Page 4 of The Billionaire's Kiss
“It’s distinctly Texan.” He chuckled. “As Texans, we don’t really cotton to being thrown in with all the rest of the southern states. We’re kind of prideful in that way. How do things like that go in Ireland?”
“Kenmare is in Northern Ireland. There are many differences between us and those who call the Republic of Ireland their home,” I informed him. “Our accents are different, as well. People from the Republic have what most people consider the quintessential Irish accent. In Northern Ireland, we’ve been influenced by the Irish, Scottish, and English, so our accents show that influence. And, of course, we think our accents are far better than those of the southern dwellers.”
“Ah, so you can understand why Texans consider themselves a cut above the rest of the other southern states.” Turning to take me down a long corridor, he went on, “This is the way to Whispers bar. So, tell me, what makes Northern Ireland different from the Republic of Ireland? Is there some sort of a border or something like that between the two?”
“Not a physical one. One of the things people who visit Ireland talk about is how they’ll be motoring along and all the road signs are in kilometers. Then suddenly, the road signs change to miles. When you see those types of signs, it means you’ve entered Northern Ireland.”
“That’s how it is between the states here in America—aside from the change from metric to miles.” He shook his head, contradicting his statement. “But there aren’t any checkpoints the way there are when you cross into a new country. You just see a sign that says you’re in another state, is all.”
“But in America, you all use the same type of money, right?”
“We do.”
“In the Republic, they use euros, and in Northern Ireland, we use pounds, as England does. It makes it a bit complicated for tourists.”
“I bet it does.” He pushed open a set of heavy wooden doors with etched glass at the top. One hadWhisperswritten in green on it. Also in green letters, the other had the wordBar. “Here we are. Tell me what you think about the bar.”
The room was full of natural lighting thanks to a wall of windows, making it feel nothing like the one I worked at. “This is different,” I exclaimed. I was used to dimly lit bars with heavy, dark wooden accents. Here, the bar was made of white marble with pale grey streaks in it. The lights above it ran the entire length of the long bar, making it sparkle and shine. “It’s appealing.”
“I know it’s not what most people are used to in a bar. We were going for something unique here. With the spa in mind, we wanted this bar to be airier and brighter than most bars.”
The barstools looked comfortable, with dark grey leather covering the seats and a high back made of stainless steel for patrons to lean back against. “The seating is great. I love those comfy barstools and there’s a nice intimacy to having those small sofas facing each other with a low table in between. It’s like being at home.”
“You have to see this place at night. We’ve got the coolest lights outside that bleed into the bar. It’s like it’s a completely different place.”
“Iwillhave to come see it tonight.”
“Let me get you something to sip on while we take our tour.” He walked up to the bartender and held up two fingers. “Can you get us two flutes of champagne, Gerald?”
“Of course I can, Warner.”
“You come here a lot?” I asked as I took a seat at the bar.
“No. I’m not much of a drinker.” He took the seat next to mine as the glasses were placed in front of us. Picking his up, he held it mid-air.
I took mine and held it up too. “What are we toasting, Warner?”
“To you having the best vacation ever, Orla Quinn.” He clanked his glass against mine before taking a sip.
I sipped mine then put it back on the bar. “You certainly know how to treat your guests.” I had the feeling that he might be the kind that picks out a woman in every large group that came in. “The women must love you.”
Shrugging, he took another sip before putting his glass down. “I don’t know about that.” His cell phone went off inside his jacket pocket, and he pulled it out. “It’s my assistant.” He swiped the screen. “Yes, Jezzy? Oh, I see. Yes, I’ll come back right now.” Putting the phone back into his pocket, he picked up his glass. “Seems some people in your group would like a tour after all. We’ll have to go back to get them. Grab your drink and come with me.”
Disappointment filled me as we left the bar to get the others. “I thought they were all tired,” I mumbled.
“Guess they found some reserve of energy. Or maybe they were just more excited about seeing this place than taking a nap.” His laughter echoed in the corridor as we walked at a fast pace.
“Seems so,” I didn’t even try to hide my disappointment. It felt nice being alone with him. And now I’d have to share him—and I didn’t care for that at all.
As we walked back into the lobby, I saw Mona Pendragon with her mother, waiting for us. Cecil O’Conner and his wife, Angel, were there too.
I knew Mona well enough to know what she was up to. Warner’s good looks hadn’t passed unnoticed by her. The brunette had been hunting hard and heavy for a man she could call her own, and her efforts had only increased ever since she entered her thirties a few years ago. She waved, wiggling her fingers in the air. “Over here, Warner.”
I waved back at her. “We see you, dear.” Whispering, I leaned close to Warner, “Watch out for her, she’s in heat.”
A burst of laughter erupted from his lips as he looked at me. “Is she, now? Thanks for the warning.”
Walking over to us, Mona extended her hand long before she was close enough to actually shake Warner’s. “Mona Pendragon. Like King Arthur Pendragon. It’s believed we’re direct descendants.”
