Page 9 of Her Irish Boss

He whipped around, barely catching the door before it closed in Selena’s face. “Hi, there.” He glanced at his watch. Not too early, but 9:15 a.m. was incredibly early for her.

“I know. Sorry, I'm early.” Her eyes tracked down his body and back up. “You're not in a suit.” She blinked like she was shocked. “I can wait outside.”

He shook his head. “No. Come in. I just need to get cleaned up from the gym, is all. How did you manage to get here by 9:15 a.m.?”

“It seems that my mornings work a little better, leaving earlier.”

He wanted to ask, “Why,” but he kept the question to himself. That was her business. Not his. He pointed down to her feet. “You even have your shoes on.”

“I figured you'd notice. But you probably notice everything.” She sighed. “I'm too overwhelmed to remember anything without writing it down.” They stopped in the hallway between his office and the break room. “So, where do we start.”

“The shower.”

Her laugh was quick and loud. “I've already taken mine, but thanks for the invite.”

He winced. That was agreatway to keep everything professional. “No. Sorry. I meant I need to take a shower.” Now he was acting like an idiot. “If you want to you can do a walkthrough, double-check things. I won't be long.” A cold shower to clear his head.

“Sure thing.” She walked to her locker, her shoulder barely visible from the door to his office. He had to get his mind under control. Because in that one second, he pictured her in the shower.

With him.

Which would never happen. He'd have a lawsuit handed to him quicker than he could get lathered up for a shave.

He showered and shaved in record time, ready to go over the tedious paperwork, as his brothers called it, and distract himself from the pretty waitress currently walking through the dining room.

“I did the walk-through—” Selena's voice trailed off. She stood in the doorway. They weren't alone in the building any longer; the cook’s already prepping for the day in the kitchen, which was a good thing with the way her gaze held his.

“What is it?”

“You look different. Without a tie and your sleeves rolled up.”

He smiled. “I hate ties.”

She crossed her arms and leaned on the doorjamb. “Really? I would have thought you slept in a suit.”

“Not until I'm six feet under, I'm afraid.”

“Then why wear one?” She tilted her head to the side. “You run an Irish pub. And you're the boss. You make the rules.”

“I run a business.” And as a new kid out of college, no one took him seriously. The suit added an element of power that he leveraged. Still did. So did making rules and sticking to them.

She stood there, watching him. Thinking. He could tell when she thought hard about something because her lips pursed together and distracted the hell out of him.

“I still need something else to do.”

“Right.” He motioned to the seat across from him. “I was wondering how you were with a computer?”

“Decent.” She sat down in the seat he'd indicated. “Why?”

He turned a second, large monitor so she could see it too. “I need someone to go through the review sites. You know, the ones that the tourists use to figure out where to eat. We're trending fairly well, but I want to know what the overall thoughts are. Any simple improvements we can make. See if there's a pattern to what people like or dislike.”

She scowled. “You know some people are just plain cruel, right?”

“Yes. I do. Are you afraid I'll get my feelings hurt?”

She pursed her lips together for a moment. “Until I saw you this morning dressed like a normal person in gym clothes, I wasn't sure you had feelings.” She waved her hand in the air, her eyes wide. “Never mind. Pretend I didn't say that. Sorry, Mr. O'Keeley.”

“I asked you to call me Brogan.” And he had feelings. Far too many inappropriate ones aimed her way.

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