The crate of glasses is sitting on the bar, so I cross to them, grabbing a dishcloth and mechanically starting to wipe them down, setting them out on the bar, ready for tonight.
The door opens, and Fiona steps through. I perk up, shooting her a grin. If I can’t gossip with Niall about Seamus Fitpatrick’skiss, at least I can gossip with Fiona.
The words die on my tongue as she is followed into the VIP room by a gorgeous brunette in jeans, a form-fitting cashmere sweater, and moccasins, her hair clumsily braided off her face, two fingers on her right hand wrapped with medical tape.
Christ. When Niall said Seamus Fitzpatrick wanted to keep his wife close, I thought he meant at home or something, nothere.
“This is Tiggy.” Fiona jerks her thumb over her shoulder at the brunette.“Fitzpatrick.”
Tiggy gives me a small smile and a wave, hugging the iPad she’s holding to her chest.
“She needs you to show her the ropes.”
My eyebrows shoot up, but Fiona doesn’t give any other explanation. The bitch raises her eyebrows at me, smirking and practically skipping off to get her coffee. Ugh. Why do I have to be stuck with Seamus’s wife?
“Hi.” She smiles shyly at me. I force a smile back. Even her teeth are perfect. Straight, white, perfect. How annoying. “Seamus wants me to do a stocktake.”
She holds the iPad up. My eyebrows shoot up. That’s usually something Arthur and I do while we’re getting ready for the night ahead.
“Fiona mentioned you might be able to show me where everything is?” A blush tinges her cheeks, and she ducks her head. “I want to do a good job. Quickly. There might be a reward for me in it.”
I swallow my snort in time. A reward? From Seamus? I bet it’s sexual. All right. I’ll help her get on her husband’s good side. Maybe I can befriend her and convince her to get Seamus to let Niall off bodyguarding duties, so he will hang around here more.
“The storerooms are through there. We’ll start our stocktake in there.”
Tiggy trails me in, listening carefully, and nodding eagerly as I run her through the system. She awkwardly cradles the iPad in the crook of her right arm, so she can use her left hand to tap the screen.
“Are you from West Boston?”
I glance over in surprise, my hands freezing on the box of napkins I’m about to pull off the shelf. Looking over my shoulder, my eyes meet Tiggy’s.
“Southie.”
“Oh. I’ve never really spent much time there. Is it nice?”
My eyes drop to her expensive sweater. I bet she never spent much time there. She reads my look correctly, shuffling her feet and tugging at the hem of her sweater.
“I was a social worker. Mainly Roxbury, but a bit in Dot.”
Double blinking, I study her more carefully. “I wouldn’t have picked you for a social worker.”
She shrugs, tapping on her iPad to account for the napkins as I lift the box off the shelf.
“I’m not anymore.” She sounds almost defensive. I shoot her a grin.
“I don’t share Fi’s aversion to social workers,” I assure her. She immediately relaxes, grinning at me. I feel a small part of my annoyance and determination to dislike her slipping away. Poor thing. I think she wants a friend badly.
“Have you worked here long?”
“Just over a year.”
“Do you like it?”
“I guess.” I shrug, hugging the box of napkins to my chest and leading her back out to the bar. “The late nights can be a killer, but I like the work, and the people are okay too.”
Tiggy nods, setting her iPad down on the top of the bar. I point my finger to theFinalizebutton.
“That’s the stocktake done. You hit that button, and you’re good.”