Caroline did not look impressed. “So better to just not do anything? Better to just act like you’re completely not interested, even though a blind person could see that you are?”
“I know it sounds foolish. And stupid. But you should see him, Caroline. He gorgeous, but it’s more than that . . . he exudes this confidence like no one I’ve ever met before. It’s like it’s magnetic.”
“Yeah, would you like to know why it’s like that?”
“Yeah, I would, actually. I am totally not used to feeling this way toward anyone.”
“Because that’s basically your opposite.”
I sniffed. “Gee, thanks.”
“I’m not saying you don’t have any self-esteem, but you constantly doubt yourself. Even over thin
gs that you know you can do.”
“I don’t mean to. I just kind of feel like he’s out of my league.”
I spit the olive pit out. “He’s absolutely not out of your league. You just need a little more confidence, is all.” She pushed the tub of tabouli toward me. “Have some of this,” she said.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said.
Chapter Eleven
Ian
Seamus McAllister was HTS’s biggest individual client, though I rarely had to deal with him directly; most often it was his son, Billy, that handled the fine print, such as booking us for things like the sister’s birthday party, or alerting me when a high profile guest could be expected at the poker club. Billy was also far more social than his father was, and didn’t have any qualms about stopping by the office if he was in the neighborhood, which was often enough since we weren’t too far from his favorite bar—I mean, pub—Failte. He was big into the day drinking.
We’d also been pretty good friends in middle school and high school—Billy and I—but then we just sort of drifted apart, though we had never completely lost contact, and once his father got in touch with me about providing security services, Billy picked things back up like we were teenagers again.
So I wasn’t too surprised to see him strolling into the office at eleven o’clock that Tuesday morning. I’d been on a call with the manager at one of the boatyards on the harbor we had a contract with, so my door had been partially closed, but I could hear Billy before he’d even come into the main office.
When I finally got off the phone a few minutes later and opened my door, I was greeted by the sight of Billy leaning with one leg propped up on Daisy’s desk, bent at the knee, his lower leg swinging.
“No, I know I’ve seen you before,” he was saying. “Look at me again.”
She turned her face toward him, and they held each other’s gazes, him squinting slightly, her with a slightly chagrinned look on her face.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” she said.
He brought his hand up and rubbed his chin, his brow furrowing. Then he snapped his fingers. “Got it,” he said. “I’ve seen you at Failte.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Yeah, probably! My best friend and I go there all the time.”
“You’re keeping all the good-looking women here, Roubideaux,” Billy said. “First Petra, then Annie, now this one . . .” He gave Daisy the eyes. “You seeing anyone, sweetheart?” I felt a flare of anger swirl through my chest, but I gritted my teeth and grinned.
Daisy looked at me, and then said—rather empathically—“No.”
That was all Billy needed to hear. Even if she had been seeing someone, that had never deterred him before. He could be a downright scoundrel when he wanted to be—he’d probably slept with more women than I had—but no fucking way was he going to move in on Daisy, I didn’t give a shit what dirty thoughts were going through his mind right now.
“Well.” He rubbed his palms together and stood up. “Thrilled to hear it. Anyway, I’ve got to run, but I sure do hope to see you around.”
“He was nice,” Daisy said after he left. “It’s so funny, I’ve seen him around the bar before, but we never talked.
“So,” I said, “you’re not seeing anyone?”
“That’s what we said we were going to do, wasn’t it?” she asked. “We weren’t going to tell anyone?”
Maybe, but that was really more in regards to Jonathan; I hadn’t factored Billy fuckin McAllister coming into the picture.