Page 12 of Stick to the Plan
Colin
Ilet myself into Brianna’s house with the spare key she gave me. We picked up a rental car earlier in the week, too, so I have the freedom to come and go. I look around as I walk through the silent house. Riley looks up from his bowl in the kitchen long enough to see it’s me, then returns to eating.
“Sorry to disturb your dinner, Mr. Riley. Please carry on.” I grin at the pup and give him a mock bow.
It’s Friday night. We had a very productive week. The charts Brianna made projecting the potential profits from the generator are exciting. It’s early days yet, but this project has massive potential. And I want to celebrate. I drove around town until I found a pub that looked decent enough, but then decided I didn’t want to drink alone.
Two coworkers can go out for a pint after a product week, right? Nothing wrong with that. So what if one of them happens to be an irresistibly sexy brunette?
Yea - I don’t believe myself either.
I just want to spend more time with Brianna. She fascinates me. Something about her aloof, crisp nature makes me want to crack her shell open and see what’s hiding inside.
The silence of the house is heavy as I continue past the kitchen. I can see a few lamps glowing in the living room, but no sign of Brianna. Her car is here, so where is she?
Just as I wonder what to do next, I hear a phone ringing from her bedroom. Smiling to myself, I head to the right with long, determined strides. I hear her answer as I raise my hand to knock, but the sound of her voice freezes me in place.
“Hey! What’s up? Where are you?”
The efficient, brisk tone I’ve grown accustomed to is gone. She sounds happy. Who is she talking to?
“New York? When are you coming back? I miss you.” Disappointment creeps into her voice. She pauses, listening to the person on the other end, then releases a peal of bright laughter.
“You better bring me something pretty to make it up to me! God, I really wish you weren’t on this trip, Nic. I need you here now more than ever.”
Another pause. A heavy sigh. “Yea, that about sums it up.”
Another round of laughter. “I know, I love you too. It’ll be ok.”
My lungs burn and I release my breath, but my ribs still feel tight. Cautiously, I back away from her door. Retrace my steps to the front door, and to my rental car as quickly but quietly as possible. Of course she has a boyfriend - not that I care.
Well - I shouldn’t care, anyway. Not like anything can happen between us. It is inappropriate. Impractical. Impossible! Shite - why am I thinking in alliteration? Really convincing.
I find myself back at the pub. It is relatively empty for a weekend. The lighting is bright but not harsh. Walls of dark wood paneling coveredin vintage Guinness signs and black and white photos of Irish scenery surrounded three sides. Forest green leather booths line two walls, and a massive mahogany bar dominates the far wall.
Behind the bar stands a burly man cleaning glasses. Floor to ceiling mirrors behind him highlight shelves of whiskey and scotch, and large wooden beer tap handles. I can smell greasy chips and the distinctive tang of vinegar. A lively fiddle plays over the speakers. This place feels like a neighborhood pub back home.
I grab a stool near the end of the bar and order a pint. Looks like I’ll have that drink alone after all. Likely followed by a whiskey. Or three.
By the bottom of my pint, I’ve mostly convinced myself that it is for the best Brianna isn’t single. Sure. She is extraordinarily beautiful, intelligent, and unexpectedly funny. Any man would gravitate towards her. Those expressive navy eyes can make you forget your name. Groaning, I rub my eyebrows as if I can erase my thoughts.
The bartender approaches again; I notice his name tag just readshimself. He appears two decades older than me, and his thick Irish brogue comforts and reminds me of home. “What else can I get ye?”
“Jameson. Neat. Make it a double.”
He studies me as he pours the whiskey into a glass. “What does a lad like you have to look so down about? Must be a bonny lass.”
He pushes the thick glass across the bar top. I let out a dry laugh.
“Aye. Isn’t it always. I think I’ve met the woman of my dreams, literally. But there’s nothing to be done about it.” My lips twist into a grimace as I toss back the amber liquid and feel it burn down my throat before clacking the glass down heavily.
“Well then. If t’ere‘s not’in to be done, not’in to be done.”
He wipes the bar in front of me with a towel. I hunch over my whiskey, cupping the glass between my palms.
“It’s probably for the best. We are working together, and my boss is counting on me to make this a success.”
Another draw of the burning alcohol. Declan O’Toole, founder and CEO of Innovative Solutions, is so much more than my boss. He is my mentor and a surrogate father figure.
