“Okay.” He puts his hands up in surrender. “Ye’re the boss.”

“That’s right,” I say and busy myself with setting up tables. Of course I know that cokeheads and burgeoning alcoholics are not the kind of clientele that I had hoped to attract, but times have changed and I’ll be damned if I’m going to turn away paying customers because I’m pining for some lost version of ex-pat Ireland.

CHAPTER THIRTY

RIDLEE

WHEN A LAWYER TELLS A family member she’s sorry for not being around for two weeks because she’s been too busy, they usually have a hard time understanding. A best friend in crisis is worse than that. Talk about a downward spiral. Erin won’t even look at me as I sit across the bar from her.

“Erin, I swear to God, I’ve been working non-stop for two weeks!”

“Right,” she says as she yanks down the tap for a beer she’s pouring for another customer. “Too busy. Got it.”

I lean in to plead without letting the entire bar know our business. “It’s a mass-tort action, Erin. Millions of dollars are at stake. If I didn’t stay there at that office until three in the morning and then at the hotel where they were preparing, I would have been fired.”

She moves away to serve the beer, and I watch her as she goes. Her movements are stiff and I could swear she’s lost weight. Looking around the bar, I can probably guess what’s bothering her, but I don’t need to. Her constant stream of angry texts over the past week have told me the whole story. Michaél has more than made his presence felt; he’s pretty much taken over. No more neon leprechauns, no more drinking contests, no more of any of the things that Erin had incorporated into the business over the last year exist here anymore.

Erin’s back at the beer taps and her mood isn’t any better. She fixes a bitter smile on her face. “So you hung out at the Ritz with all your lawyer friends, too busy having room service to just drop by, is that it?”

“Hung out? Room service?” I shake my head at her. “Listen, Erin, I know you’re pissed at what Michaél’s done, but that has nothing to do with me working on a case at the firm.”

“No,” she leans in and hisses at me, “but it has everything to do with me following your legal advice and ending up in this situation.”

So that’s it. That’s what’s bothering her above everything else. It’s like a knife has been stabbed into my heart and twisted. She really believes what she just said.

She stops talking and then presses her lips together. I can’t tell if she feels angry or guilty about her accusation, but it doesn’t matter. Now I’m pissed, and not at her.

Michaél saunters over from the other side of the bar where he was chatting with some woman he was serving drinks to. According to Erin’s texts, he’s working here full time ‘to get a feel for the business’ or so he says.

“Do you want to continue to discuss this here or should we go into your office?” I ask in a carefully measured tone. The last thing I want is for the enemy to know that Erin’s in a weak position emotionally. If she’s blaming me for this mess, that means she feels like she doesn’t have a friend in the world, and I need to fix that.

“My office would be lovely,” she says with fake cheer. She throws a bar towel down under the bar top and moves off, not even acknowledging Michaél.

“Everything okay over here?” he asks. The dick has the gall to smile at me.

I watch Erin’s back, making sure she’s far enough away that she won’t hear our conversation. Then I lean in and pretty much growl my words at him.

“No, asshole, everything is not fine here. And I’d love to have a conversation with you about what a fucking scammer you are, but I can’t because you have an attorney and I can only talk to her.”

He’s still smiling. “I’d be happy to waive that rule so ye can get whatever ye have to say off yer chest.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not happy to wave it.” I give him a sour smile as I get off the barstool. “Because the things I’d want to say to you would probably get me dis-barred.” I pause for just another moment before leaving him at the bar. “Enjoy playing your little game, Michaél, because it’s almost over. And when it’s over, you’ll not only not get jack shit out of this bar, you’ll also be missing out on the best woman you will ever meet in your lifetime.”

I start to leave, but he grabs me by the hand, holding me back. “I’m not here to hurt her.”

I yank my hand out of his slimy grip. “Tell that to the girl whose heart you’ve broken.” I leave him standing there at the bar with his eyes storming over.

What a jerk. I shake my head in disgust as I walk to Erin’s office. He thinks he can just saunter in here and scare the shit out of my friend over some false and completely empty threats? I’ve got news for that asshole. He has another think coming. He is so going down. I’ve had enough, and I can see that Erin clearly has too. When I open her door, I find her sitting at her desk with her head in her arms, crying.

I shut and lock the door behind me. “Baby, please don’t cry.” I rush to her side and crouch down with my arm around her back. “It’s not as bad as you think it is, I promise.”

“Yes it is!” she wails into her arms. “It’s worse. Worse than I ever could have imagined.”

I rub her back and speak calmly. “Tell me. Tell me what’s so terrible that you hate me now.”

She lifts her head and graces me with a perfect view of her red-rimmed, swollen eyes and her boogery, runny nose. Even her cheeks look extra puffy. “He was just supposed to stay in Ireland, okay? Not come here. And not come here to destroy everything I’ve worked for!” She hiccups a couple times before she can continue. “He wakes up every day all cheery faced and happy-go-lucky and he works really hard and he gives suggestions all day long that sound stupid and then he somehow convinces me to try them out and what do you know?” She throws her hands up. “Everybody loves his ideas and they hate mine!” She drops her head into her arms and starts to cry again. “I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Of course you can. You’re Erin O’Neill, the strongest, toughest, smartest, cutest, Irish badass I’ve ever known.”

“I’m not tough.” Her cries peter out. Now she’s just being argumentative.

“Sure you are. Tough as nails.”

She lifts her head. “If I’m tough, how come I can’t say no to any of Michaél’s ideas?”

I shrug. “Maybe you don’t want to?”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m hung up on his dick or something?”

I smile. This is more the Erin I know. “No, I don’t mean that. It’s been two weeks and you haven’t slept with him, right?”

“No! When would I have time? I work eighteen hours a day. The floor of this place has never been so clean. I even vacuumed the walls yesterday!”

“Excellent. You’re following the plan.” I stand up and lean on her desk, trying to get the circulation going in my legs again. “I think there might be a reason why you’re not arguing too much with Michaél’s ideas.”

“What is it?” she asks, wiping her nose off with a tissue she pulls from a box on her desk.

“Maybe you like his ideas.” I shrug again, trying to take the sting out of my revelation. “Maybe other people like them too because they’re good ones.”