Dirty Beautiful Rich: Part Two (5 page)

The jet screeched down the runway and once all wheels had touched down, Julie couldn’t stop the grin pulling at her cheeks. They were here. At last. Not even forty-eight hours ago, she’d assumed she’d be working at the cafe right now.

Life was so incredible in its unpredictability. One moment you were safe, the next a parent was dying. One moment you were in debt working in a cafe, the next on a private jet landing at Shannon Airport.

“How far to your castle?” she asked, noticing her own childlike tone of
are we there yet
.

“About an hour and a half. The castle is close to Galway Bay.”

“You must eat a lot of oysters then,” she said with a sly smile.

He laughed again. “I do. So will you. And seafood of all kinds.”

She sighed in anticipation. Colorado was not exactly known for fresh fish. 

A flight attendant strode up to them, her blonde hair swept back perfectly. Her blue suit perfect. Her makeup perfect.

Julie eyed the paragon of female beauty and felt a disappointing moment of irritation. How did some women manage to look so perfect. Jeez. The attendant didn’t have a nick in her manicure or a smudge in her mascara. She felt positively grungy after seven hours on a plane.

“My lord, the car is waiting.”

The moment she spoke, the soft lilting voice sharing travel information, Julie immediately forgave the woman for being so utterly together. How couldn’t she when the attendant was the first person in Ireland Julie’d heard speak with an Irish accent?

Even Damian didn’t really sound like that. His voice was richer, softer, the strangest, slightest accent.

And then it sank in. Here, in Ireland, he was a lord. An earl. A member of an entirely different class. That was why he spoke differently and unlike in the US, people actually did say
my lord
.  

“Thank you,” he replied.

The attendant left them to open the door.

Damian stood, stretching. He held out his hand to Julie. “Ready?”

She gave him a massive grin. “I was born ready.”

Oh, how she loved a cliché and for a moment, she could feel her dad. A ready smile, a joke on his lips. It had been a long time since she’d felt his carefree presence. And it made sense that she felt it here, her first moments in the land of his heritage.

“That’s my girl.” Damian slid on his Tom Ford sunglasses and took her hand. “Let’s be off.”

Then they were heading down the steps, to the private runway, and her bold new future. With her hand in his, she knew finally that anything was possible and she was never, ever going to let this feeling go.

Julie drew in a deep breath and lifted her head high as she walked proudly beside the Earl of Clare.

This time, despite what her whole past insisted, dreams really were going to come true.

J
ulie Doyle had choked down her very last starvation inducing diet shake. This time she meant it. She picked up the unwieldy cardboard box full of insanely expensive fat burning liquid and cursed. The thing barely fit in her arms and she used her knee to quickly balance the half full box.

Of course, it had been Derrick’s idea. She could still remember with a sick feeling in her stomach him whispering,
but baby just think how hot you’d be if you lost thirty pounds
. God, it was so hard not to hate herself for being such an idiot. Again. She grabbed her keys out of the dish by the entry with the tips of her fingers then hauled the front door open. She huffed for breath then managed to wedge herself through the opening and slid out into the hall. She should have done this before she got dressed up for the official
We Hate Derrick the Cheater
night her friends had arranged, but she just hadn’t been able to face the box and the fact she’d tried for three whole weeks to eat nothing but liquid. For him.

Truthfully, she hadn’t wanted to go out tonight. She’d have way preferred staying home and binge watching something on her laptop but Stella had been insistent. And Stella usually got what she wanted. Besides, a proper man hate was in order and so, she’d maneuvered herself into her one sparkly, slightly too tight, club dress, pulled on leggings to protect the world from her less than svelte thighs, and finally buckled her feet into shoes that might have doubled for stripper heels. Why designers thought women shouldn’t really be able to walk was beyond her, but she wanted to look as good as she could.

Down the hall, she balanced the box with her knee then pushed the elevator button several times. She really needed to move or one day she was going to die in an elevator accident. Though there was a certificate that said the thing was serviced last year she had her doubts.  The green elevator door shuddered open and she stepped in, wincing at the strange odor like sweat and old curry that always seemed to hang out in the small depressing space.

As soon as the doors opened at ground level, she charged outside, feeling like she was walking the gauntlet with her contraband.

Icy wind bit through her thin leggings and cheap coat as she headed out into the winter night. God she wished she could afford a garage. Colorado winters were not great for high heels and jumping into a car and just heading out. Nope. First she’d have to haul out her snow brush and clean the car off.

But what with her student loan debt at a massive sixty-five thousand dollars and a personal loan at twenty thousand, she couldn’t exactly afford a place with a covered parking lot. She was lucky she had a reserved spot. She was even luckier she’d bought herself a Honda before her world had gone to hell a few years ago.

Going as fast as she dared in her heels, she focused on the dumpster, wishing she could fling Derrick into it instead. She let out a breath, hating that she had to think about him. How could she have thought he actually cared about her?

She’d just been one of many girls he kept on call for when he was bored and wanted to get lucky. She shook her head. She wasn’t going to think about it. She wasn’t going to think about that jaw dropping moment she’d run into one of his friends who called her the wrong name and then tried another
two
names before getting Julie. When she’d asked Derrick about it he hadn’t even tried to lie, just looked at her confused and replied,
hey baby I never said we were exclusive
.

Hey baby
was a phrase she was going to hate until she died.

When she got to the dumpster she realized the lid was down. Great. Just great. She stared at the box then at the massive black plastic dumpster lid. No way could she open it like this. Well, the faster she did it, the faster she’d get it over with. She plunked the box down, grabbed the lid and grimaced as she flung it back in the wind.

Just as she turned and bent to grab the box, her leg hit the side of the dumpster and her legging caught a rough metal edge.
Damn
!

She felt the fabric tear and cold air hit her exposed skin. Julie froze, a feeling of desperation washing over her.  Why was she even trying to go out? The night was just going to be a disaster. This was a sign. It had to be. She hated clubs anyway. She always felt like a giant squishy cow next to all those skinny perfect girls.

It would be so much easier to just pick up a bottle of merlot and hide under her quilt.

Her phone dinged and she slipped it out from her pocket.

The text was from Stella and it was only two words.
You’re coming
.

Stella had sixth sense. Julie didn’t know how her friend did it, but somehow, she always knew when Julie was just about to chicken out on a social gathering.

She fired back.
Just leaving
.

Somehow, she’d get through the night. Maybe a bottle of vodka would do it. And cake. Surely they could get cake somewhere.

She picked up the box, heaved it into the dumpster, then wrangled the lid closed. Brushing her hands off, she gave a nod of satisfaction and went to her Honda, swept the powdery snow off, jumped in, and headed out to the freeway. Tonight, was the last night she was going to let herself feel like shit about a guy. And she was going to make Stella keep her to her word this time.

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