Kate Hoffmann - The Mighty Quinns - Brendan

“Two-fifty,” Amy countered, then quickly amended it to two hundred. “Cash and a place stay. And that’s my final offer.”

“Two hundred cash and a place to stay?”

“Yes,” she said. “That’s what I was making at the bar.”

Brendan drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Amy waited, silently praying that she hadn’t made a mistake by asking for too much. “All right,” he said. “But for two hundred—cash—you do anything I ask.”

She frowned, her eyes narrowing. “Oh, no,” Amy said, pushing to her feet. “I may be desperate, but I’m not that—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Brendan said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not talking about sexual favors,” he replied. “If you’re going to be my assistant, then I may ask you to take care of some things that might not be writing-related. Like grocery shopping or running errands or cleaning up the galley. An assistant needs to be prepared to do anything to make a writer’s life easier.”

“I can do that,” Amy said.

“And you sleep in your own cabin. I’ll get you some new blankets and a space heater. And you ask before you snoop through my things. I value my privacy. I’m not used to having people around and I don’t want you to get underfoot.”

“All right,” Amy said. Though she made the promises, she didn’t intend to keep all of them. She’d always been a naturally curious person, so snooping was part of her nature. She was also gregarious, so getting underfoot was just her way of socializing. And after one night in Brendan Quinn’s bed, Amy had the distinct impression that it wouldn’t be her last. “But I have one request. I mean besides two hundred a week and a place to stay and a new down comforter of my own.”

“What is that?” Brendan asked.

She stared down at her coffee mug, trying to decide exactly what to tell him. Or whether to tell him at all. “If anyone comes around here, looking for me, no matter who it is, I want you to say that you don’t know me and that you’ve never seen me before in your life. Can you do that?”

“Someone’s going to come here looking for you?” he asked. “Who?”

“Never mind,” she said. “Can you do that for me?”

“What’s this all about?” Brendan asked, a suspicious edge to his voice. “Are you in trouble with the law?”

“No. I can honestly say, swear to God, that I’m not in trouble with the law. It’s just a private matter that will work itself out over time.”

“All right,” Brendan said. “It’s a deal.”

With a tiny scream of joy, Amy jumped up and grabbed him across the table, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him a fierce hug. “I would have done it for nothing,” she cried. “Anything so I wouldn’t have to take another waitressing job.” She stepped back. “But I’ll do a good job. I swear. You won’t have any complaints.”

“I hope not,” Brendan murmured. He picked up his coffee and stood as if he needed to put some space between them.

Amy gave him an apologetic smile. “Right. You’re a very private person and I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

Brendan turned and grabbed a leather case from a locker in the main cabin and set it on the table. “You can use this laptop,” he said. “You do know how to use a computer, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she replied, unzipping the case.

He grabbed two microcassettes and a recorder from the counter in the galley and set them down beside the case. “These need to be transcribed. Typed, doubles-paced. After you’re done with that, you can arrange these interview notes by subject. Then you can take this list and run to the grocery store. We’re going to be working late and we’ll need a lot of coffee. And you’ll need to buy whatever you like to eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Can you cook?”

“No. But I have a very good instinct for takeout. I can tell by just reading the menu whether the food will be great or mediocre. You’re paying for my meals, right?”

Brendan chuckled. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Aldrich.”

She sent him a sly grin. “I suppose I do, Mr. Quinn.”

“I’ve got to run into Boston,” Brendan said. “I’ll be back sometime later this afternoon.” He reached in his wallet and pulled out fifty dollars. “For the groceries.” With that, he took his coffee and walked back to his cabin. When she heard the door snap shut behind him, Amy did a little jig around the room, giggling with excitement.

This was perfect. It was everything she could have hoped for. She had a job and a nice place to stay. Her employer was just about the most handsome man she’d ever met. And though he refused to admit it, there was a tiny spark of attraction between them. Who knows where that might lead, she mused. Wherever it eventually did lead, it sure would be an adventure getting there!

BRENDAN HEFTED the box of books onto his shoulder, balancing it carefully before he started up the front steps of Dylan’s flat. “This will be something new,” he called to Conor. “Books in Dylan’s apartment. I guess he’ll have to throw away his collection of girlie magazines to make room.”

Meggie Flanagan, Dylan’s fiancée, stood on the porch, her hands braced on her hips, her cheeks rosy from the cold. “We already got rid of them,” she teased, slapping Brendan’s arm playfully as he passed. “Now if I could only get rid of that awful leather recliner, I’d be happy.”

Dylan emerged from the front door and grabbed her from behind, giving her a playful kiss on the neck. “I haven’t really showed you what we can do in that recliner,” he teased. “You may come to appreciate it much more.”

Moving day had been planned for almost two weeks and it was a tradition in the Quinn family that hiring professional movers was a waste of money—especially when a guy had five strong and willing brothers to do the job. It had never been a chore, since the six brothers enjoyed each other’s company—and they didn’t change their addresses that often. Besides Brendan hadn’t seen any of his brothers since Conor and Olivia’s wedding and it was nice to catch up.

Brendan grinned at Meggie. “Yeah, wait till he shows you how he can balance a beer can on one arm and a bowl of chips on the other while he wields the remote. You’ll never love him more.”

Meggie’s giggle followed him as he slowly climbed the stairs to the second-floor flat. Though Brendan hated to admit it, the more time he spent with Dylan and Meggie—and Conor and Olivia—the more he was beginning to feel like an outsider in his own family. Just a few months ago, all six Quinn brothers were happily unattached—and planning to stay that way. Now, it was as if some disease had befallen the two oldest sons. Conor had already made a trip to the altar and Dylan was due to march to his doom sometime in June. But they didn’t act like men who had succumbed to some disaster. Instead, they behaved as if they shared a special secret that they weren’t telling anyone else.

Brendan certainly didn’t begrudge his brothers their happiness. But he had to wonder how they could have turned from confirmed bachelors into lovestruck fools in such a short time. Brendan couldn’t imagine the same thing happening to him. He’d always been able to keep the women in his life in proper perspective— separate from his career and the life he had chosen to lead. He had thought his brothers possessed the same talent, but he’d obviously been wrong.

“You haven’t said much today,” Conor commented, stepping up behind him to help him lower the box of books to the floor. “Everything going all right with the book?”

“Fine,” Brendan said, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans.

“No problems getting it all done?”