Page 27 of Fallen Hearts

As she and Cole talked, I imagined myself strolling the docks of Newport with her. This time of year would be chilly, so we’d duck inside for clam chowder and a drink.

Where the fuck had that come from?

Also, I was tired of my friends monopolizing her.

“Do you like to dance?”

The live bands on weekends were a definite benefit of coming to O’Malley’s. This one was pretty good too.

“I do.”

“Good. Come on.”

Without giving her a chance to say no, I headed to the dance floor. To say Pia looked surprised when she joined me was an understatement.

“You… dance?”

“I do.”

There wasn’t much of a dance floor but tables had been cleared out to make one. Though it was too loud to talk, we danced two songs before Pia made a drinking motion. I wasn’t ready to get back to the boys, so when we stepped off the dance floor, I said, “I’ll grab our drinks,” as Pia leaned against a narrow counter against the wall to listen to the band.

“Oh, look who’s back.”

Ignoring Parker, I grabbed our drinks and headed back to Pia. There was a 100 percent chance I’d catch major hell for this later. But that was one of the benefits to seeing some of the things I had, both on the streets of New York City and during my deployments… very little truly fazed me.

“Here you go,” I said, handing Pia her vodka soda. “You seemed to be enjoying the band.”

Not that she couldn’t enjoy it from the bar. O’Malley’s wasn’t that big of a place. But still.

“Thanks. They’re really good. Do they play here a lot?”

“Pretty regularly,” I said, taking a long swig of beer just as the band took a break. O’Malley’s had crap whiskey, so beer it was.

“So,” I said. “Who’s Richard Sterling?”

Pia startled. “Oh, my mother’s call,” she said, recalling how I knew the name. “He’s my old boss.”

I wouldn’t mention that I thought he might be an old boyfriend. There seemed to be a lot of me caring about things I shouldn’t going around tonight.

“I assume your new one is better?” I asked.

“Mmm, he started out a bit rough,” she said, turning fully toward me.

“I won’t argue with you on that one.”

“As if you could. But yes, much better. Richard was the owner of a luxury resort where I’d worked my way up to Assistant Director of Guest Experience. Despite glowing reviews from my team, and even one from Richard that said, and I quote, ‘Pia has developed a reputation for attention to detail and creativity with the ability to create memorable experiences for guests,’ I was passed up for the director position.”

“You memorized his review?”

“Word for word.”

“Why do you think you got passed up?”

“Easy. There was another guy below me who smoked the same kind of cigars and played golf with Richard. Didn’t seem to matter that he had multiple complaints filed against him by guests or that he was wholly unqualified for the position.”

“Well, at least you’re not bitter about it,” I teased.

“Not even a little. And I certainly didn’t take this job just to turn Heritage Hill around as a challenge to myself. I have nothing to prove.”

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