Dirty Beautiful Rich Part Four (3 page)

He, however, felt lower than scum. It was a new feeling. He’d done nothing in the years since his father’s death to regret. Nothing which might make him feel the skin coating sort of self disgust he felt right now.

He’d done the unthinkable. He’d let himself slip. It had never happened before. He cursed and slammed his palm against the shatterproof window. That was no excuse. He was supposed to have just taken Julie on as his lover, enjoyed her, helped her. Moved on. He was not supposed to feel like he was breathing in paradise when he had nestled his face in her dark hair. He was not supposed to feel suspended in midair when he kissed her. And he was damn well not supposed to feel as if he was plunging into an endless abyss as he took her home in the black night.

Julie Doyle had pried open the cage he’d locked around his heart.  And hearts were dangerous things. Wasn’t it his father’s heart what destroyed him?

He looked away from the gaudy night and paced over to his bed. He tried to sit but the moment he sat on the bed he jumped. The uncontrollable energy coiled in him was foreign. He couldn’t remember being wound tight like this, being on the point of fury. Not since he’d been a  boy and had a few incidences of rage. He thought he’d had those under tight rein. But now, he wasn’t sure. It was why he’d locked himself in his hotel room after the series of meetings.

He’d assumed that weeks of distance would make the way he’d left Julie easier. It had grown worse. The self-recriminations had grown more powerful, rife with self-derision. He was getting reports about her progress. Nothing else. He didn’t want to know anything personal. He had no right. But he’d been informed she was progressing with the history. He’d half hoped she’d headed back to America. He’d have paid her the full amount, of course. It was he who had stepped over the line, not she. He had failed
her
.

But in a surprising move of determination and pride, Julie had not abandoned her post.

Damian eyed his phone. He curled his palms into fists. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t. . . But even as he repeated the words in his head, he was stretching out his hand to the slim mobile. He picked up and said, “Call Grandmother.”

His grandmother did not have a mobile. But, to him, she was Castle Clare. The line rang four times and then picked up. To his surprise his Grandmother’s strong voice answered. He’d actually expected a servant to answer, not her. She was usually out with the dogs.

He paused for a moment, now feeling like a complete fool.

“Hello Damian,” she said.

He winced. Could she sense his guilty feelings across the thousands of miles between them? “Hello, grandmother.”

“How is Hong Kong?”

He gripped his phone and mentally cursed. Why had he called? Why? To torture himself? He’d never thought he was a masochist before. Clearly, he was. “Business is good.”

“Lovely. Are you sleeping?”

He stared at his bed. The massive bed that was so empty.

“Damian, you need to sleep.”

Once, he’d had to take pills to sleep. Those first years after his father’s death had been a hellish loop of images every night in the dark. “I’m sleeping fine.  Are you? More than four hours?”

There was a decided silence.

Insomnia seemed to run in the Fitzgerald clan.

He swallowed. “How are the dogs?”

When things were off, the safest way to bring things back to center was to ask about her closest friends.

“Damian, you know full well they’re fine. Ask what you wish.”

He ground his teeth down. Why he’d expected any different was just a sign that he was descending into chaos. His grandmother never danced about the truth. “How is she?”

“Your mother?”

He scowled. “No.”

“Who then?”

He was silent. Was his grandmother really playing this game with him? Of course she was. She’d taught him everything he knew about getting to the source of a person’s weakness.

“Julie,” he said.

“She’s going up to Dublin tomorrow to meet them then they’ll come back to the castle after a few days in the city.’

“Oh?” His heart started to pound. Why was she going to Dublin? Research. Surely, that was it. Or perhaps to sightsee.

“Yes. Her friends Kat and Stella are meeting her. I’ve taken the liberty to book a suite at the Shelbourne. A view of St. Stephen’s Green, of course. She needs a few nights out.”

He knew the Shelbourne well and the infamous Horseshoe bar. The cheapest champagne was thirty euros a glass and there more than enough men sat, waiting to buy a woman a drink. It was a high class, high drinking kind of place. And his grandmother had to be the author of all this.

“I see,” he said tightly.

“Good,” she replied. “Julie needs a bit of fun.”

“You said that already.”

“Well, I meant it. She’s worked very hard. Too hard.”

He fought a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. The words were another recrimination. Another reason to hate himself. “I’m not surprised.”

“Are you coming home soon?”

“No.”

“Well then. . .” His grandmother paused then said with a forced brightness, “She’s working out quite well, so you needn’t worry.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” Jesus. Was he indeed having such a mundane conversation? A conversation dancing over a land mine?

“If that’s all?”

“Grandmother?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the devil.”

There was a pause then a soft laugh. “Of course, I am, darling boy. I’ll see you soon.”

“I’m not coming home,” he said firmly.

There was another pause. “Good night, Damian.”

Then he heard the soft click of the receiver.

He stared at his phone and fought the urge to throw it. He never should have called. Why hadn’t he been able to resist?

He wasn’t going to go home.

Not just because Julie was heading to Dublin to meet her friends. Three Americans in Dublin. In Temple Bar., the most famous district of the city. Doing what all American tourists did. Get completely drunk and swoon over musicians.

Julie had every right to find some Irish lad to make her smile.

His hand tightened about the phone.

He had no right to feel like this. Like he was going to rip to shreds any man who looked at her. If she was with Kat and Stella they’d no doubt encourage her to forget him, bastard that he was. They’d also be in the right.

No. He wasn’t going home. If he stayed away, Julie would move on, find a new man, and it sounded like she was doing just fine without him. His grandmother wouldn’t have lied about that. If she’d been pouting about the castle, his grandmother would have said so. Apparently, Julie was doing just what he had hoped. Discovering her own worth.

Damian drew in a deep breath then stared at the plush pillows. He should stretch out on the bed. He should try to sleep. After all, he had an early meeting. Without another thought, he hit the speed dial on his phone.

A groggy voice answered, “Sir?”

“Drink a coffee, O’Donnel. I’ll see you on the tarmac in a half an hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

Damain shoved his phone in his pants pocket and slung on his jacket. He didn’t bother with the clothes in his closet and drawers. He didn’t bother with anything. He simply headed straight for the door.

To hell with his resolve, Julie Doyle was waiting for him whether she knew it or not. She was his heroin and there was no way he could go another day without a fix. His period of abstinence was about to end. Falling off the wagon, was going to be torturously sweet. And there was no point in denying it.

***

J
ulie couldn’t stop herself form pressing her face against the Bentley’s passenger window. 

Dublin was insane. The traffic was terrifying! Were there no rules? Did people just walk wherever they wanted? Her heart was racing but really even that hadn’t mattered the minute they passed Trinity College, passed the Bank of Ireland and headed towards St. Stephen’s Green. The Georgian buildings were so beautiful it nearly hurt. It was a city trapped in time, only made present by the hundreds of taxis, blue and yellow passenger busses, and the people walking down the wide sidewalks. Almost everyone had phones in hand or headphones in their ears.

O’Neil pulled up in front of a wrought iron canopy and a doorman, dressed in a beautiful and elaborate suit opened her door.

She swallowed. Ever since she’d met Damian, even though he was gone now, she was experiencing first after first. She’d never stayed at a place like the Shelbourne.

A white gloved hand reached toward her. “Madam?”

She took it and allowed the doorman to help her.

A bellboy was already taking her bag out of the trunk.

O’Neil, glanced at her through the window and gave her a quick wink.

A wink. She smiled. She should be annoyed with him, but because of his loose tongue, she was going to see her friends.

She headed down the carpeted bit of pavement, up the steps and into the spacious foyer. To her right was a beautiful lounge filled with elegant women drinking coffee and tea. To her left, surprisingly noise chatter was coming from what appeared to be a massive bar.

Before her was a gorgeous set of stairs.

It was a stunning hotel, the kind of place she’d never been able to go into except for maybe a quick drink. Even then, she’d have felt out of place in her cheap cocktail dress and inability to buy more than one outrageously priced cocktail. 

“Julie!”

Julie spun around at the sound of Kat’s voice.

It came from the bar.

And there was Kat siting at a table surrounded by three young men.

The sight was so overwhelmingly right that Julie felt tears sting in her eyes.

Kat sprang from her chair and raced across the marble floor, arms out wide.

Julie braced herself then wrapped her arms around Kat as her tiny friend barreled into her. They squeezed and squealed, then squeezed again,

“Where’s Stella?”

“Taking a nap. I couldn’t sleep. I mean how could I? It’s my first time abroad and these fine young men, she gestured to her table, are all giving me lessons on Irish etiquette.”

Julie laughed. Trust Kat.

“Join us.”

It was tempting to sneak up to the room to join Stella, but she was on a mission. She wasn’t going to allow herself to hide anymore. Life was way too short and well, she needed to have a bit of fun with her new freedom. “Okay.”

She headed into the beautiful bar with all its marble and chandeliers, arm and arm with her friend.

Kat was drinking a Bloody Mary.

The three guys were drinking pints of various colored beers or lagers.

A dark haired fellow with a scruffy beard pulled her up a chair. “What’ll you have love?”

She pursed her lips. She had no idea.

“Sex in the City!” One of the men proclaimed. “Aren’t American girls all supposed to drink cosmos?”

“She’s drinking a Bloody Mary.”

“But you remind me of Carrie. A writer. You’re a writer aren’t you?”

One, she wondered how he knew about Carrie drinking Cosmos and being a writer and two, she had no idea how he could ever be reminded of Sarah Jessica Parker when he looked at her. But she laughed anyway. “Sounds great.”

“Grand.” He jumped up and headed towards the bar.

The men were all nicely if casually dressed. Not slicked suited types at all. “Are you all from Dublin?

One of the men let out a mocking puff of air. “Never. We’re all Belfast lads.” He clapped his hand on the shoulder of the man sitting next to him. “It’s Fion’s birthday and we’re to mourn his lost youth.

“Right then, I’m not quite a candidate for the old folks’ home.”

“Not yet. But soon you’ll be taking your pension.”

Not a one of them could have been over thirty.

The man who’d gone to get her drink, came back cradling the cocktail glass with as much care as one might use for a newborn.

He slipped it before her. “Mustn’t waste a drop.”

She leaned forward and took a sip. Her tongue burst with the fresh lime and the deliciousness of the drink.

“So, these fine fellows were telling me about a club,” Kat said suddenly.

“Yes. You must join us.”

Julie fought a groan. Kat loved clubs. She didn’t. She
still
didn’t. “Uhhuh.”

“If you come and just dance one dance with Fion here, you’ll keep him from looking a total tosser.”

Fion who was actually exceptionally handsome smiled. “It can’t be helped. But I’d love  a dance.”

Julie stopped herself from squirming in her seat. Fion was everything that Damian wasn’t. Blond, tall, but built like a swimmer and he had the soft blue eyes of a poet. Maybe he was just the thing. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Grand. That’s that then. Now let’s have another drink.”

Julie laughed. “I’m not done with this one.”

“You’re behind, try to keep up love. No one likes a straggler.”

A real laugh bubbled form her. They were so silly. So lighthearted. Like they were ready to take on life and just have a good time. If she had to guess, there wasn’t a dark secret amongst them.

Yes. They were exactly what she needed. Trust Kat to have found them.

Chapter 4

Julie had never bought a dress that had cost more than seventy-five dollars. Sure, she stared at pictures on Pinterest and even browsed at the Cherry Creek Mall, daring to enter the hallowed halls of Neiman Marcus aka Needless Mark Ups.

But now?

She wanted to do a dance for joy but felt like the assistants would be stunned.

Brown Thomas was the Saks Fifth Avenue of Dublin, right on Grafton street and she, Stella, and Kat had all sashayed in and ridden the escalators up to the trendy young women’s department.

The moment they’d declared that they were buying cocktail dresses, glasses of champagne had been shoved in their hands and they’d been ushered into a fitting room. Two female assistants with fabulously thick Irish accents were bringing in dress after dress.

Kat had on a glittery purple number. It was so short that if she bent or knelt, the whole world would be getting a peep show extraordinaire.

Julie grinned and stroked the black satin of a simple, stunning Audrey Hepburn dress. She’d look horrible in it. She knew that. Pencil dresses were for Stella. But she could still admire the fabric and the cut.