled to be starting it. Stashed safely in my bag is my new, $1600 Nikon camera. It took all my savings and a donation from Clare to buy it, and when my parents learned how much I’d spent, they were horrified.

  “Why would
you spend so much on a camera?” my mother gasped. I rolled my eyes. I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned it.

  “I’m doing a professional photography course and I need one,” I explained.

  “What’s wrong with the camera in your phone?” she asked, frowning.

  “What am I going to do, turn up at weddings and parties with my phone and expect people to be okay with that?” I laughed. At first, I thought she was joking, but then I remembered, my mother never jokes.

  “Come on, Amelia. You really don’t think you can turn this into a career, do you?” Mom chastised.

  “Why not?” I argued. “I love it. I’m good at it. Other people do it, why not me?”

  In the end I stopped talking to her about it. What was the point when I’d never convince them I knew what I was doing? Their opinion is, when you choose a career when you leave school, you stick with it, forever. Changing your mind wasn’t something they approved of. They’re so old-fashioned.

  I look around, checking out the other students. There’s about twenty in total, of varying ages, and I relax when I realize I’m not the oldest. On the drive here, I wondered if it would just be me and a bunch of eighteen-year-olds. The idea of a group of teenagers didn’t stress me out, but it made me think of Rory and the girls at the pub the first night we met.

  I frown, and I feel my heart sinking again. I still regret the way I left, and maybe if I’d given us a chance, it could’ve led somewhere. But, then I realize I’m being silly. It was just an exciting fling, and then I left the country. I’ll never see him again. How could it have possibly gone anywhere, anyway?

  After the class, I walk out to my car. It was great, and I’ve learned a lot already. My teacher, Meisha, is a qualified photographer who’s worked with some amazing clients. Fashion shoots, rock stars, celebrities, and I’m excited to be learning from her. I’m almost at my car when my phone rings. It’s Clare.

  “Hey, sis,” I say with a smile.

  “I need a favor,” she says, sounding panicked.

  “Sure, what’s up?” I ask.

  “Okay, so one of my favorite singers is in New York doing a couple of last-minute shows. I really, really want to go. I managed to score a couple of tickets, and Anna was supposed to come with me, but she got called back into work. Will you go with me?”

  “What kind of music is it?” I ask suspiciously, knowing my sisters taste in music sucks big time.

  “I knew you’d ask that,” she says, her voice all coy.

  “Clare,” I say, my voice stern.

  “Fine.” She sighs. “It’s country. But before you start whining, this guy is fantastic. I think even you would like him.”

  I groan. “You know I can’t stand that depressing crap. Can’t you find one of your other friends to go? I think I’m washing my hair that night.”

  “What? I haven’t told you when it is, yet,” she says. “Oh…ha ha, very funny. Oh, come on, sis...please? I don’t want to go on my own.”

  “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but okay. I guess I owe you. When is it?”

  “Tonight. Like, we need to go right now.”

  “Now?” I gasp. “I’ve only just finished my class.”

  “Where are you, then? I’ll pick you up there.”

  “I’m outside Linton College, but pick me up at home so I can leave my car there. I’ll need it tomorrow.”

  “Fine, I’ll see you at home in twenty minutes. Bye!”

  * * *

  Exactly twenty minutes later, Clare pulls up outside her apartment. I’ve been staying with her for a month now, since I can’t stand all my parents’ negativity toward me at home. This is home, now.

  I see her from the window and curse, since I’m still getting ready. I quickly scramble into a dress and a pair of low heels then put on some mascara and lip gloss. I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Not great, but it’ll do, then grab my purse and walk out the door. It’s a half hour drive to the venue, so we should get there just in time. At least, that’s the plan, until we get a flat tire.

  “Fucking great,” Clare curses, hitting the wheel with her hand.

  “It’s just a flat tire,” I laugh. “Do you have a spare, and a jack in the trunk?” I ask. She looks at me oddly, like she has no idea what those two things are.

  “I think so? They should come with the car, right?”

  “Duh, ya think so? You do know how to put gas in this thing, don’t you?” I tease. I roll my eyes at how dim my sister can be sometimes when it comes to the practical things in life. She breezed through medical school, yet she can’t even change a tire?

  “Just pop the trunk and I’ll check,” I say, shaking my head. “You do know how to do that, right?”

  She mumbles something under her breath and opens the trunk. I jump out and get the tools I need and change the tire like an expert in under five minutes, before getting back in the car and slamming the door shut.

  “Done,” I say as she hands me a bunch of wet wipes from the glove box, so I can clean my hands.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” Clare gushes. “I’ll never tease you again about taking car mechanics in your senior year.” She wrinkles her nose at me like she smelled something bad. “You’re also a bit grimy, but I can look past that, considering what you just did.” Thank heavens I chose a black dress.

  “Gee, thanks, sis. You’re all heart,” I grin, pulling down the sun visor to examine myself in the mirror. She’s right. I’ve got black marks on my face, but I’m not too fazed. It’s bad enough we’re on our way to a country music concert. I try to wipe them away, but a few smudges on my face is the least of my worries.

  * * *

  We walk into the venue five minutes into the show. Lucky for us—or not lucky, depending on which way you look at it—the lead singer hasn’t started yet. Some woman sits on the stage, strumming her guitar, playing music that makes me want to go and hang myself in the bathroom.

  “Oh, damn. Looks like we missed your guy. Can we go home now?” I mutter to Clare. She just glares at me and pushes me along a row of people toward our seats. I sit down, and rummage through my bag for my book, but I can’t seem to find it.

  “What are you doing?” Clare hisses.

  “Looking for my book,” I said. “I’m sure I packed it.”

  Clare gasps, her eyes widening. “A book? You’re going to read a book? Do you have any idea how much these tickets cost me?”

  “Um, nope. Do you have any idea how much I didn’t want to come in the first place?” I say with a grin.

  She rolls her eyes. “Fine, but at least pretend to be interested,” she grumbles. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Fine,” I say, mimicking her tone, then I stand up and clap along with the rest of the crowd to appease my sister as the MC introduces the lead act. Clare cringes as I let off a whistle, whoop and holler, attracting the attention of nearly everyone around us.

  I laugh and glance back at the guy we’re here to see. He’s got his back to us, leaning over his guitar, adjusting something. I study him for a moment. There’s something familiar about him, and when he turns around to face the crowd, I freeze.

  Rory?

  Holy shit.

  No fucking way.

  I can’t believe out of all the men in his country, I’d chosen Ireland’s hottest country singer to have a fling with.

  “Oh God,” I mutter. “Oh, fuck, no. It can’t be.”

  He starts playing, the song tweaking something in my mind. I’ve heard it somewhere before—and then it all comes flooding back to me. That night we first met at the pub. This song came on the radio, and I completely dissed his own song, right to his face. I cringe and hunch over, wishing the ground would swallow me up.

  “Oh my God, I’m such a bitch!” I gasp, my voice barely audible.

  I stare at him but pray he won’t see me. Even that’s a pretty arrogant thought, considering I’m sitting in a crowd of a thousand people, or more. I’d almost convinced myself I was worrying
about nothing, when he looks up, and his eyes lock on mine.

  Shit. Fuck. What do I do now?

  He stops singing, just for a moment, but long enough for me to know I’ve thrown him off his performance. I glance around, feeling physically sick. I can’t breathe. I have to get out of here. I jump off my seat, ignoring Clare’s protests and head slowly toward the exit. I feel like I’m going to faint. As if it’s not bad enough that I made him stop singing, now I’m going to faint in the middle of his stupid concert.

  Finally, now I’m outside, I hunch over, breathing in the cool fresh air as I try to gather my composure. I don’t know what I feel, but I’m in shock, and angry at both him, and myself. How…why could he not tell me who he really was? A world-famous singer who’s probably sold millions of records. Now it all makes sense. The flashy car. His expensive hotel suite. He lied to me when he said his boss had put him up there. Why? All I wanted was a little sexy fun, not something that was going to come back and bite me in the ass like this.

  Why has everything got to be so complicated? Whether it’s flying across the world to meet a guy I thought I was falling for, or walking in on my fiancé getting his cock sucked by another dude, everything turns to crap.

  I shake my head and chuckle to myself as I calm down a little. At least I can cross ‘Have amazing sex with handsome Irish country music superstar’ off my bucket list, now.

  “Amelia, what’s wrong?” Clare calls out, as she exits the venue. I pretend I didn’t hear her and walk towards her car. She chases after me, walking as fast as her six-inch heels will let her. Eventually, she grabs hold of my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

  “What’s wrong, Meels, talk to me,” she orders. “I know you don’t want to be here, but this is a pretty over-the-top way to prove how much you hate country music.”

  I laugh and turn around to face her.

  “It’s not that,” I wince. “The music is fine.”

  “Then, what?” she presses.

  “What did you say that guy’s name was?” I ask.

  “I don’t think I did, but it’s Rory Maguire,” she says, confused. “You’ve seen him before, surely?”