Holiday for HIre(8)
Just enough to narrow down his online identity and look at an image would be plenty .
“Okay, well…huh. It’s kind of weird to just monologue about yourself, you know what I mean? But, uh, my name is Ian Shane Brooks, and I’m a born-and-bred Southie .”
Her fingers were already flying over the keys. Here . Here he was .
“I was going to community college when Ma passed, so I moved back home to help out. My dad was a firefighter, but he got hurt pretty bad—back injury. So it made more sense for me to come help with the twins than to keep taking classes. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do, so I was just taking electives and wasting time and money anyway .
“The boys just started high school, though, and Dad’s dating pretty seriously, so I’m finding myself at loose ends. I can’t afford my old neighborhood anymore, not when I’m helping with the family house already, and splitting an apartment with two co-workers sucks. Pardon my language, Jane, but I’m fucking suffocating here .
“So I thought I’d try looking online. I just don’t want Dad knowing I’m hard up, it’d hurt his pride knowing I’m giving them most of my money, so I sort of already invented a girlfriend I said I’d be spending the holidays with .”
He wasn’t lying. Well, maybe to his dad, but not to Jane. Facebook and Instagram accounts that went back years attested to Ian Shane Brooks, his dad with a walker, two freckled and mischievous-looking baby brothers .
That wasn’t the problem. That wasn’t why it was suddenly hard to breathe .
The problem was that Ian Shane Brooks was the stranger she’d met on the docks a few months before—and he was even sexier in the well-lit photos than he’d been in the dim light on the pier .
Along with the perfectly symmetrical and perfectly Irish Colin Farrell face thing going on, he had arms and abs that looked like he lived in a gym (hello shirtless boating pics) and the obvious closeness he shared with his family was undeniably hot. Jane’s Christmas magazine was suddenly repurposed as a fan .
For her lady parts .
She couldn’t believe he was the same guy. What the hell were the odds? If she were a person who subscribed to the ideas of fate or magic, she might use this coincidence to preach to the non-believers .
But she wasn’t such a person. And she didn’t see a conversion happening anytime in the near future, reappearing stranger be damned .
Speaking of the stranger …
“Is…is that okay?” he was asking now, sounding sort of vulnerable despite the steady baritone, and she realized she’d been staring at his pictures and not responding at all .
Luckily, this time, she’d paid attention .
But how to respond? She wasn’t ready to tell him that she didn’t think he’d work out for this particular job—too unpolished and unemployed to show up Blake—though, he really did give the inconsiderate groom a run for his money in the hottie department. She’d tell him eventually, offer him the decorating work again, but for now, she stalled by telling her own story. A modified version of truth, anyway. After all, a story was nothing without a good editor .
“Thank you for your honesty, Ian. As I’ve said,” (multiple times now,) “I’m Jane Li Osborne, and I’m a Beacon Hill girl, for better or for worse. I was an only child, adopted, and my parents and my pet have all passed, so maybe for worse is the answer there. My parents were also onlies, so I don’t really—I’m basically it, I guess .”
Was this coming across whiny? She sincerely hoped not. Jane might be lonely, but she wasn’t whiny. And she wasn’t sad. Damn it. She wasn’t . Just the facts, was all .
“Long story short, I was dating someone I was serious about. And he was serious about me, too .”
He was, wasn’t he? Hadn’t Blake been serious, before his realization ?
“He met someone else, unfortunately, while we were dating. They must have had quite the whirlwind courtship, because a mere two months later I am in possession of an engraved wedding invitation, and here I was still under the impression that it was rude to move on so quickly .”
Oh, no, she did sound pathetic. She really did. Crap .
“He sounds like a wicked jerk, if you don’t mind me saying, Jane .”
Well, she didn’t mind, but also her name on his tongue gave her ideas for other things she might want there .
She spread her legs just a bit so her makeshift fan could hit where it was most needed .
“We’ve all got exes,” he continued. “And we can’t let them see us single, or with people who aren’t an upgrade. Jane, I think I can be your man .”
Holy of holies, he understood completely. And yet, the hated inner voice that liked to ruin all her fun popped back up and reminded her that a South Boston Irishman wasn’t necessarily an upgrade, especially one that was a college dropout with an accent so thick he sounded like he came straight from the March parade. Even if he did look like sex on wheels .
Everyone would know immediately that she’d just picked him up for the night .
Unless.
Unless.
They did have plenty of time until the wedding. And it wasn’t like Jane worked much. And it wasn’t like Ian’s worked enough. And it wasn’t like she didn’t have a lifelong understanding about Society .
So it was like that she could “fix” him. Pygmalion style .