Moira made a decent living as an artist, but she squirreled most of it away like her parents had taught her. “For an unknown emergency” her mam had always said with a tone that made Moira think her parents had experienced at least one emergency. She’d also taught Moira that people were fickle and her art could be hot one day and hard to sell the next. Over the years, the pain in her heart at the loss of her parents had lessened, but she didn’t imagine it would ever go away.
If only Cassie and her hot-and-heavy fiancé would marry already. When Quinn gazed at Cassie, the love radiating from his eyes warmed even Moira’s heart.
Moira was disappointed Cassie didn’t say, “Screw this. Let’s go,” to the báire tí. The pay would be nice but not necessary this month.
“Fine.” Cassie handed her phone to the mean woman, although her voice held disdain that went ignored by its intended recipient. She looked at Moira as if pleading with her to behave.
Incredulous and still smarting at Cassie’s caving, Moira almost walked away, but wouldn’t do that to her friend since Cassie had recommended her. With a huff that she didn’t care could be overheard, she stretched out her arm and reluctantly dropped her phone into the housekeeper’s large hand. Now wasn’t the time to kick herself for never resetting the password from the factory setting.
After pocketing the phones in her pristine white apron, the báire tí pointed at Cassie. “You, dust the shelves and artwork in the front entry.” Her eyes squinted as if giving the evil eye, which only made Moira want to laugh since she looked like a pig snorting instead. “Don’t break anything.”
“You,”—she hadn’t needed to point at Moira as it’d been obvious in her tone who the woman spoke to— “upstairs. Help the real maid change the sheets in the guests’ rooms.” The housekeeper turned, and Moira felt like giving her a salute and then the finger. She hadn’t done that since… well, she couldn’t remember when, but this woman brought out this behavior.
As the housekeeper hurried away, she mumbled under her breath. Moira caught the words “falsa” and “míbhuíoch” in her grating tone.
Standing in place, Cassie asked, “Did she just call us lazy?”
Nodding, Moira took a step toward the large mahogany staircase. “Not only lazy but ungrateful.”
“She’s such a wagon.”
Although always trying to find the good in people, Moira wholeheartedly agreed, but, in this case, she’d straight up say bitch versus wagon. On many occasions, she had been dubbed a happy-go-lucky person. Or a “free spirit.” Since the labels fit, she’d never argued. Today tested even her bright side.
After two hours of making beds and straightening rooms, Moira decided she’d find Cassie and see if they could leave. Muscles that hadn’t worked this hard in a long time ached with overuse. It didn’t matter if she spent all the earnings from the hours they worked on a much-needed massage, or two. A pleasure-filled groan slipped from her lips at the thought of her favorite masseur, Ryan’s, magical hands rubbing her body down. If she’d had her phone, she’d have scheduled herself for his next available appointment.
Damn and double damn the woman. Stopping at the top of the staircase, she mentally told herself, Think happy thoughts. She took a deep breath and held it until her chest burned. Slowly, she released the air from her lungs and relaxation slid down her body from her the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Okay, her feet still hurt. If only she’d been allowed to wear her tennis shoes….
Glancing downstairs, she didn’t see Cassie. Taking the steps slowly—as if her godawful mule shoes would make noise—she searched for the báire tí, then her friend. Although, her goal was to find Cassie and avoid the báire tí.
Passing through the dining room, she stopped and gawked for a moment. Elizabeth Donnelly—the Minister of Justice and Equality—had pulled out all the stops for the dinner party. Crystal and silver glistened on the table that sat—she counted chairs—thirty. Decorated with Easter lilies, which weren’t in season, touched off the elegance of the room with their semblance of peace and hope for the future. A plain white tablecloth and white covers over the chairs didn’t detract from the overall appearance. The only exception to the classiness of the table was the scattering of shamrocks along the center of the table that screamed “this is Ireland.” To her, they were technically the only classy thing on the table. The rest was just dressing.
She’d learned this event had something to do with a zero-tolerance program the gardai, Ireland’s police force, and the minister planned to roll out. The Assistant Commissioner of the Dublin Region of the gardai would attend, so it seemed a done deal. The police and the politician. Even Moira, who didn’t keep up with politics, knew Minister Donnelly was positioning herself for the role of President, which would become vacant in one year. Moira had no idea if she’d vote for the woman or not.
If the minister could achieve the set goal on drugs—which Moira highly doubted since “zero” prefixed it—she’d definitely consider voting for the minister. But Moira didn’t have her hopes up, so when it came down to right before voting, Moira would listen and read, then ask her brother. Only once had she abstained from voting. She couldn’t decide which candidate was less of an idiot.
Shrugging, she continued on her search for Cassie. The size of the teach had created a challenge, as she and Cassie got lost at the get-go. Turning a corner, she almost smacked into her friend. Before Cassie could speak, Moira rushed out, “I know you want this to look good for Quinn, but do you really need
