Page 16 of Twist of Fate
“Rain boots.” He stares down at my high heels.
“Rain boots?” I feign a gasp and fan my face with my palm. “Those won’t go with my outfit at all, Sean. What are you thinking?”
Holding the umbrella perfectly still, I watch as he blatantly checks me out. He doesn’t even bother to hide the way his eyes roam up my body, lingering a little longer on my hips and ass. “I don’t think anyone would notice.”
God, he’s cute.
Tall, broad shoulders and a smile that could melt the panties off even the most well-intentioned girl. Add in the accent and?—
You’re never truly lost—just searching for something.
Ugh. Right on cue, my mind conjures an image of Finn Larkin. Today, it’s him standing on the Cliffs of Moher. His hair is tousled, and his cheeks are rosy from the wind.
Am I going to think about him every time I see a hot Irishman? Because that could get old really fast. They’re literally everywhere.
“Good luck on your first day,” Sean says, bringing my thoughts back to the man in front of me.
“Thank you,” I respond, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in my voice.
I thought I was leaving all my ghosts back in the States.
I forgot about the one I left right here in Dublin.
You didn’t forget.
No, I didn’t. I just tried really damn hard to.
I exhale as the cab drives away from the curb, trying to focus on the day ahead. The hotel is fairly close, and I hardly have enough time to go through my hype list and all the reasons I’m going to crush this job when the cab driver announces we’ve arrived. I quickly pay him, thank him, and step out. Looking up at the massive glass building, my stomach does a flip-flop.
Why did I do this again?
Oh, right, because I was drunk and made a promise.
Well, not in that order per se.
I inwardly groan.
I pull the heavy glass door open and walk into O’Connell Travel Agency for the first time. It’s much more modern than I expected. Wood flooring and light walls accentuate the large photographs that highlight some of Ireland’s most breathtaking sites. Seeing the familiar O’Connell shamrock logo proudly displayed on the wall makes this all feelveryreal.
“Here we go,” I whisper under my breath and walk toward the receptionist’s desk. I plaster on a smile and greet the woman sitting behind it. “Hi, I’m Aisling Farrell. I’m new, and it’s my?—”
“You’re quite early, love.” She hardly looks away from her computer screen, the glow of the screen accentuating the lovely silver tones in her hair.
“Yes.” I look down at my watch and note the time. “I guess I’m a bit early.” I didn’t realize that twenty minutes fell under thevery earlycategory.
“The other gentleman starting with you isn’t here yet. Would you mind waiting over there”—she points to a plush green sofa in the corner—“until he arrives?”
“Uh, sure?”
It doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice now, does it?
The moment I agree, I’m forgotten. She goes back to whatever she’s doing. Her gaze is fixed on her computer screen while her bright pink nails dance over the keyboard. Blowing out a breath, I head over to the sofa and plop down, feeling a bit deflated.
Well, this is underwhelming.
Not exactly what I imagined when I pictured the start of my day—being shooed away like an annoying fly. But it’s fine. Totally fine.
I’m here. I’m on time—apparently too on time.
