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“What was the truth?” Abby sidled across the bar.
Sure. Now she was interested.
Fergus hesitated, but I shrugged a shoulder. Chances are, it wasn’t actually a secret anymore, and he probably knew more than Damien did.
“She was pregnant,” he finally said after a moment of tense silence. “She was a lot younger than me, but there was a young guy at the bar who was close to her age and was friends with her. She got paid for what she did in the business, but she didn’t actually need it to live, so she was able to get a small house in a rougher area of town. I think she worked some odd jobs, but she was young and pregnant and alone, and pretty soon after she had the baby, she was broke.”
I picked up a book and stroked the cover. I didn’t even know her and I wanted to hug her.
“What happened?” Abby swung out a chair and sat down.
“She tried to get a job, but she couldn’t. Nobody wanted a teenage single mom with a baby only a few months old.”
“She’s a prostitute,” I finished for him.
“What? They have all that money and the poor thing whores herself out?” my best friend sputtered out. “That’s bullshit!”
“Damien says she won’t take it.” My finger brushed down the spine of the book I’d just shelved.
She snorted. “You really believe that?”
Knowing what I did? Wholeheartedly. “Yes. I know the whole story. He might not be an amazingly kind person compared to most, but he’s not cruel or spiteful, either. She didn’t want the help from her family, so she refused it.”
“I heard the same thing,” Fergus added. “I left not long after that, but I still see her around. Are you really trying to find her?”
I nodded.
“What for?” he asked earnestly. “Do you think you can fix the fuck-ups in that family? That’s a tall order, Dahlia.”
“I don’t think I can fix anything.” I met his eyes. “I just…you know.”
“I can make a couple of calls and see if anyone knows where she is or how to contact her.”
“Thank you. I just want him to find some kind of peace, and if this is what it takes…”
Fergus stared at me for a long moment while Abby chewed her thumbnail.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” he said quietly, a knowing glint in his eye.
I shelved more books, turning my back to them.
This conversation was over.
***
“I am never pretending to be a straight guy ever again.” Fergus slammed the bar’s phone down on the table in front of me. “I’d rather sort those damn books until I’m covered in paper cuts.”
“No, you wouldn’t. The paper cuts last. Once you’re done needing to be straight, you can be as gay as you wanna be again.” I smiled. “I take it you got through to her?”
With his signature dramatic flair, he sighed and threw himself on the armchair in the corner. “Yes, darling. I got through to her. I could get through the door to Jesus’ tomb if I really wanted to.”
“No need to be cocky.”
“I have a meeting with her in thirty minutes at Stanley’s.”
“The cocktail place?”
“Yes. And when I say ‘I,’ I mean you have a meeting with her in thirty minutes at Stanley’s.”
“I thought you were coming with me. You’re the one who knows her! Damn it, Ferg, I don’t even know what she looks like.”
He sighed again. “I have a picture.”
“I can wholeheartedly say that it’s potentially not the kind of photo I want to see.”
“Fine. I’ll introduce you, but then, I’m leaving. And we’re taking a cab because I’m not being stuck anywhere while you’re in a cocktail bar.”
“Right now?” I said as he stood. “We’re leaving right now?”
“Yes. Stanley’s is a twenty-minute drive without traffic. I have a plan, so let’s move it, lady.”
Groaning, I picked up my things. “Couldn’t you have arranged a meeting for tonight?”
“Where’s the fun in that? I thought you wanted to get this sorted out.”
“I do. This is sudden, though. What is she expecting, an afternoon quickie?”
“Maybe.”
“Wait, do we have to pay her for this time?” I questioned.
“Oh God,” Abby said, catching my question as we walked past the bar.
“No time to chat!” Fergus grabbed my arm and literally dragged me through the quiet bar and out onto the sidewalk before I knew what was happening. “I’m not getting into it with her,” he explained. “She asks too many damn questions, the little skeptic.”
I laughed as he hailed a cab in a flash.
More likely, he’d booked it, because he was a diva and it was far too hot for him to stand on the sidewalk and wait for one.
“Okay, what’s the plan?” I asked when we were both nestled into the backseat and on our way to the bar. “How are we approaching this?”
“We aren’t approaching anything. You’re approaching it,” he corrected me. “I’m taking you, introducing you, and then I’m leaving again.”
