“Miss Niarchos will see you now.”
Aidan Murphy stood, buttoning his suit coat and smoothing his tie. Wearing a suit again felt a bit surreal after so long without it. At one time, it had been like a second skin to him. Then his world fell apart and the way he lived his life changed forever. A bartender had no need for fancy suits and silk ties. A bartender at Murphy’s Irish Pub would be looked at with suspicion by its regular clientele if they walked in wearing this monkey suit.
But today wasn’t about Murphy’s or the life Aidan lived now or five years ago. Today was about his deceased parents, a deathbed promise and the halfway house he needed to open to honor their memory.
Losing both his parents within a few years of each other had left him things he’d never anticipated—primarily a struggling Irish pub in Manhattan and a huge house in the East Bronx. As a former advertising executive with a degree in marketing, he had enough business savvy to get the bar back up and running, but he had no interest in a house that far away or frankly, that big. He just wasn’t ready to part with his childhood home quite so soon after losing them, too.
His parents had bought the place to house the large Irish Catholic family they’d hoped to someday have together and never did. The house itself was paid for, but even if he wanted to sell it, it wouldn’t be so easy. The neighborhood was declining and even the rental market there was soft. His mother had known that and urged him to keep it and use the property as a transitional home for alcoholics leaving in-house rehabilitation programs. After dealing with his father’s alcoholism, she’d known that a transitional home was the one thing he had always needed after his trips to rehab, but never had, usually sending him right back to the bottle within a few weeks.
That was where the Niarchos Foundation came in, as much as he hated the idea of asking anyone—especially entitled rich people—for help. Unfortunately Aidan needed money to make his mom’s dream a reality. Lots of money. And his personal cash reserves were long gone thanks to his drunken father’s poor business practices. So here he was, applying for a grant from the foundation against his better judgment. Somehow that sounded better than begging for money.
He opened the door to the foreboding office and held his breath. It was now or never. Hopefully Miss Niarchos would be susceptible to his charms. He’d found that a smile and a little light flirting could get him what he needed from most ladies. He tried not to abuse his powers, but today, it would make this whole process easier.
Aidan stepped across the threshold into the brightly decorated space and stopped short when his gaze narrowed in on the dark, exotic eyes of the woman who’d vanished from his life well over a year ago. All thoughts of charming the foundation administrator faded as he realized who she was.
Violet.
Violet Niarchos, apparently, although full names had never been a topic of conversation during the short time they were together. If they had, perhaps he would’ve been able to track down his elusive beauty after she disappeared without a trace.
Before Aidan could say hello, he stopped himself. The blank expression on Violet’s face was disconcerting. There wasn’t a flicker of recognition as she looked at him, like he was just another person coming to her for the support of her foundation, not a man she’d made love to. Obviously the experience had made a bigger impression on him than he had on her.
“Violet?” he asked, just to prove to himself that he was talking to the right woman. He would’ve sworn it was her, but time could distort the memory. The woman in front of him was more beautiful than even he recalled, and he wouldn’t have thought that possible.
“Yes,” she replied, standing up and rounding her desk to greet him in a stiff, formal way. She was wearing a lavender silk blouse with a gray pencil skirt, stockings and conservative but attractive gray pumps. There were gray pearls on her ears and a matching strand around her throat. This version of Violet was far more proper and dignified than the one that had stumbled into his bar that night.
“You don’t recognize me,” he said, stating the obvious. “I’m Aidan. We met at Murphy’s Pub about a year and a half ago.”
The delicate porcelain of her face suddenly cracked. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes widened and her dark pink lips parted with surprise. It seemed she’d finally pieced together who he was. “Oh my God,” she said, bringing her hands to cover her nose and mouth.
Aidan tried not to outwardly panic as tears started to glitter in her eyes, but inside, he was twisted into knots. In all the nights he’d lain in bed wondering what had happened to her, why she’d never come by the bar, imagining what it would be like to see her again...he’d never anticipated tears. He hadn’t done anything to her that would warrant tears.
Had he?
After all, she was the one who walked out of his life, vanishing in the early hours of the morning like a ghost he’d started to think he’d imagined. If he wasn’t a teetotaler he’d worry she had been a drunken delusion. She’d felt like one. No real woman could’ve affected him, touched him, the way Violet had.
If it hadn’t been for the taste of her still lingering on his lips and the torn lace panties left behind on his bedroom floor, he might have believed she wasn’t real.
“Aidan,” she said in a hushed whisper, almost as though she was speaking to someone other than him. A moment later, the tears started spilling onto her cheeks.
He fought the urge to rush over and wrap her delicate frame in his protective embrace. He didn’t want to see her cry, especially not at the mere sight of him. But something about the way she eyed Aidan gave him pause. It was probably regret. From the looks of her, Violet was a pretty posh lady. It was likely that she’d forgotten about her two-day tryst with the hot bartender and now that he was standing in her office, she was having to cope with the embarrassment she felt for stooping so low. Otherwise she wouldn’t be crying or looking as though she wanted to escape from her pleasant and comfortable office through the nearby window.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
His words seemed to snap her out of her emotional state. She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned away for a moment to compose herself. “Yes, of course,” she said, although he didn’t believe her. She turned back, all polite smiles. “I’m sorry. I just...”
She thrust out her hand to shake his. He accepted it, feeling the familiar tingle dance across his skin. Touching her that first night had set his nervous system ablaze and that hadn’t changed. The tension in her grip was new, though. It didn’t lessen as he touched her. In fact, her hand grew stiffer until she finally pulled away and gestured toward the nearby guest chair.
“Please sit down. We have a lot to discuss.”
Aidan took a seat across from her with the massive cherrywood desk separating them. The chair was more comfortable than he expected, the whole office being more an extension of the woman he remembered than the one fidgeting with her paperwork at the moment. It wasn’t the typical, sterile business office. There was a seating area with plush chairs and colorful fabrics. The walls had bright pieces of art and photographs of beautiful locations with white buildings against turquoise-blue waters. Where was the woman who decorated this office? The one who strolled into Murphy’s Pub looking for something and someone to help her forget her troubles?
“Before
