Page 1 of The Irish Redemption

1

EVELYN

It’s three thirty in the afternoon and Lana Del Rey’sSummertimeis the only thing dragging me through a workday that never ends. On paper, being the cleaner for the Sunrise Motel is fairly simple. Keep the rooms clean and tidy, don’t disturb the guests, and make sure each room sweep takes no longer than fifteen minutes.

Reality is much different. There’s a constant under-the-counter policy here that has empty rooms becoming occupied at the drop of a hat, guests who think the cleaner is also the one in charge of the booze and snacks, and the occasional argument over the cleaning cart when someone high on God knows what decides that my bleach is going to give them a better fix.

Paint peels from the walls, creating an array of crisscross cracks between each rust-covered drainpipe. When the sun is high enough, baking the Sunrise Motel like an overturned cake, a distinct scent of stale piss, old vomit, and something painfully acidic fills the parking lot. The Sunrise Motel shouldn’t be anyone’s choice to live or work. If I had any other choice, I definitely wouldn’t be here.

As unattractive as this place is, it’s rarely empty. My boss has a revolving door policy, and I try to keep my nose out of it. If I don’t know what’s going on in those rooms, I won’t be liable if anyone ever gets caught doing something shady. I think that’s why Gerald hired me.

“Pretty to look at and silent to boot!” he’d snorted when signing my employment papers. I keep my distance as much as I can.

Squeezing the last drop of moisture from my mop with the revolving bucket, I brush back a few loose strands of my dark hair and puff out my cheeks. Fourteen rooms done, eight to go. Then I can go home and hope my next paycheck is enough to tide me over for the rest of the month.

Humming softly, I push the cart in front of me toward the elevator. My next rooms are on the top floor and they should all be empty, provided that my manager hasn’t invited any sudden guests.

“Think I’ll miss you forever,” I sing softly, lost in a world of nostalgic musical notes drifting from my earphones. “Like the stars miss the sun?—”

“Surprise!” With a stomp of his boots and a loud clap of his hands, Dillon Stewart leaps out of the side corridor and lands in front of my cart.

I scream in fright, narrowly avoiding ramming into his shins with the cart, and immediately leap back. My heart pounds painfully while a rush of static heat floods up my arms and legs.

“Dillon!” I yell, tearing my earphones out by the cable. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Dillon places both hands on the end of my cart and leans forward, using his body weight to prevent it from rolling any further.

“Surprising you, obviously.” He rolls his eyes and grins, displaying all his teeth like some kind of feral animal.

“You scared me half to death!” My voice trembles faintly from how hard my heart beats in my chest, so hard, in fact, that I swear my tongue pulses in time to the rhythm.

“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” Dillon remarks, scrunching his nose upward. “What else was I supposed to do?”

Shit.

A few weeks ago, I weakened under Dillon’s unrelenting pressure and agreed to one date. A date that was a few drinks at a local bar where he got so incredibly drunk that he started a fight with the barman. He ended up being thrown out by security, which was much deserved, but rather than stumbling home, he decided to start a fight with security until I was kicked out too. It was humiliating and painful since they wouldn’t let me leave until I paid Dillon’s tab. As if I wasn’t in enough debt. As dates go, it was terrible and he was not deserving of a second.

“I don’t know how much clearer I can be.” Suddenly, I’m glad the cleaning cart is between us. “I didn’t have fun and I don’t want to see you again. I can’t believe you’re even here. You don’t even work here.”

“Wasn’t hard to track you down.” Dillon snorts, and the amused look on his face quickly fades. “Let me take you out again.”

“No.”

“A proper date this time. Last time only felt bad because you didn’t drink enough, and if that bastard at the bar had listened to me then, we wouldn’t have had a problem.”

My brow raises at the memory of Dillon demanding shots of absinthe after four Vodka limes. The barman refused due to the high proofing of absinthe and Dillon decided he knew better. Trying to climb over the bar to prove his point was the spark that started it all.

“No,” I repeat with slightly less confidence. I’m suddenly acutely aware of how it’s only the two of us in this corridor. The six roomsalong this walkway are all empty—and very clean, if I do say so myself. It was one thing to dodge Dillon at the laundromat, the gas station, and my grocery store, but now he’s here at my work.

Not ideal.

“Come on,” Dillon whines, and he moves around the cart, swaying toward me like a palm tree caught in a light wind. “This playing hard-to-get schtick is getting old, Evelyn.

“Dillon, we’re not compatible, okay?”

“I heard you singing, you miss me…”

“No, I?—”

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