The Player and the Pixie(11)

With that he surprised me by offering his arm, like a gentleman, and we began the short walk to the restaurant. I was struck by the unexpectedness of the situation, but hey, sometimes the best things came from the unexpected.

There was a minute or two of quiet before Sean spoke, “So, is it an adrenaline thing? Or do you really not have enough money for whatever it is you took?” He glanced at me, seeming genuinely interested.

“Can we not talk about this?” Already the buzz of stealing had faded as guilt and shame rose to the fore. Would that shop assistant be punished for what I took? Perhaps I could return tomorrow and buy a bunch of makeup. Those sorts of jobs worked on commission, right? I bit my lip, worrying over it.

Sean shot me a sideways grin, not letting the subject drop. “But the psychology of the whole thing fascinates me. I mean, here you have the sister of a very wealthy rugby star stealing trinkets and baubles for her own entertainment. It’d make one hell of a headline for the red tops.”

I stopped walking immediately, threw myself in front of him and placed my hands on his stocky chest. Unable to help the desperation in my voice, I pleaded, “Sean.” I paused, making an effort to summon some calm, and failing. “P-please don’t sell this story to a newspaper. I know you hate my brother, and he’s hardly your biggest fan, but this would humiliate my entire family and I’m already such a disappointment to my mother as it is.”

He swallowed, something like understanding in his eyes as he took me in. “I have no plans to do so,” he said, appearing uncomfortable for a brief second while he cleared his throat. “Just as long as anything we talk about today stays between us. Agreed?” he continued stiffly. His earnestness took me by surprise.

I nodded, wondering what he might want to talk about. “Okay. I agree.”

By the time we reached the restaurant I was well and truly immersed in the bizarreness of the situation. I could just imagine the scene if Ronan and Annie happened to stop by for an impromptu dinner date and discovered me with Sean, slurping oysters like old pals.

Sean spoke with the maître d’ and before I knew it we were being ushered to a cozy table for two. I wasn’t a large woman, in fact, I’d always been slight. Waifish, was what Mam liked to call it. However, I found myself a little pushed for space sitting across from Sean. The toes of his shoes bumped awkwardly into mine and I pulled my feet under my chair to avoid a second encounter.

The table would have been large enough for two if I’d been with anyone other than Sean Cassidy.

Scanning the menu, my mouth practically watered at the options, but unlike I’d threatened, I didn’t order the most expensive thing. It was too much of a dick move and Sean was being unexpectedly pleasant. So long as he treated me with respect, I’d treat him with respect in return.

After we’d both placed our orders, Sean leaned in and rested his elbows on the table, clasping his hands beneath his chin. He nodded to my handbag, a multi-colored, handwoven satchel I’d picked up in the East Village in New York.

“So, let’s see what you took,” he said, his eyes scanning the satchel. “That bag is atrocious, by the way. You should allow me to buy you something less gaudy.”

And there he went showing his true colors. I stuck my chin out and smiled, not letting him get to me. “I’m gaudy? Says the man who has poor taste in, well, everything.”

His eyebrows, which were several shades darker than his blond hair, shot up in surprise. Normally I lived my life by the mantra, kill them with kindness. But it was hard to be kind to Sean Cassidy, especially since he had a knack for offending people before he even opened his mouth.

Remind me again why I agreed to have dinner with him?

Oh yes, because I was a naïve fool, easily charmed by a handsome smile and a few brief minutes of false chivalry.

Now Sean sat back, folding his arms as he met my gaze. “Explain.”

Ha! I could win this argument with less than one sentence. “Brona O’Shea.”

I swear, if I had a mic I’d drop it. Sean’s lips tightened, his eyes narrowed, and I loved his annoyed reaction.

“What? Did I hit a nerve?” I was nearly giggling, enjoying his discomfort far too much.

“If my agreement with Brona proves my poor taste, then your brother also has poor taste by association.”

“Ronan doesn’t have poor taste, he’s just prone to bad judgment. It’s a family trait, which explains why I’m sitting here with you right now.”

Sean’s mouth began to curve in a smile. “If I’d known you were this much fun, I’d have forced you into having dinner with me years ago.”