And with that she turned and strode off. I knew her last line wasn’t as benign as she made it sound. The second I got home tonight I’d be in for it. Yes, she’d hold back all her dissatisfaction until then, when there were no watchful eyes about to witness it. The thought made me start to wish there was something around that I could steal . . . maybe a few champagne glasses. They’d fit in my handbag, right?

God, I was a mess.

Letting out a long sigh, I slumped back against the wall. Pulling my phone from my bag, I checked to see if I had any messages. I had one and it was from Annie. Reading it made me smile and drove away most of my thieving urges.

Annie: If we locked your brother and Sean in a room, what do you think the odds would be on whether they’d murder each other or start crying while having an emotional heart-to-heart?

I snorted and typed out a quick reply.

Lucy: I’d say that’s a ratio of 1,000,000: 0, my friend.

Although we didn’t actually live in the same country, Annie and I had become extremely close over the last few months. I was her sounding board and advice-giver on how to deal with Ronan, and she was my guru and advice-giver on how to survive living in New York. Plus, we worked together to create humorous blog posts about ridiculous celebrities. Tell me two girls who wouldn’t bond over that? I swear most of our Skype calls have consisted of ninety-five percent giggling and five percent actual conversation.

Slipping my phone in my bag, I turned to go back to the VIP room and collided with a body. That body was large and male, and appeared to be wearing a very nice suit. It only took a split second for me to recognize the suit. It belonged to Sean Cassidy, who was currently glaring at me.

“Watch where you’re going, Mini-Fitzpatrick,” he said, hostility in his voice. Clearly, being Ronan’s sister meant I was enemy number one to him.

I lifted my hands in the air and replied humorously, “Sorry, Bubs. I’ll try to be more careful next time.”

One sardonic eyebrow went up. “Bubs?”

I almost laughed when I realized what I’d called him. It was all to do with his glorious bubble butt, of course, but no way was I telling him that. I didn’t need to start blushing like a maniac in front of him.

“I’ve decided to name you after your favorite beverage, Bubbly,” I said, trying to lure a smile out of him. Ronan always said I was too nice for my own good and let people take advantage, but maybe Sean wasn’t as bad as everyone thought. Maybe he had some good in him somewhere. Or maybe I was just tipsy.

I thought I saw his lips twitch in amusement, but then he grew hostile again. “I thought girls such as yourself limited their repertoires to alco-pops and daiquiris with tacky umbrellas.”

His smile was as condescending as his tone and he made a move to walk away. Still, there was something defensive about how he said it that made me think his comment was a pre-emptive strike. He thought that because I was Ronan’s sister I automatically hated him, so he’d show he hated me right back. Hmm . . .

“You seem tense, maybe you should try meditation,” I suggested.

He stopped and turned back around. “Pardon?”

“Yogi Bhajan meditation is supposed to work wonders. For me, personally, yoga works a treat. I go in all tense and stressed and come out light and airy. Seriously, consider it. You’ll be amazed by the results.”

This suggestion seemed to both annoy and fluster him. “What are you rambling about?”

I took a few steps forward until I was standing directly in front of him. “You obviously have some unresolved issues and you’re using my brother as an outlet for your aggression. I’m trying to suggest some ways to deal with your anger. Oh, and you know what else is great for managing stress? Full immersion relaxation and detox, like going to a yoga retreat. In fact, I’m doing one when I return to the States next week. It’s in Squam Lake, gorgeous place. I’m really looking forward to it. You should think about going.”

Of course, I wasn’t at all serious, but I was tipsy and chatty and felt a bit sorry for him. There was something about Sean Cassidy that reminded me of the dogs that came into the shelter in New York, abused and mistreated, barking at everyone because they didn’t know who to trust. Obviously, it was a ridiculous notion. Sean wasn’t a rescue dog, he was a primped and pampered thoroughbred.

He listened to me speak, but his eyes weren’t on my face. Instead they wandered from my bare arms and shoulders before landing on my chest. I had this small beauty mark close to my collarbone, and he was currently staring at it as though he wanted to get up real close and personal with it.

Whoa, this was not what I’d expected at all, but having him look at me the way he was looking at me right then, well, it made my skin tingle.

He took a step forward and into my space, his size and closeness dizzying, and deadpanned, “Aren’t those retreats just an excuse for hippies to get together in the middle of nowhere, eat granola, and have group sex?”

The way he spoke made my tingles instantly vanish. Ronan was right. Sean was an arsehole. And I was a softhearted fool to think there was something more beneath his sleek and polished surface. We were from two different worlds. He’d grown up in South Dublin, an adopted son in a privileged house. Whereas I’d grown up in North Dublin, in the working class area. My mother had worked two jobs, barely putting food on the table. Everything, from the differences in our accents to our divergent attitudes, put us worlds apart.

“No actually, it’s an excuse to go somewhere beautiful, meet amazing people and clear your mind, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand that.” And with that I turned on my heel and attempted to walk a straight line back to the party.