Page 34 of Her Irish Boss

“There he is.” Cathal rubbed his hands together. “You need this, Brogan. Keep it low key. There's no reason you can't move on Selena and not let it interfere with your work. She doesn't seem like the type to try and sleep her way to the top. She's not Crissy.”

“No.”

“To which part?”

Brogan took a deep breath. “She's not the type. I keep trying to put her in that light, and it's not fair to her. I know it.” And, damn, he wanted to kiss her. Just once, give in to his urge to touch her without the fear that something bad would happen. He wanted to be selfish. Do something without thinking of the business first. Without thinking of what was best for his brothers.

And now, those same brothers, the ones who he'd walk away from Selena for, were pushing him straight into her arms. If anything bad happened now, it'd be on all of them.

Rian patted Brogan on the back. “Then go get her. It's a miracle the woman is still interested in you at this point; you are so hot and cold with her. I honestly thought the two of us were the last people on the earth that would put up with your moody ass, but for some reason, there she is. Fire her if you need to.”

“That's been suggested before. I don't want to fire her. She's incredible at her job in the dining room. She's taking on helping with the advertising in the mornings. She's really good at that, too. I never thought I'd end up wantingsomeone to share the load with running this place, but she and I fit together.”

“Fire her,” Cathal said, a smile already brightening his face. “Then hire her back in the morning.”

“I'm not sleeping with her. No matter what.” He snapped out, more for himself than for Cathal.

“Your call.” Cathal rose and pointed at Brogan's cell phone. “That fact remains that your woman needs someone tonight. If she's having to take care of her granny that way and was dealt a low blow, then she's sad.” He looked at his watch. “It's eight thirty. Plenty of time for you to swing by the store, pick up some wine, and take it over to her.”

“And you're the person that knows what I should do?”

Rian nodded. “Between the three of us, Cathal is definitely the best one for advice on women. He can lure them in and toss them back like he’s fishing for sea bass.”

“True.” But getting past his own rules seemed impossible. He'd known Selena for almost seven months, closely for two weeks. She was beautiful and sweet. Funny. One night. One kiss. She wasn't Crissy. He'd prove that to himself.

8

It'd been a while since he'd made a fool of himself. Brogan knocked lightly on Selena's apartment door and waited. He scanned the dark parking lot. He'd lived in Atlanta long enough to know there were worse places, shady areas of the town it wasn't safe to venture into after dark. The hair on the back of his arms stood up. Selena lived here. It was a step higher than a dump, really. Unsafe. He hated it.

He knocked again. Would she actually answer?

“Who is it? I'll call the cops.”

“Please don't.” He readjusted his grip on the wine as he heard several deadbolts and chains unlatching down the door. Her confused face appeared.

“Hi.” Lame opening, but he already doubted his sensibility for showing up unannounced.

And to do what?

He held up the wine. “Your text sounded like you might need some cheering up.”

She nodded, her eyes wide as she stepped back into her apartment.

“Is it alright I came over?” The insecurity rolling through his body didn't sit well. Only Selena made him feel that way. He couldn't separate it between the fear of rejection or the fear of making a big mistake when it came to trusting her—trusting his instinct. He would let down his guard, something he rarely did. He acknowledged that. But he had the wall built around him, keeping employees on one side, for a reason—a very sensible reason.

“Yes. Absolutely.” She smiled, and his muscles relaxed. “Sorry. I would never have thought you'd come over.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “And so late. You strike me as an early to bed, early to rise guy.”

“I am.” He scanned the small, cramped apartment. It wasn't dirty. Boxes of adult items, he guessed for her granny, were stacked in the corner. Selena's sneakers, the ones she wore when she worked, were underneath the coffee table.

Along with her flip flops. A few blankets and a pile of towels sat in one chair. And nothing matched. The furniture was old, maybe thirty or forty years.

“Did you bring that for me?” She tapped on the bottle.

“Yes. For us.” He searched her face. No make-up. No pretense.

“The kitchen is over here.” She turned and led the way. “I didn't think you drank. At least, I don't remember ever seeing you drink when your brothers do.”

He set the wine on the counter. “I don't. Typically.” He didn't like to lose control of himself. Enough embarrassing mornings after getting scuttered had developed the habit of only one or two drinks occasionally. But he needed one if he was going to keep pushing forward with Selena. He wanted to relax. Enjoy the moment.

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