“I don’t know. You know I can’t share our conversations, but I will tell you that it’s my first instinct with business cases to go in hard and fast, knock the opposition on its derriere. He didn’t want that. He was always … very conscious of Erin’s feelings, I’ll put it that way. I think he cares for her, outside of a business context.”
“Uhhhh-huh. Well. That’s very informative. Listen, thanks for everything. I appreciate your candor and your understanding.”
“No problem. Maybe if I’m ever in Boston I could meet you for a coffee? We’re always looking to make connections in other big cities where our clients do business.”
“Where exactly are you in New York?” Now that I know Erin’s in the clear, I’m curious about what Mary O’Conner does that doesn’t include Michaél, the love-scammer, Flanagan.
“Manhattan. Fifth Avenue.”
“Oh, boy. Swag. I love that area.”
“It has its ups and downs like anywhere else.” Someone comes into her office and talks in the background, interrupting her. Then she comes back sounding harried. “Shoot, I have to go. Let me know if you need anything else; otherwise, I’m considering this matter closed.”
I can’t keep the smile from my voice. “Excellent. Take care. Call me if you’re ever in Boston.”
“Likewise.” She cuts the call off and I jump to my feet, doing a happy dance. I’m busy doing the cha-cha-cha, using the reflection of my window as a mirror to admire my moves when a voice interrupts me from my doorway.
“A-hem, excuse me, Ridlee?”
I turn around to smile at my assistant. “Hey, Hilary. What’s up?”
“Did we win a case that I didn’t hear about yet?” She’s smiling, already accustomed to my particular brand of celebrations for awesomeness.
“Kind of.” I stop shucking and jiving and take my seat.
“Okay, well, line two is for you. It’s Erin.” Hilary grimaces. “She’s kind of freaking out.”
“No worries, I’ve got this.” I pick up the line and wait for my door to close before I start talking.
“Hello? Is this Ridlee?” Erin is most definitely freaking. I can tell from her tone and a strange echo around her that she’s calling me from a bathroom stall.
“Yes, it’s Ridlee. What’s up? By the way, I have some good news for you.”
She sighs out her exasperation. “Okay, shit. Now I don’t know whether to talk first or ask you what the good news is.”
“Let me save you the dilemma. I just talked to Michaél’s attorney. They’re not going to file suit against you. It’s over.”
“Oh my god! Oh my god!” She’s whisper-squealing, so yeah, she’s hiding somewhere, probably from Michaél himself.
“And that’s not the best part,” I add.
“It’s not? Okay, I’m about to pee myself. Don’t keep me in suspense any longer. Tell me now.”
“Apparently, he’s known this for quite some time. Maybe even from the beginning.”
“What?!”
“Uh-huh. And while his attorney couldn’t share their conversations with me, she did let me know that she got the impression that he never really wanted to file suit in the first place. He was always very worried about you.”
“Holy shit, what does that even mean?” she whines. “I’m so confused right now.” She’s breathing heavily right into the phone, like some kind of pervert. “Tell me what to do, Rid. Just tell me. I’ll do whatever you tell me to, no questions asked.”
I laugh. “And blame me when things go south? No thanks.”
“Ridlee! Don’t you dare hang up!”
“I’m not hanging up. What did you call me for?”
She immediately calms down. “Oh. Right. I called because I wanted your advice. Michaél’s asked me to show him the town. We’ve called for a tentative peace accord. He didn’t sleep with Marnie.”
“Who in the hell is Marnie?”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Tell me what to do.”
“Since when did you become so helpless?” I’m trying not to laugh. She’s so freaking out right now.
“I’m not helpless! It’s just that my brain has decided to ride in the back seat while my libido takes the wheel. I can’t trust my decision-making skills at the moment.”
“Okay, I’ll just tell you what I’d do if it were me.”
“I’m not sure that’ll help,” she deadpans.
“Whatever, it’s all you’re getting from me.”
“You’re such a lawyer sometimes.”
“Shut up. Okay, so we know he made a big effort to come over here to Boston to see you, and we know that pretty much from the get-go he wasn’t interested in hurting you or maybe even taking your bar away. So why did he come, then? And if he came to just get in your pants, why didn’t he just come and do that? Why the charade of a lawsuit? You need answers, and if he’s asked you to show him the town, you’re in the perfect position to get those answers. Take him to the waterfront and feed him some chowder, take him to Fenway Park, take him to a museum. And talk to him. Find out the truth. That’s your mission.”
“Find out the truth, eh?”
“Yep. That’s it.”
“You say it like it’s easy, but the truth never is, is it?”
“Maybe not, but he owes you that much and you owe him the same.”
“I’m afraid.”
My voice softens at the vulnerability I hear. “What are you afraid of?”
She mumbles her answer. “I guess I might be afraid that I’ll love him and he won’t love me back.”
“Wouldn’t it suck worse to have him love you back and you never find out about it?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“Good, then we agree. Go get ‘im, girl.”
“I’m still afraid.”
“Good!” I say with extra cheer. “It means you’re not too jaded to fall in love. Have fun!”
“You’re my best friend in the entire world, you know that, right?” she says.
“Ditto. Now stop stalling and go.”
“Okay, wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck, Erin, you’re Irish. Just be yourself.” I hang up the phone before she can come up with any more excuses to avoid talking to Michaél face to face. Then I start with my happy dance again, changing it to a nice Irish reel, hearing the sounds of Lisdoonvarna echoing in my head.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ERIN
I STARE OUT AT THE city below as Michaél looks through the telescope of The Skywalk Observatory. I love Boston and I’m excited to show him around, so I’ve brought him to the Prudential Tower where we can get a panoramic view of the city and plan our route.
“I suggest we begin by following the Freedom Trail and try to cover the Top Ten Sights, or at least as many as we can.” I’m standing behind him, taking in his nice ass as he leans down to look through the eyepiece. I’m tempted to call it the Top Eleven Sights now that his rear end is in the picture, but I feel shy and awkward round him and can’t seem to shake the feeling.
“The Top Ten sights?” he asks, standing up straight and turning to look at me, clearly amused by something. Most probably me, or at least one of my idiosyncrasies, as he has taken to calling my character tics.
“Well, my top ten, really. Not the official top ten,” I say, somewhat sheepishly. I am beginning to realize that not everybody is committed to lists and planning to the same degree as I am.
He looks around at the cityscape beyond the windows and slides his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.
Shit, did he see me checking out his ass?