Cassie looked relieved. “No. I thought you might.”
They each chuckled at how they’d, once again, looked out for the other. “Good.” Moira snagged Cassie’s hand, nearly tugging her along. “Let’s head out before Miss Smellsalot returns.
“Smellsalot?” Cassie asked, then wrinkled her nose and chuckled. “She does, doesn’t she?”
“After this, let’s grab something to eat. My stomach’s growling.” As if to emphasize the point, a noise rumbled up from her belly.
Before they could depart, Minister Donnelly neared them. They kept their heads down and swiftly used the dusters they’d been issued and dusted whatever was in reach. To Moira’s relief, the politician didn’t stop as she strode to her office.
Whew. Time to hand over this apron and get on her way to her flat. “Our phones,” she mourned.
“I’m on it. Meet you at Liam’s Tavern.” Before Moira could respond, Cassie slipped away. At least Moira didn’t have to deal with the housekeeper.
Assistant Commissioner Shawn Fitzgerald walked past her into Donnelly’s office. Probably prepping for this evening’s dinner with the minister’s hope to bring people on board with her plan. Her brother told her the gardai was running in circles trying to catch the distributors and needed more support from lawmakers.
With both high-level leaders inside the room, Moira turned to escape. Unfortunately, the only way out—that she knew—led her past the minister’s open office door.
With no wish to be noticed, she tiptoed like a child but stopped in her tracks at the next person to pass her line of sight. Hen’s teeth. Was that really the Boyle fella? The drug king or something like that? It couldn’t be. She shook her head and then realized she’d look like a twit if he’d seen her, she turned her back to him and, once again, pretended to dust. Only, she ran into a wall. Perfect.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she counted to five in hopes that Boyle passed her and she could get the hell out of there. Of course, it hadn’t worked. He might not have noticed her, but the minister had, and issued an order. “Go to the kitchen and ask for a tray and bring it here.”
The compulsion to turn and act confused saying, “Me?” rode high. However, her professionalism stopped her from the childish act. She almost laughed out loud. Her professionalism wasn’t stopping her from walking out on this gig.
With a new plan, she’d have the chef prepare the order and be gone before it was ready, so someone else would be required to carry it to the office. Aye, that sounded perfect.
Of course, her luck kept getting worse. The chef had anticipated his boss’s request. “It’s ready for you to deliver,” the man in a pristine white shirt stated. How did these people keep their clothing so clean and white?
Oh crap. Moira swiveled her head around, hoping to find someone—anyone—to cart the rather large tray to the minister’s office. After stints with Cassie at temp serving gigs, Moira knew she could tote it, but she had no desire to do so.
The chef passed her a sympathetic gaze. “They’re making beds upstairs. You’ll have to take it yourself.”
“But I just made the beds.” The cook didn’t deserve the indignation she’d inserted into her voice.
“Remaking.”
Moira closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. She’d taken those relaxing breaths one too many times today. Remaking beds. Another task gone arseways. Although, after today’s disaster, and Cassie abandoning her, her friend would have to work to regain her position as BFF. Once she caught up with Cassie….
She should just leave without this last task. Run away and not look back. Not even ask for her pay. But, her professionalism—that kept returning—and a curiosity, that’d typically gotten her in a jam over what type of conversation was occurring in the office, kept her there. Government leaders and a known criminal?
Maybe the leaders had a sting in process for Boyle. Wouldn’t that be cool to witness? That arrest would be worth the hellish day she’d spent cleaning. A slight eagerness crept into her that she knew she should ignore, but she didn’t always listen to reason—even from herself.
Before she turned away, the chef reached across the kitchen island and pulled something from an oddly out of place decorative box. “Here.”
Moira wanted to kiss him. Their phones. Although Cassie would be searching, she wouldn’t allow them to remain until her friend found them. Just in case. After accepting them, she dropped both mobiles in her apron pocket. “Thank you.”
“Before I could give them to your friend, she got caught by—”
“Let me guess,” Moira interrupted. “Miss Smellsalot.” She nearly slapped her hand over her mouth for the slip. These people worked together. Who knew? They could even be married or something.
The chef chuckled and nodded. “That’s a good one. Cassie rushed out of here without the phones.”
“Right.” With a brief nod to the chef as he turned away, Moira left the chef lover’s kitchen, wondering if Cassie planned to return for the phones or abandon them. That’d be the first thing she’d ask her when they met up for their late lunch. She hefted the tray and hoped this trip would be worth something more than a few minutes pay.
Close to her destination, Moira slowed her steps, her heart thudding loudly in her chest, and while excited something big might happen, fear drizzled down her spine. That made no sense to her. It was only delivering a tray of tea and light snacks. Sure, there were powerful people in the room, but that shouldn’t drive her emotions back and forth. Then it hit her. She worried about being caught earwigging. Well, she’d just have to be sneaky about it.
The office door stood open a crack, and she didn’t want to push her way through without permission. Plus, they’d probably quit talking when she entered.
Not willing to juggle a large tray full of afternoon tea on one arm so she could knock with the other, she lowered the tray to the carpet.
Knowing earwigging
