And for that reason, she lived for the moment when Rory would look up and nod his head in approval. Still, she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’d actually spoken to him, beyond ordering a drink.
They came from different worlds. She was a nice Jewish girl from the Washington, DC, suburbs who had never ever in her life broken any rules. And Rory gave every appearance of being a bad boy from across the ocean who truly didn’t give a damn. He had a dark Irish look that was at once both unsettling and deeply poetic.
Arwen had a weakness for poetry.
“You should give that up,” she said, nodding toward the joint.
That earned her a dark bark of a laugh. “Love, the occasional joint is the only thing that gets me through the day.” He leaned forward into the light, which sparked in the dark, endless blue of his eyes. “Just like the occasional margarita helps you over the day-to-day heartbreak of life as a single girl.”
That was the thing about bartenders. They knew everything. And of course, he actually listened to her songs. Which meant he knew all her fears and insecurities because she poured them into her lyrics.
She took a step in his direction. “I guess you’re right about me and margaritas. But the thing is, margaritas are legal in the Commonwealth of Virginia.”
“Aye, true enough. But I like to live on the wild side.” His half smile grew into a full grin. He was incredibly handsome with that scruffy black hair hanging down over the collar of his shirt and the shadow of stubble across his cheeks. She ought to write a song about him, but she wasn’t sure yet what it would be about.
“The wild side can get you in trouble,” she said, as much to herself as to him.
He nodded. “That’s a fact, lass.” He hauled in a big breath, stubbed the joint out on the brick step, and stood up. “Looking forward to hearing you sing tonight,” he said with a little wink.
And then he turned and slipped back into the café, leaving Arwen to wonder if Rory Ahearn had followed her out here to flirt, give her encouragement, or just to take his pot break.
Maybe it was wishful thinking, but she didn’t believe her encounter with him was entirely accidental.
Chapter Two
Losing his job in DC had completely blindsided Matt. One day he’d been a member of the Heartland Industries government affairs team, and the next he’d been out on his ass. The big manufacturer of tractors and other earth-moving equipment had decided to close its DC office to save money, and headquarters hadn’t invited anyone, least of all an entry-level legislative representative like Matt, to move back to the company’s Kansas City headquarters.
Not that Matt would have moved to Kansas City, but still.
In a family where everyone valued success, being fired made Matt feel like a complete failure. Even worse, Matt’s inability to find another government affairs job rankled. Despite the fact that his uncle was a US senator and his cousin a member of Congress, despite his politically connected last name, despite his Ivy League education and his two years of government affairs experience, he’d failed. Six weeks of searching and dozens of interviews had netted him exactly zero offers—a turn of events that shook him to his core.
He could have fallen back on the trust fund Grandpa Artzen had set up for him, but Matt had promised Dad he wouldn’t touch that money unless it was for something important. And after the way Danny had gone through his inheritance, Matt was determined to save that legacy for a rainy day. The money was safely in the care of his financial adviser, tied up in investments that weren’t particularly liquid.
So he needed a job. Besides, he wasn’t about to waste his assets on Washington, DC, rent. That would be foolish. So he’d done the one thing he’d been trying to avoid for most of his life. He’d accepted an associate’s position in his father’s law firm. It had always been Dad’s hope that one of his sons would join him in practice. Matt had never seen himself as that son, and to be brutally honest, neither had Dad.
Jason was the one Dad really wanted. But Jason had other ideas, which involved the criminal justice system. He had taken a job with the FBI. So Matt, middle child extraordinaire, was left holding the bag.
Yesterday—his first day on the job—Matt had filled out employment forms and endured a two-hour lunch with Dad at the Red Fern Inn. It had been the longest lunch of his life. Dad had pontificated about the firm, talked about his hopes for Matt making partner, and stressed the necessity of hard work and good service.
On his second day at the firm, Matt strolled into the tiny cubicle of an office that Dad had given him in order to send a message that even though Matt was the son of the firm’s founding partner he’d get no special perks. In fact, knowing Dad, Matt expected to get absolutely no special privileges. He sat down at a standard-issue, boxy brown desk and stared at the framed photograph of the Shenandoah Mountains that hung on the opposite wall. No doubt the print was there as a stand-in for a window.
He desperately missed his K Street office with the big windows and its view of Farragut Square. Despite his low pay grade, there had been a few perks with his last job. He leaned back into his chair and stared at the photograph, waiting for the rest of his life to begin.
He didn’t have to wait long. Arwen Jacobs popped her head into his doorway and said, “Meeting in the small conference room. Five minutes,” and then disappeared down the hall.
He opened the drawers of his desk looking for a legal pad, but Cousin Andrew—the previous occupant of this office—had evidently cleaned up after himself.
