Her Irish Boss Page 2

  Brogan waved her off. Better she leaves his sight than look at him that way again.

  Or move in closer, implying that if he did give her a kiss, she might kiss him back.

  As he sat across from Rian, his younger brother smirked. “That was interesting.”

  “I don't want to talk about it.” Because he couldn't explain it. Selena was the most unorganized woman he knew, and for some reason, she still attracted him without doing a damn thing. He didn't really blame Lenny for trying, but he wouldn't foot the bill in the end if things turned south.

  He wouldn't risk his brothers' futures. If the three of them didn't raise the money to buy the property, Randy Simmons would come in and level the whole block, evicting them from their space and making them start from scratch somewhere else.

  Another costly sexual harassment lawsuit and they'd never reach their goals. Everyone had to play by the rules. Careful and safe. Including himself. He couldn't enforce his own rules while trying to lure the pretty Selena a little closer.

  He'd suffer in silence. His brothers wouldn't understand. They knew the first lawsuit, the one Crissy filed against him, was fake. Made-up. And they'd supported him. The same way he'd supported both of them in the past.

  He was the oldest. He'd helped take care of his family his entire life, and he'd continue to do so. And that meant no Selena now, or ever.

  2

  Selena slapped the alarm clock, silencing the overly cheerful radio advertisement for a summer clothing sale she couldn't afford anyway. Waking up at a quarter till six hurt her soul after going to bed at one in the morning. Her feet and back ached from working a twelve-hour shift yesterday. She needed the money, and she was glad Mr. O'Keeley had given her the opportunity, but it'd made for an even longer day. And heftier nurse's bill.

  It was hard to tell if she enjoyed the night shift or merely a night off from watching Mimi. She remembered why she enjoyed working from lunch to happy hour most days. She didn't miss what came along with serving jackass men drinking liquor. A few of the men at the Simmons' party got O'Keeley's nice restaurant mixed up with the ones where you hit on the waitresses and called them “sugar” all night.

  She walked to her bathroom to start the shower, stubbing her toe and letting as many curse words fly as possible. It usually took away some of the pain as she ended up laughing at her creativity, but after the late night, she couldn't even bring herself to smile. It was going to be one hell of a day.

  After a cold shower, because the water heater was out again, she wrapped her hair up in a towel and headed to the kitchen. Mimi would be awake in another hour, wanting her breakfast and maybe, if she was lucky, remembering the current year. Her memory jumped back and forth between the present day and 1946.

  Apparently, Selena looked like her great-grandmother because the resemblance was enough to keep Mimi from overreacting when she did have an episode. That was a plus side to her living with Selena, although she couldn't give her the kind of care she really needed.

  If the damn insurance company would send someone to spend more than ten minutes with her, maybe she could point it out. There were facilities out there that helped with memory problems. Each day Mimi spent in their cramped apartment was one more day she might lose her memory for good. It's not like she could afford a lawyer to help with her case or to figure out all the paperwork. She could barely afford the nurse.

  She cracked eggs for Mimi's breakfast harder than necessary, doubling her frustration with the situation when she had to fish the tiny bits of shell out of the bowl. She didn't have time for this.

  “Mama?” Mimi called.

  Selena's head dropped. Back to 1946. The morning could get worse. Somehow. She was sure of it.

  After getting breakfast made and cleaned, and Mimi changed into regular clothes, Selena headed to her own room to dress. With thirty minutes until she needed to leave, she pulled the laundry from the dryer and dumped it onto her bed. Selena rummaged through the pile before stepping back into the bathroom. On the floor lay her work shirt, right where she'd stripped out of it before falling into bed – not washed.

  They'd given her two when she started, and she’d never bought another one, saving that money instead. She had to run laundry every night for Mimi anyway, might as well wash her work shirt along with it.

  Too bad she left her other shirt in the locker at work in case she ever got hers dirty. Mr. O'Keeley dressed impeccably, and she didn't doubt that he wouldn't approve of a member of his staff running around with shepherd's pie spilled down the front of their shirt.

  Waking up thinking about her boss was probably a warning sign that her infatuation had gone too far. No denying he was gorgeous. And cultured. Smart. Everything that she wasn't.

  But Mr. O'Keeley didn't intimidate her. She refused to let herself be pushed around again. Not after her last, long-term boyfriend hid her away from his high society friends. But she'd been younger then. And she’d wanted to please Jacob.

  That felt like a lifetime ago. Now, her mom had taken off with some guy to California, and Mimi was her responsibility. Knowing how to act at a country club or five-star restaurant didn't pay the bills.

  “I'll just get there early and change.” Pulling on a clean tank top, she headed out of the bedroom, leaving the pile of laundry a complete mess on the bed. But what was new? “I'm going to wait at the door for Ms. Perry.”

  “Alright, Selena,” Mimi cooed in her slow, Southern voice, back in reality and flipping through a catalog that neither one of them could afford a thing from. Mimi had helped raise her, her own father taking off shortly after her ninth birthday. He'd also belonged to a different level of society, according to her mother – one where water heaters didn't stop working every other day.

  Selena tapped the screen of her cell phone, staring at the time as she stood at the door to her apartment. Suddenly, she felt a pang of sympathy for what she put Mr. O'Keeley through as she waited for the nurse. “Why couldn't Ms. Perry make it by ten thirty for once in her life?” she muttered.

  Finally, the nurse, who might have been a year or two younger than Mimi and moved just as slow, arrived.

  “I have to run,” she called to Ms. Perry, passing her on the stairs. At this rate, she would be even later than yesterday. Mr. O'Keeley had explicitly asked her to be on time. She was almost ready. She might not have on the right shirt, but she did have her shoes and hair fixed for the day. And a little makeup to cover her dark circles.

  No way she'd make it there on time.

  Selena tore out of the parking lot and cut through a neighborhood to avoid rush hour traffic. After following a school bus which made four stops, she slammed on her brakes and laid on the horn of her small car, hoping to get the dog in the middle of the road to move. It turned its head, staring at her with a pathetic look. The kind of look the dogs on those commercials gave, had her feeling guilty for not having more money to save them all.

  The dog moved in slow steps across the rest of her lane. Nope. That dog didn't care that Selena was already twenty minutes late leaving.

  But her boss would care.

  He'd give her a disapproving kind of look. The one that made her both want to melt into a puddle and make some smart-ass comment. He was bossy. Rude. Dominating.

  And hot.

  God, his blue eyes pinned her in place and made her lose track of her thoughts. If only she could figure out a way to have the rest of him pin her down.

  She honked again, and the dog picked up speed, trotting to the side of the road, looking like a hitchhiker down on his luck.

  She'd been there. Not a hitchhiker, but that depressed, sad state where it felt like a good, substantial meal might change everything. Now, she had a steady job she loved. If she still had the job after showing up late so many times, because, according to Mr. O'Keeley, on time was late.

  That saying never made any damn sense to her. But why should it? She was “on time” everywhere she went. She wouldn't go around purposefully late. It wasn
't even her fault this morning. It'd rarely been her fault since her grandmother moved in.

  Mr. O'Keeley didn't have to worry about things like grandmothers. He probably had “people” to take care of that. His suits screamed money, which was another reason she should stop her dumb daydreams. She didn't know anything about fancy wine or food. Her apartment was a little better than a shit-hole, the best she could afford now supporting her grandmother, whose Social Security checks were split between her expensive medicine and covering part of her nursing care.

  Selena had already been in one relationship with a man who cared about money and appearance. And she had no intention of returning.

  But her body didn't care about her intentions. It intended to keep right on daydreaming about Mr. O'Keeley and that accent. Especially when he got the least bit irritated, and it dropped a little deeper.

  She ran a yellowish red light. Orange. She'd call it an orange light for now and ignore the adrenaline rush at breaking the law. Some things were worth breaking the law. Getting to work on time so your anal-retentive boss didn't fire you was one of them.

  Her phone rang, and she answered it, flipping it to speakerphone and setting it in her lap. Hands-free driving was a luxury she didn't have. “I'll be there in ten.”

  “He's still in his office. I bet if you make it in like five minutes, he wouldn't even know you're late. Again.” Katie whispered every word.

  “I'll do the best I can.”

  “You better not get fired. I couldn't stand to work here without you.” Katie had become a close friend in the past six months, both starting at O’Keeley’s at the same time.

  Selena shook her head and blew through another orange light. “You love it there as much as I do.”

  “I meant about Mr. O'Keeley. He makes me nervous.”

  He made Selena nervous, too, but based on her tone of voice, not in the same way as Katie. “I'll be there. Bye.”

  She raced down the street, swinging into the parking lot at a NASCAR pace and pulling her small car into its usual spot. She grabbed her purse and sprinted through the parking lot. The quicker she got into the building, the better. And, as it was every morning she was late, she hoped she didn't see Mr. O'Keeley.

  But really, she hoped she did.

  Instead of walking through the door at 10:59 a.m., she arrived at a stunning 11:02 a.m. But Mr. O'Keeley didn't wait by the front door as usual. Her luck might have turned around. She booked it through the dining room and straight into the employee break room to change.

  Two men turned around as she entered, both smiling in greeting before focusing back to their jobs. Tools and an air compressor sat in the middle of the room as part of the air conditioning unit was dismantled.

  Great. Now she had to waste another ten minutes making it to the bathroom across the freaking restaurant and back. And in front of everyone. She wrinkled her nose and glanced at the men in the corner. No. She couldn't change in here.

  She stepped into the hallway. Mr. O'Keeley's office sat directly across from the break room, door open, and his desk empty. It would take two seconds to change shirts. Not second-guessing herself, she darted into the empty office and pushed the door closed.

  In a world record, she snapped off her pink tank top and slipped into her white work shirt. She unzipped her skinny jeans, tugging them low enough down her hips to get her shirt tucked into them. She turned to leave and froze as her eyes swept the room.

  The office wasn't empty.

  Three very attractive, very Irish, men watched from a small sitting area off to the side. A large leather sofa and two chairs were angled around a coffee table. Good time to realize the office was more prominent than just a square box and all the owners had decided that morning to hold a meeting.

  “Sorry?” She winced when her eyes locked with her boss's agitated glare. Of the three men, he was the only one not smiling, which was a good thing. The two times she'd seen him smile had resulted in her physically drooling onto her shirt. She didn't have a spare shirt to change into this time.

  “I'd like to introduce Selena Chapman,” he said, his flat, even voice laced with disapproval. He could join the club of men who disapproved of her for one reason or another. First, it was her father and then her long-time, now ex-boyfriend. She never truly understood why her father left. Her mother's explanations were always hard to comprehend with half a bottle of vodka in her system. And her ex-boyfriend—well, he left for a very apparent reason. She wasn't good enough.

  “Selena, I'm not sure you've met my brothers.” They all stood. Mr. O'Keeley, her boss, pointed to one that was barely an inch taller than him but thinner. Like a runner. He wore a black shirt that fit his toned frame with a pair of blue jeans. “This is Rian O'Keeley.”

  Oh, God. He was a famous chef.

  Mr. O'Keeley half-way waved in the direction of the other one, almost dismissively. “Cathal.”

  Cathal had a devilish smile. Damn. With his looks and presumed Irish accent, women probably threw themselves at him. His blue collared shirt tucked neatly into chinos, hugged his shoulders and highlighted his eyes even from a distance. Did it hurt to be that pretty?

  And why, as the other two brothers watched with amusement, did she have to be attracted to the one with the grouchy disposition?

  “Unless either one of you would like to take over the employee side of management, do you mind if I have a word with Selena in private?”

  Rian held his hands up. “Have at it. I'm going to check the kitchen. Nice to, um, meet you, Selena.”

  Her face flamed. “You, too.” Nothing like showing all three of your bosses your unsexy white bra before lunch. And underwear. She closed her eyes for a brief second. She'd pulled down her jeans, too.

  Cathal didn't budge. He wasn't looking at her; he watched his brother with humor.

  “Since that sounds like actual work,” he said after the long pause, his accent thicker than the other two, “I think I'll leave you to it.”

  “Good idea,” Mr. O'Keeley answered, crossing his arms the way he always tended to do. His suit jacket was laid over the back of the chair, and white shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. How could just his tan forearms cut with muscle attract her?

  She waited for Cathal to leave and then took one, two steps forward. “I really am sorry.” She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “There were two men in the break room fixing the air conditioner, and I thought I could slip in here and change so I can put my tank top back in the locker room and not have to make two trips, one to the bathroom and one back to put my shirt up. I wanted to start work as soon as possible without calling a bunch of attention to myself.” She bit her bottom lip as he watched her another moment in silence. She'd caused herself too much attention already.

  “About that. We need to talk about your timeliness.”

  The air in her body rushed out. Now was the point where he fired her. She'd held this job for six months, longer than the others. And she liked it. She was good at it. Not having a college degree limited her choice of employment. And men. Jacob had made that clear enough. Sophisticated men like her boss, who reminded her of an angry bull at the moment, didn't date girls from the other side of the tracks which might embarrass them. She'd embarrassed her ex enough times to learn that lesson the hard way.

  But her boss didn't want to date her. He wanted to fire her. She would not let that happen without a fight.

  “Please, don't fire me. I really need this job.”

  “I want you to try and be here by nine thirty in the morning from now on.”

  “Nine thirty?” He didn't want to fire her? She thought about the extra forty dollars for the cost of the nurse. Could she pull that off with her budget?

  “Yes. That way, you might get here by eleven.” He smirked. And damn if that wasn't just as sexy. “I'll pay you for the time that you're here. If you show up before your shift starts, then you'll help where needed to prep for the day. Full wage, not as a waitress.”

  “How much?
”

  His chin raised slightly. Now that she was openly staring at her sexy boss, she realized his nose was a little crooked like it'd been broken once or twice. Probably some uptown accident. There was no way Mr. O'Keeley would lower himself to an actual fight. He was too high-class for that. Might get his perfectly pressed suit wrinkled. Or mess up his neatly combed dark brown hair.

  “Twenty-five.”

  She hadn't expected that. “You'll pay me an extra twenty-five dollars to get here an hour earlier?”

  “Technically, if you got here on time, you'd be here an hour and a half before your shift. Consider it an incentive. I don't want to have to fire you, Selena. You're a great waitress. Efficient. Professional.” His lips kicked to the side again, and he looked away. “When you keep your shirt on.”

  She'd embarrassed him. The thought of anyone, even a woman in a crappy white bra, flustering the stoic, high-class Mr. O'Keeley amused her. She'd never been on that side of the equation before.

  “You have a deal. And I'll be sure not to take my shirt off again in your presence.” Her mouth would forever get her in trouble. She'd meant it as a joke. The whole, laughing with someone instead of laughing at someone. He didn't seem to take it that way.

  His blue eyes locked onto her for one long beat of silence, enough for her to know that underneath that hard, shell exterior, something ran hot and dangerous. Maybe she shouldn't joke with her boss, especially since they didn't even have the outside chance at a relationship—even a one-night relationship.

  Her employment contract prevented that by her agreeing to the no dating clause. He'd fired two employees just yesterday. And based on the way he'd chided and almost fired Lenny, Mr. O'Keeley reaffirmed that he didn't play around when it came to the rules.

  He cleared his throat. “How did last night go?”

  “Last night? Oh. The party of forty. It went well. They all seemed to enjoy the food.” She thought back to the two men who'd slipped her their phone numbers. Creeps.