“What’s so funny this time?” Cassie asked, as her eyes remained fixed on her phone and, most likely, social media. Whereas Moira would rather read a romance novel on her cellphone.
“Listen to this.” She read out loud, “He swooped her into his arms and took the steps three at a time.” Moira stopped and looked up at Cassie. “Now”—she emphasized the word— “she just went into labor. I don’t know about you, but three steps at a time? I mean, come on. She couldn’t be light at nine months pregnant. What man can actually do that?”
Cassie sighed, as if Moira were a child being told the same thing for the hundredth time. “It’s fiction, Moira.”
“Aw, sure look it—” After dropping into slang, she sighed, knowing the truth in Cassie’s statement. “—it just makes mortal men fall short of these expectations.” She bookmarked the page on her Kindle reading app, the hunky Highland laird forgotten. “Speaking of impressive men, is Quinn working today?”
Although he came from old money and didn’t need to work, Quinn Murphy—Cassie’s fiancé—held the position of Junior Minister to Elizabeth Donnelly, Minister for Justice and Equality. It was part of the reason she and Cassie were working today, instead of enjoying the beautiful sunshine.
“No. Minister Donnelly has him doing last minute errands, so she can be fresh for the dinner tonight.”
The way Quinn had told it, the minister couldn’t function without him by her side. Moira had known it was to make himself seem more important than he was, but she let it go for her friend. “I’d have thought you’d accompany him to the dinner.”
Cassie shrugged her indifference. “He said he’d be busy networking for his boss, and, frankly, I didn’t want to go, so we agreed I wouldn’t.” A secretive smile touched her lips. “He’s so considerate.”
Moira was happy for her friend. She was. Really. Okay, maybe a bit jealous. Moira only wanted the best for her. Quinn Murphy made Cassie happy. He tended to make everyone around him happy. His charisma was to die for. It never took long for him to turn a frown into a smile, and even a laugh. Moira envied that bit of personality in him.
Of course, his money didn’t hurt Cassie’s happiness. Not that her friend wanted Quinn for his money, but it did allow Cassie to pursue her love of creating jewelry.
Moira reached her hand up and rubbed the amber pendant, in a unique Celtic setting, between her fingers. Cassie told her that it resembled Moira’s life—deceptively unique. She’d bristled when Cassie had used the term deceptively, but she’d allowed an explanation.
“It’s not that you try to deceive people, but you never let people see the uniqueness inside you. The woman who hurts along with the laughs and smiles you easily bestow.” Cassie’s expression had changed to one of concern. “You deserve to be this happy inside, Moira. Don’t hide behind the free-living woman and pass up the best thing that ever happened to you. You avoid things that might upset you, and getting hurt is one of those things. But, you have to let a man see”—she’d pointed her finger at Moira— “inside you. To the real you.”
Why did all happily-in-love people want that same joy for everyone else? Casual relationships worked perfect for Moira. As an ealaíontóir—artist—when her muse struck, the world outside ceased to exist. Most of the men she dated—even her friends for that matter, Cassie excluded—didn’t understand that. So, when Moira would disappear for days at a time with her phone and social media off, she’d lose whatever ground she’d gained in a new relationship. Which she appreciated, as it told her the man’s priorities up front. If he could wait it out, he might be a keeper.
None had waited it out.
As for long-term relationships, she guessed if she had that deep love for a man that Cassie had for Quinn, she might… might, consider something more. But only if he didn’t make her pick between him and her ealaín—her art. She’d never lose that part of herself.
“What are you girls doing?” The sharp female voice startled her, and Moira almost dropped her phone. Obviously, their break on this temp job had ended.
The strong scent of garlic burned her nostrils, and she scrunched her nose to fight off the heavy odor. The báire tí was the worst housekeeper taskmaster, and no matter how much effort Moira or Cassie put into shining, dusting, or cleaning, they had to redo the work as their efforts never passed muster. It was a brutal job.
Yet, they’d stayed to clean this house. Nay, not house. Mansion, or teach. Mostly because Cassie wanted the place to look great for Quinn’s working dinner.
With a heavy accent, the mean woman—Moira hadn’t cared to remember the woman’s name—nearly growled, “What are those?” She reached out a beefy arm and Moira automatically took a small step back. Why had the woman asked if she obviously knew what she and Cassie held? “Hand them here. You know they aren’t allowed.”
Anger rose within Moira. Under her breath, she cursed the woman with the best Irish Gaelic her grandmother had taught her. Sure, the employers of the temp agency had stated mobile phones weren’t allowed on the job, especially in the minister’s home, but she’d be damned if she’d surrender it, especially to this woman. The phone held her life. Losing it would be devastating. Heck, she didn’t even remember her brother’s phone number. She hoped she never got arrested and had her phone taken away. She’d be in a world of hurt trying to find people’s phone numbers or remembering the password to her cloud account where they’d be stored.
Moira’s gaze slid to Cassie in an effort to gauge her friend’s reaction. Moira had only taken this gig because Cassie had asked her to work with her. If only her friend’s jewelry making business would take off, Cassie wouldn’t need this job. But Moira knew that Cassie
