“Flanagan!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

RIDLEE

WHEN ERIN HAS SOMETHING ON her mind that’s torturing her, there’s no escaping it for anyone. She had a great day with her man Michaél yesterday, and yet I have a strong suspicion her worries are about him. I really don’t want to know the details, because something tells me she’s going to whine and whine hard. I’ve asked her what’s wrong. So far she’s brushed me off with Oh, nothing and It’s just a mood, but I know she’s going to blow. I take another bite of bacon, building up my fortitude for the event that’s sure to take place at any moment.

She sighs long and loud for the hundredth time of the morning and I keep on reading the newspaper, using it as a shield between us. I foolishly think that if she can’t make eye contact, she won’t bring up the subject of whatever is making her act like a tortured, lovesick schoolgirl. I think my sadness over Donal is turning me into a cold-hearted bitch. I suppose the silver lining is it’ll make me a tougher lawyer when I get back home, but that doesn’t make me feel any better for some reason.

“Are ye feeling well, lass?” Mrs. O’Grady asks, putting her hand on Erin’s forehead.

Erin turns up the pity party tone in her voice. “Oh, I’m fine.”

“Doesn’t sound it. You’re having a hard time with yer lungs from the sound of all the wheezin’ you’re doin’ this mornin’.” Her tone turns disapproving. “Imagine bringin’ ye surfing in the sea of all things.” She snorts. “In my day, a man would no sooner take you for a frolic in the freezing cold water than he’d ask ye to roll around in the barn hay.” She pauses and lowers her voice. “Unless of course ye’re Maude O’Leary, but ye know, she was always game for just about anything and didn’t all the lads know it. Let’s just say she earned her name and leave it at that.”

I lean over and whisper in Erin’s ear as Mrs. O’Grady runs the sink water. “I think she’s calling you a slut.” I resist the urge to giggle as I hide behind my paper.

“Well, you know, the world has changed a bit since you were dating,” Erin says, sounding prickly.

“Don’t I know it,” Mrs. O’Grady says, coming back to the table with a fresh pot of tea. She pours for both of us. “Taking liberties. Slap and tickle. I know all the things men do. Ye should watch out, girlies. They’re only after one thing, ye know.”

Erin knocks me in the hand. “Can I talk to you upstairs for a minute?”

I look over my paper at Mrs. O’Grady. She has the teapot on the table and her hands on her hips.

“Ye haven’t eaten a thing! Ye’ll waste away to nothin’ if you miss yer breakfast.”

Erin stands. “Don’t worry, Mrs. O. I’ve got plenty of extra breakfasts stored in my bum fat.”

I quickly stand, knowing if I let this go on much longer, we’re going to have a real cat fight on our hands.

Mrs. O’Grady’s voice follows us out the door.

“Well, I never…”

We walk out into the hall and I push Erin towards the front door, wanting to avoid any eavesdropping. As we walk outside, I wrap my arms around myself, very sorry that I neglected to grab one of the granny sweaters hanging by the door.

Erin does the same. “Thanks for rescuing me from that old hag.”

“She’s not an old hag. You’re just in a cranky mood.”

“You’re right. I am. But I have good reason to be.”

I sigh. “Okay, fine. Out with it.” The wicked cold wind whips through my hair, making me wish I’d put on a hat too. The snarls are going to be awful.

“Out with what?” She sneaks a glance at me before going back to staring at the sidewalk. We’re both leaning into the wind, trying to keep all of our body heat from being stolen away.

“Whatever’s bugging you. Ever since Michaél left the B&B yesterday, you’ve been moaning and groaning and sighing and whining.”

“I haven’t whined once.”

“Bull. Come on, I’m only staying out here for five minutes, max. My tits are freezing. My nipples are going to break right off.”

“So much for an Indian Irish summer, eh?” Erin tries to smile, but it doesn’t last long; there’s just a flash of it and it’s gone again.

“Four minutes,” I warn. “You have four minutes left.”

Erin huffs out a loud breath. “Okay, fine. You want to know what’s bugging me? I’ll tell you. Yesterday, Michaél and I had a fab time. He taught me how to surf, shared a homemade picnic lunch with me, including a delicious soup made by his own fair hands, and then he proceeded to tell me about this dive bar that he’s inherited half of and how he’s going to use his part of the proceeds from its sale to get out of debt!” She stops and looks at me, yelling the last part. “His last name is … wait for it… fucking Flanagan! Why did I not think to ask his last name?”

I stop and face her, nodding as I carefully think my way through her conundrum. “Huh. Fucking Flanagan. How unfortunate for him.” This does add a wrinkle to our little plan, but as far as I’m concerned, it makes no difference. We continue forward as if we don’t know him. It’s just business.

Erin nudges me and forces me to continue walking with her. “I feel like a fraud. A scammer of the highest order. I have to tell him the truth. Tell him the bar’s changed.”

I grab her shirt sleeve and stop her with a yank. “No, ma’am, you do not.”

“Why?” She’s looking at me, near tears.

“Because. It’s his duty to do the due diligence, not yours. You told him the facts: there’s a bar in Boston that he owns half of. You made a fair offer to buy him out and it’s his job to figure out if our offer is acceptable to him or not. This is how it works. This is the law.”

“Buuut…” Aaaaand cue the whining.

“No. Huh-uh. But nothing. I don’t want to hear it, Erin.” I’m getting peeved now. “Seriously. I’m your lawyer and I’m telling you to listen to me. You think because you surfed with this guy and sampled his super soup that you’re sitting on the same side of the table, but you’re not. You’re not, do you hear me? You are on opposite sides of the bargaining table.”

She’s still whining. “But I don’t want to be on opposite sides of the table. Why can’t we do this as a team?”

My jaw drops open. “Holy shit, woman, did you just ask me why you can’t make this complete stranger a partner in your business? Or is that the blood pudding fucking up my hearing?”

“He’s not a complete stranger.” She can’t meet my eyes.

“Yes, in fact, he is. After we do this deal you will never see him again. Do you hear me? Never.” I yank on her hand for emphasis, trying to get through to her. Apparently she has way too much dick on the brain. “Babe, I hear what you’re feeling, okay? You had a great time with him. He seems like a super guy.”

She interrupts. “He is super.”

“Sure. For now. But he’s Irish and he wants to stay in Ireland. Do you want some guy you had sex with one time to be calling the shots over your bar when you’re in Boston?”

“No.” She admits that unwillingly, but admit it she does. It gives me hope she’ll listen to good sense.

“Can he, or can he not, go online and see what the bar looks like for himself, without even going to Boston?” I stare her down, forcing her to look at me.

“Yes. I suppose he could.”

“And can he, or can he not, read all the reviews online about the place?”