Page 7 of Until Ireland

I wished now that I’d wimped out, called Flame, and left a message for Mack, telling him something had come up and I had to cancel. Instead, here I stood, probably looking like an idiot, staring out over the restaurant, unable to move.

Suck it up, Ireland. Get your ass moving,I admonished myself.

I wasn’t a quitter. Which explained why every time I picked up the phone to call Flame this morning to decline, I’d hung up after the first ring. So, instead of concentrating on the nerves wreaking havoc on my body, I worked a full day then spent an obscene amount of time on my appearance, especially my hair, which I had a love-hate relationship with because,well duh, it was red. To my knowledge, no redhead truly loved the color of their hair. I’d done it with lots of long soft curls, piled it up, and then expertly pinned it on top of my head. Paired with my dress and understated make-up, it screamed Hollywood starlet.

And I rocked the whole look.

Confidence and calm were the tones I was looking for—at least on the outside. On the inside, I’d be a hot freaking mess.

I also convinced myself this was a non-date. More of a business arrangement to talk shop, not hook up with my customer—I left that shit to Hunter and Landon.

Taking a deep breath, I held it for a moment or two, then let it out and started walking toward the main floor of the restaurant. A young woman dressed in black with a bright smile stood beside the entrance. I smiled back in greeting.

“Welcome to Flame. Please check-in at the hostess desk,” she said with a nod to where another woman stood behind a steel and glass podium.

“Thank you,” I murmured, continuing to where the hostess waited.

“Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

I shook my head because I didn’t. Mack said to meet him there. Since he owned this fine dining establishment, why would I need one? “No.” I fished through my clutch, trying to find the card Mack gave me.

“I’m sorry,” she stated. “At this time, we’re only doing reservations.”

“I’m meeting Mr. Redman,” I replied, trying to keep the nervous edge out of my tone. “He’s expecting me.”

The woman behind the desk cocked a brow and narrowed her eyes. “And your name?”

I couldn’t help but shiver at her icy glare and uppity tone. “Ireland Banks.” I could have been a bitch about it, but I chose to disregard the sudden attitude the other woman was throwing at me.

She hit earpiece in her ear and spoke softly into a mic that rested near her cheek. With a nod of her head, her attention turned back to me. “Mr. Redman is currently dealing with an urgent and unexpected issue at this time. He’s requested you head to the bar.” She gestured to the left where the bar must be, separate from the main restaurant. “Wait for him there.” Her cold professional tone rankled my already tattered nerves.

Again, the tirade I’d bit back seconds ago sat on the tip of my tongue. As far as first impressions were going, I’d done a shit job yesterday, and if I snapped at the girl for doing her job, well, I’d have to give myself two strikes. So, I bit back the string of curses and smiled before saying, “Thank you.”

I strolled through the restaurant, taking in the modern decor, surprised by how understated the place was—until I saw the bar area. I gasped. Soft multicolored lights bounced off the burnt gold shelving unit and gleamed off the glass counter. The back of the shelves had been done in stained-glass windowpanes, and the multicolored lights were actually the reflection of white light shining through the glass. The seats around the bar appeared luxurious and done in a plush red, maybe crushed velvet from where I stood anyway.

High-top tables littered the floor, and I recognized a couple of people who were sitting at them. They’d been our repeat customers. I couldn’t tell you their names to save my life, but I could tell you what type of car they drove and how well they took care of those vehicles.

It was a gift.

And a curse.

When I sat at the bar, a hum of appreciation slipped from my lips. The cushion was comfortable and warm.

Then I glanced down at the bar itself.

It was a work of art all on its own.

The same types of glass panes were filled like a cross between an art deco jewelry box and a fancy curio cabinet, showcasing everything below the surface. Glass inserts with small lights on the bottom created an opaque white shine with mirrors on either side, reflecting an eclectic array of odd items. The bar gave the area a whimsical feel, which utterly captivated me.

“Welcome to Flame,” the bartender said, placing a fancy coaster with a small phoenix emblazoned in the bottom corner in front of me. “My name is Oscar, and it’ll be my pleasure to serve you tonight. First time here?” His grin said he already knew the answer.

I smiled back. “How can you tell?”

He chuckled. “The stunned look on your face. All our new customers get it when they have a seat at the bar for the first time.”

I glanced up at him and replied, “It’s beautiful.”

He laughed. I suspected, for him, the bar had lost its sparkle after seeing it all the time. “Sure enough.”

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