For Old Souls,
Who love classical movies.
May you dance all night.
Ronan
The long red-velvet hallway leading into An Seomra Bán—“The White Room” for those of you who don’t speak Irish—is lined with mirrors.
The mirrors are there so the wealthiest men in Dublin can make sure they’re getting their money’s worth for their pricey escort du jour. The mirrors are there so the wealthiest women in Dublin can watch their priceless diamonds—clinging to their earlobes, strangling their throats, and crusting their fingers—multiple to infinity. Jesus might have fed the multitudes, but the mirrors of The White Room fed something far more voracious than a couple of hungry mouths; they fed bloated, overstuffed, carnivorous egos.
Most importantly, the mirrors were there so the wealthiest, highest-class bachelors, such as myself, could make sure we were socially presentable before passing through the heavy black curtains into the elegant dining room. In the dim, red-tinted light, I paused and leaned close to the mirror to check my reflection.
“Good lord,” I gasped in horror.
A smudge of ruby-red lipstick stained the starched white collar of my button-down; there was a matching tint smeared at the corner of my lips. My hair was only a tad out of place, a single strand falling over one eye. A shiny black button on my trim dark green designer suit jacket hung a little loose.
I shook my head at my reflection. “What a mess.”
In a flurry of movement, I spread the lipstick on my collar so it was blatantly visible. I thumbed some of the lipstick around my mouth to my cheeks, to the skin behind my ear, to the hollow of my throat. I flicked open some buttons of my collared shirt, messed my hair with my fingers, and yanked open the suit jacket button entirely. I rubbed my eyes so they were a little red and puffy before flashing myself a lazy, carefree smile.
“Much better.”
Thank fucking God for these mirrors. I almost waltzed into the most exclusive members only club in Dublin looking practically…respectable. I shuddered. What untold damage did I nearly do to my hard-earned reputation? I shook my head at the close call and entered the dining room with my hands stuffed into my pockets, shoulders slumped lazily, gait bored and meandering, like I was kicking a can down an alley.
The key to moving through The White Room when you were the sole heir of a deceased billionaire was to treat it like a woman. The more diamonds she wore, the more you failed to notice. The more perfume she dabbed on her inner wrists, the farther away you sat, the more cigarettes you lit. The lower her neckline descended, the more you let your eye linger on the ass of the eager cocktail waitress. The White Room, with its glossy tabletops, rich suede booths, dark wooden floors, gold sconces, and sparkling Art Nouveau chandeliers, was meant to impress. And me? I was meant to be perpetually unimpressed.
It wasn’t a surprise to see that Shay and Kane were already waiting in our usual VIP balcony, the one at the back with a full view of the lower dining room; I was over an hour late. As usual.
“Gentlemen,” I said, dragging a chair to the small table with a horrible screech that predictably drew angry scowls from those below us. I smiled down at them all. “Evening, madame. Evening, sir.”
I flopped into the chair and propped my feet up on the edge of the table, sending the array of glasses wobbling and clattering.
“Is that for me?” I asked, nodding at the old-fashioned cocktail in front of Shay.
“You know it isn’t.”
I snatched it and winked at him. “You’re the best.”
Shay lifted his finger to a waitress behind me and then crossed his arms, levelling his eyes on me as I took down half his drink in one swig.
“Well, you’re late,” he said.
I adjusted the lapels of my suit jacket indignantly. “If you must know, I was at the office. Have you forgotten that I’m now CEO of my father’s company? I have responsibilities.”
Shay and Kane eyed each other in the dim balcony. They’re my best friends and I honestly have no idea why they put up with me. They’re both ambitious, hard-working, serious, self-made businessmen, Kane in business investment and Shay in property development. My ridiculous piles of money came on a silver platter while they mined their own silver, built their own fire to melt it down, and hand-formed a platter all by themselves.
It was hard sometimes not to feel intimidated by them. But yachts around the world, models in bikinis, and a party pill or two did absolute wonders for burying insecurities. They thought I was capable of doing more with my life, but I preferred to use what little work ethic I had to prove them wrong—it’s hard being a 24/7 hot mess.
“You were at the office?” Kane asked, narrowing his ice-blue eyes at me.
I leaned back, resting my head in my hands after finishing Shay’s drink he’d kindly offered to me.
“That’s right,” I said with a nod. “I was at the office working very hard. There was a board meeting.”
Shay leaned forward and put his elbows on the table.
“You went to a board meeting dressed like that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in obvious disbelief.
I tugged at my clothes with a confused frown. “You don’t like my clothes?”
“The lipstick is an interesting choice,” Kane said between sips of his whiskey.
“Oh, is there some lipstick?” I asked, dabbing delicately at the very corner of my mouth with the tip of a white silk napkin despite knowing full well that it was smeared all over my cheek.
Shay grinned at me as he scratched the greying stubble along his sharp jawline. “You didn’t answer my question, Ronan.”
“What question?” I asked, twirling my finger around the loose thread on my suit jacket where a button had been a few minutes earlier.
Shay thanked the waitress as she delivered another round before refocusing his attention on me.
“You were at your board meeting tonight?” he asked. “You were in the boardroom wearing what you’re wearing right now?”
I twirled the cocktail straw around the muddled cherries and razor-thin orange peel. The corners of my lips tugged up. “Well, I was near the boardroom, yes.”
Kane snorted.
“What?” I protested, throwing up my hands. “I had some very important business to conduct with my COO’s secretary.”
Shay eyed the lipstick on my collar and the missing button on my suit jacket. “The one with the nice ass?”
I feigned shock, clutching desperately at my heart. “Mr Kavanagh, how dare you!” I slammed my palms flat on the table and grinned internally at what was no doubt a wave of angry looks from other patrons. “I, sir, am a gentleman.”
Kane plopped a cherry between his lips. “Shay, there’s no way Ronan was with the secretary with the nice ass. You know Ronan’s a tit man.”
Shay snapped his fingers. “Ah, that’s right.”
I pointed a finger at each of them. “Gentlemen, I resent these implications.”
Kane crossed his arms and levelled his eyes at me. “Then tell us what ‘important business’ you had to conduct with this secretary whose derriere you most certainly did not take notice of?”
I studied my nails as I casually said, “We were taking inventory.”