Black Irish

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  Published by The Hartwood Publishing Group, LLC,

  Hartwood Publishing, Phoenix, Arizona

  www.hartwoodpublishing.com

  Black Irish

  Copyright © 2012 by Tricia Andersen

  Hartwood Digital Release: January 2016

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Black Irish by Tricia Andersen

  Abbey couldn’t believe he was gay. She nearly ran away from her dreams of being a children’s book writer when she was introduced to her illustrator Sloan O’Riley, a dark, sensual Irishman with incredible blue eyes. He certainly couldn’t be good for Abbey’s relationship with her boyfriend back in Iowa. How could she stay in New York and work with the sinfully sexy Sloan even if he was gay? And when Sloan is threatened with deportation, how far would Abbey go to keep him in the U.S.?

  Sloan was forced to tell a little white lie. He had no choice. He couldn’t let the sweet, beautiful, Abbey Wright flee from his life—not without a chance to explore the sudden desire he felt for her. But what would Abbey do if she ever discovered the truth about Sloan’s sexuality—or learned the deeper, darker secret he’s been hiding?

  Dedication

  To Don and Helen—the best Black Irish I’ve ever known.

  Chapter One

  “Soul-sucking hellhole!"

  Abbey slumped into the threadbare seat of her Chevy Cavalier and slammed the door. She huffed as she yanked open the glove compartment, fumbling for her sunglasses and cell phone among the manuals and oil change receipts. Throwing one last agitated glance over her shoulder at the building she had just left, she threw the car in reverse to back out of her parking space.

  As Abbey pulled onto the highway, she picked up her phone and flipped it open. Five texts, two messages. She sighed. Her supervisor demanded cell phones be kept off the calling floor. She already had it confiscated twice, followed by a stern talking to about company policy, and all she had been doing was checking the time. After that, she found it easier just to leave her cell in her car and risk it being stolen.

  It had been another impossibly long day—endless calls taking endless orders from endless customers with endless complaints. If she had to debate the color choices of clearance cardigans one more time, she would lose it. She was done helping women older than her grandmother choose underwear. It was disturbing. Very disturbing.

  Abbey glanced at the fields alongside the road as she flew past in her car. It was early spring and soon the corn would surge and fall in the summer breeze like the waves of the ocean. Abbey would give anything to see the ocean. She had never been out of Iowa.

  Pulling into the first convenience store, she turned off the ignition. While unscrewing the gas cap, she shot a half smirk at the NO CELL PHONES sign as she flipped hers open. Abbey fumbled with the nozzle as she slid it in then pressed the trigger. As the pump chugged to life, she checked her messages.

  The first three were from Jenny spelling out the gory details of the latest and greatest parties. Abbey had been friends with Jenny since kindergarten. They had been inseparable all through school. Lately, Jenny's constant partying grated against her nerves. Abbey would rather stay home with a good book then go barhopping all weekend. She deleted the texts.

  A grin blossomed on Abbey's face as she noted the sender of the fourth one. Her smile faded as she continued to read. Michael was going out with the boys again, leaving her behind as always. Michael—with his bleached blond hair, stunning, hazel eyes, and sculpted abs—had been the most gorgeous guy in high school. He had filled her fantasies day and night.

  On that magical day during her sophomore year of college when Michael asked her out, Abbey had been floored. She had been afraid to accept, thinking his buddies dared him to do so. But after that kiss—oh that kiss—she knew he wasn't kidding. They had been together ever since.

  The final text was from her mother, asking her to stop at the store to grab a gallon of milk on her way home.

  Ignoring the click of the pump as it shut off, she dialed her voicemail. She listened intently as she scuffed the pavement with her shoe. The first message was her mother again, reminding her about that gallon of milk. It may seem odd that, at twenty-six, she was still living with her mother, but they were so close, especially since her father hadn’t been around for years. She never thought of leaving.

  Abbey pulled the phone from her ear and hit the delete button as she pulled the nozzle free from her car and replaced it at the pump. She pressed the cell to her ear with her shoulder and listened to the second message while paying the cashier.

  Her eyes grew wide as it finished. She lifted her head, the phone sliding off her shoulder and clattering on the tile floor of the convenience store. She shook her head at the sound. With a trembling hand, Abbey picked up the cell and flipped it shut. Without another thought, she slammed the glass door open and ran for her car.

  It was only a matter of minutes before Abbey shoved her hands against the cold, metal framed door of the Cornell College library as she hurried inside. She ducked studying students, bookshelves packed full with volumes, and a stray backpack or two. After searching for nearly ten minutes, she came to a breathless halt near the music theory section.

  A woman of nearly fifty crouched next to the lower shelf, her long skirt making a tent with the folds of fabric. One by one, she took the books from the metal cart, heaving a soft sigh as she tenderly leaned one against the other. She brushed her curly auburn hair from her face as she stood.

  Finally, she glanced over at the panting Abbey. “Abbey! Did you get my messages? Did you pick up the milk?” Mary Wright stared at her daughter, confusion and concern creasing her brow. “Abbey, sweetheart. What is it?”

  Abbey swallowed hard. “Panda Publications called, Mom. They want to make me an offer. They want to publish my book.”

  Mary dropped the tome she held in her hands. “What?”

  All heads in the vicinity turned in their direction. Abbey’s mother shook her own at her indiscretion—a librarian shouting in a library. She took Abbey by the arm and tugged her into one of the study rooms nearby. Closing the door, she faced her daughter. “What did the message say?”

  “It was someone named Aubrey Hart. She said she was a children’s editor from Panda Publications. Said she loved my book, and they want to publish it. Said she already lined up an illustrator who was excited to be part of the project. She asked me to give her a call so we can talk terms. She asked me for the number of my lawyer so they can look over the contract. Mom…I don’t have a lawyer!” Abbey’s breathing sped up as she began to panic.

  Mary hugged her tight. “Calm down, Abs. You need to think clearly. Have you called her back yet?”

  “No, I came here. I needed to talk to you.”

  Mary beamed. “Go home. Call. See what they want. Remember, if they want money up front, hang up the phone.”

  Abbey pulled from her mo
ther’s grasp. “I know, Mom. We went over this. Well, you went over this while I tried to ignore you, since no one in their right mind would want to publish my story.”

  “And…?” Mary began.

  “It’s obvious Aubrey Hart cannot be in her right mind.”

  Mary chuckled. “Go home, sweetheart. Make the phone call. Then let me know what she says.”

  Abbey forced a smile as she kissed her mother lightly on the cheek. She turned toward the door and opened it.

  “And Abbey?”

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “Don’t forget to get the milk.”

  »»•««

  Several days passed. Days full of phone calls to Panda Publications and appointments with the lawyer. She relished the moment she walked into her job, smiled at her supervisor—and quit. The stunned look on the woman’s face made it completely worth it. Even if this book was the only one she would write, she certainly wouldn’t be coming back to this place.

  Tomorrow, she would begin her new adventure in New York City. That left a day for her to pack her suitcases to leave. She loved how the sunlight flooded everything in her baby blue bedroom. The two wood-framed windows were larger than those found in the newly constructed houses that had recently appeared at the edge of Mount Vernon off Highway Thirty.

  It was one of the many things she loved about the long-standing Victorian home she shared with her mother a few blocks from the college. The old glass welcomed sunlight and splashed the rays across the wood plank floor, casting her white bedspread, blue walls and white wicker furniture in a pure warmth.

  Sighing, she folded another T-shirt and set it in the suitcase. She would miss this while she was in New York.

  “How long are you going to be gone?” Michael asked. He rested against the mattress of her white four-poster bed.

  “I don’t know. Maybe a few days. Maybe a few months. I meet with Aubrey and the illustrator she selected to draw the pictures for my book on Monday. She would like me to stay and work with the editors and the illustrator. But maybe things will go quick.” Abbey leaned over, brushing a lock of blond hair from his forehead and pressing her lips against his cheek. “Maybe I can fly you out to see me.”

  “From the advance they sent you, I would say so.”

  She laughed. “I don’t have the advance yet. I still have to sign the contract.”

  “Yeah, but once you do…”

  Abbey cupped his face in her hands and placed a kiss on his mouth. “It’s not about the money, Michael. It’s about my dreams coming true. Doing what I love to do. Doing what I actually went to school to do.”

  Michael dug his fingers in Abbey’s long brown hair as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. He trailed his fingers across her shoulders, down her spine, and across her rear. Grasping her thighs and tugging her to him, he guided her to straddle his lap.

  After a few moments, he broke away, nuzzling the side of her face. “I have an idea. Why don’t you give me something to remember you by?”

  Abbey gently pulled free from him, pressing one more kiss to his lips. “Not now, Michael. I have to pack.”

  “When then?”

  “Sometime. But not now.”

  Michael sighed and stood. “Fine.” He pecked her cheek. “Call me when you get to New York?”

  “Of course.” She hugged him tight. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Abbey.”

  She forced a smile as he waved one last time before slipping out the door and into the hall. She was going to miss him the most.

  Chapter Two

  Abbey stood frozen on the crowded sidewalk of downtown Manhattan. She certainly wasn’t in Iowa anymore. The bustle of people around her, the noise, the stench of pollution—this was a far cry from her small-town life.

  The desk clerk at the hotel had directed her to the office building that housed Panda Publications. It was a few blocks south and then a couple blocks east. He had offered to call her a cab since she was from out of town, but she politely refused. She walked around town nearly every day when she was at home.

  Abbey wasn’t accustomed to all this. So much chaos in one place disoriented her in ways she couldn’t believe. Shaking the fog from her head, she shuffled to a street vendor to buy a bottle of water. After accepting her change, she timidly asked for directions. She was relieved when he pointed to a tall, thin building just a half block away. Thanking him eagerly and tucking the bottle into her purse, she hurried off.

  Pushing her way through the revolving doors, she found herself in a cavernous lobby. The floors glistened in white marble. Modest brass chandeliers hanging from the high-arched ceilings and brass sconces perched on the walls joined with the sunlight to bathe the room in an amber glow.

  The frantic pace she thought she left outside had found its way in here. Abbey weaved her way through the throng of people to a list of names and suites posted on the wall. She found Panda Publications and scurried to the bank of elevators.

  Pushing the button, her heart pounded in her chest. She stared at her reflection in the polished brass panel of the elevator. She had pulled her hair back from her face in a ponytail, the tip brushing her mid-back. She tugged at the plain button up blouse and then her black A-line skirt. Her eyes shot quickly down to her cheap supercenter store flats and back to the distorted image of her face. In the metal she could make out the slight pudge of her pink cheeks. A thin, gold chain held a small heart locket her mother had given her as a good luck gift before she got on the plane for New York. She pushed a lock of hair off her forehead. It slumped back across her forehead.

  Abbey sighed. She looked downright dowdy. Matronly librarians looked more stylish and sexy than she did.

  The doors opened, and she stepped inside. She irritably punched the number sixteen button and watched the doors glide shut.

  When they reopened, she stifled a gasp at the sight of offices of Panda Publications. It was even more warm and elegant than the lobby below. Rich oak columns bordered either side of a reception area that was scattered with oak chairs upholstered in warm, burgundy prints. Deep potted emerald-green plants, perched on each end table, added a contrast color.

  A frantic receptionist sat behind the wood-paneled desk notched with steel corners. She babbled into her headset as her fingers flew across her keyboard, her eyes locked on the screen. She glanced up as Abbey approached and demanded to know who Abbey was and then waved her toward the chairs just as quickly. Confused, Abbey sat down in the first seat she encountered.

  Pressing her fingers together, she watched the employees hurry by, clothed in their business suits and absorbed in their files. She felt a tinge of jealousy toward them for living such full and exciting lives. They certainly weren’t taking catalog orders on a telemarketing floor. They were living the dream.

  “Abbey?”

  Abbey’s head popped to attention as she stood to greet the voice that called her name. A woman of about forty, with a shoulder-length blonde bob and warm green eyes, greeted her. Even in her pumps, she stood just a few inches shorter than Abbey, who was only five-foot-seven inches herself. The blonde looked intimidating in her charcoal power suit. Abbey swallowed hard.

  “I’m Aubrey Hart. I’m honored to meet such a talented writer.”

  “Thank you,” Abbey replied meekly.

  “Follow me. We’re ready to get started.”

  Abbey followed Aubrey down corridor after corridor, past dozens of cubicles, until they reached a conference room lined with frosted windows. Aubrey pushed open the solid, wood door and gestured for Abbey to step inside.

  A large table stretched the full length of the room, with several executives in their own power suits seated on either side. Aubrey motioned to an empty seat near the end as she followed Abbey inside. Abbey sat timidly in the overstuffed desk chair as Aubrey took her seat at the head of the table.

  “Are we ready to start?” asked one of the others, a slightly balding man in his fifties. Abbey silently prayed he was not her ill
ustrator.

  Aubrey exhaled. “We might as well. God knows where Sloan is. He’s the best illustrator I know and a phenomenal artist, but that man has no concept of time.”

  A woman with streaked gray hair, probably also in her early fifties, sighed dreamily. “A man like that doesn’t need to worry about time.”

  Aubrey glared at her coldly. “When he’s on my, and Panda Publication’s, dime he does.”

  “You wouldn’t be talking about me, would you Aubrey?”

  Abbey turned as the Irish brogue lilted on her ears like a beautiful melody. The vision that met her hazel eyes put the melody to shame.

  He stood, in his late thirties and well over six and a half feet tall, filling the doorway. Wavy ebony hair framed a proud, angular face. Stubble peppered his cheekbone, chin, and upper lip. His ice blue eyes glimmered mischievously at the occupants of the room. An elegant Armani suit draped over a sculpted, muscular body that made Abercrombie and Fitch models look weak and puny.

  He took Abbey’s breath away.

  “About time," Aubrey snarled.

  The stunning man strode to Aubrey’s side and pecked her on the cheek. “I’m sorry I’m running late. My driver got stuck in traffic on Fifth Avenue.”

  Abbey watched as Aubrey’s face softened. Then the man’s gaze lifted and met hers. Her breath caught in her throat as his smile deepened.

  Rounding the table, he took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “Good morning. My name is Sloan. And you are?”

  “Abbey,” she croaked. She felt her cheeks grow hot.

  “You’re the author of this fabulous book.”

  “And you are?”

  Aubrey motioned for him to sit. “Sloan is your illustrator.”

  Abbey’s eyes grew wide. This insanely gorgeous man is my illustrator? Her thoughts flew to Michael even while her traitorous body was ready to cozy up to Sloan.

  Aubrey opened the file before her and began to read the obligations of the contract. Yet Abbey couldn’t break away from Sloan’s stare. Aubrey’s words drifted away like background noise. Michael’s image pounded ruthlessly in her mind. Suddenly, Abbey stood from the table as several pairs of astonished eyes turned to her.