As Bad As Can Be. Kristin Hardy
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my show, Dev. I can do this alone. I’ve been running bars for other people for eight years.”
“Relax, he’s not going to run things, okay? But he grew up in Newport, his family’s had a pub there for about sixty years. I think he’s worth listening to.”
“I thought you were going to be hands-off and let me run things. Why the sudden change of heart?” she asked, her voice bitter.
“Look,” he said gently, “we both know you had a rough start.”
“I told you—”
“Yeah, I know you told me. But yesterday it sounded like you had something up your sleeve you didn’t want me to know about.”
“Dev, I was just teasing you.”
“Yeah right.” His tone clearly said he wasn’t buying it. “Mal, we both know you have this problem with playing by the rules. And that’s fine if you can get away with it. But you can’t always do that, particularly when it’s your ass and my money on the line. I just want Shay to weigh in before you get us both in trouble.”
There was a sudden roaring in her ears. “Shay?” she asked carefully.
“Yeah, Shay O’Connor. His family owns a pub called O’Connor’s. Maybe you’ve been there.”
Calm, she told herself. The important thing was to keep calm. “I know it. Has your friend by any chance been to Bad Reputation yet?”
“Sure. He stuck his head in last night.”
Damn his eyes, she thought, incensed. He’d flirted with her, come on to her, never once letting her know why he was there. The sudden memory of the heat of his mouth swamped her. She thought of the feel of his hard cock in her hand and a thin thread of arousal twisted through her, despite the wrath and mortification. “What the hell does he think he’s doing, walking around my place like some kind of mystery shopper,” she burst out in fury.
“I asked him to,” Dev interjected before she could say more. “I just wanted to be sure you weren’t doing something we’d both be sorry for.” He paused. “Girls dancing on the bar, Mal? Come on, use some judgment.”
“Dammit, Dev, it’s not like they’re stripping or anything,” she said hotly. “I didn’t plan it. But the important thing is that it’s working. The place was packed last night.”
“Yeah, Shay said you also had a fight.”
“Like that’s so unusual in a bar? Sounds like our Mr. O’Connor’s done entirely too much talking all together,” she said cuttingly. “And did he tell you anything else?” Like we were five seconds from getting naked?
“There’s more? Mal, this was supposed to be a bar, not a club with dancing girls,” he said disgustedly. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t be concerned if you were in my shoes?”
His words cooled the anger to hurt. “Don’t you trust me, Dev?”
“You know I do.” His voice softened. “I think you’re the best. But maybe we both bit off a little bit more than you could chew this time.”
“I can make this work, I know I can,” she said desperately.
“If you were in a leaky boat surrounded by sharks, you’d still be too stubborn to call for help. I want Shay in there. That way I won’t have to wonder. I’ll know.”
She stared at the phone. “Is this an ultimatum?”
“Mal, it’s not about ultimatums. Just consider him my stand-in. I can’t be around so I’m drafting him to do it for me. He’s going to offer advice, that’s all. Just go talk to him.”
Oh, yes, she thought, she’d talk with him all right. She’d give Shay O’Connor a talking to he’d never forget. “Fine,” she said shortly. “If that’s the way you want it, fine.”
“It’s only for a little while, just till things get rolling.”
“Right.”
“Good.” He waited a moment. “And the six-letter term for a group of crows is a murder.”
SHAY WIPED THE DARK WOOD of the long bar that ran across the back of O’Connor’s and stared moodily out at the crowded pub. Sunday brunch at O’Connor’s was a Newport tradition. People came at noon with their newspapers and sat down to an Irish breakfast, or a Sunday lunch of roast beef and potatoes. All morning he’d been pouring Bloody Marys, Irish coffees and ale to go with it.
Keeping his hands busy hadn’t kept his mind off of his behavior the night before, though. Memories of his colossal blunder still paraded through his head. He liked to think of himself as intelligent, as respectable, as deliberate.
Instead he’d found himself in the middle of an x-rated clinch in the basement of a local bar with a woman whose name he hadn’t even known. A woman who just happened to be the person he was supposed to be there to watch out for.
It hadn’t helped that he’d talked with Dev that morning, blindingly conscious of the fact that he’d gone where no man should ever go with a buddy’s sister. That thought had almost drowned out the fusillade of questions. “How is the bar? How’s the traffic? What is she up to? Is it legal?” Dev’s voice, first filled with anxiety, was then overlaid with relief that Shay was looking out for things. “Is she getting herself in trouble? Is she doing a good job?”
Not nearly as good as the job she almost did on me, Dev old boy. Shay threw his bar rag into the sink with sudden violence. If there was a feeling more unpleasant than that of letting down a friend, he didn’t know what it was. It was rare that he did anything he was sorry for. Maybe he was living too quietly, though, given that the previous night he’d been ready enough to walk into a bar and try to take one of the employees in the basement. No matter how much said employee might have encouraged it, ultimately, he was the one to blame.
“A bleak face you’ve got yourself there, Shay,” Fiona said, setting her tray on the bar. “You best watch out, or you’ll send all these nice, thirsty brunchers running for the door. Two Harp and a Guinness, by the way.”
He started the Guinness and put a second glass under the ale tap.
“What’s put you under such a black cloud, then?” she asked, taking no notice of the fact that he obviously didn’t want to chat.
“What?” He gave her an absent look.
“Why are you in such a mood?” She studied him with a little frown of concern.
“Just galloping regrets.” He gave a shrug, setting the first Bass on her tray. “No big deal.”
“Ah,” she said as though sliding into familiar territory. “Regrets for something you did or for something you didn’t do?”
He finished the second ale. “Something I did.”
“That’s the best sort to have, if you’re having them at all. Better to be sorry that you got out and lived than sorry that you never took the chance, if you get my meaning.”
“Turning into a philosopher, Fee?” Colin asked as he walked up behind her to tug on her long red braid before ducking under the walkthrough into the bar.
“I believe I was talking with your brother, not your troublesome self,” she said tartly.
“I don’t believe in regrets,” Colin said, ignoring her comment. “There’s no point in them. You can learn from mistakes, but it’s everything you’ve done that’s made you who you are, so it’s sort of pointless to be sorry for any of it.”
“Now who’s turning into a philosopher,” Fiona jibed, raising a brow at him. “Are you after putting that into a song?”
Colin stared at her a moment and his eyes lit up. “Now there’s an idea.” He seized a napkin and scratched out a few lines then looked up.