Angie rolled her eyes at him, but stood and offered Brigid a hand. “I’m Angela McKee, Miss Connor. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Ignore Declan. Work here long enough, and he’ll start teasing you about your age, too. You’ll rue the day your first wrinkle appears, for you’ll hear no end of it from these lads.”

Brigid thought she might just like working with the older woman, who was, she had to confess, one of the most handsome women she’d ever seen, no matter what Declan teased. She glanced over at the tall vampire, very obviously looking him over. “Well, Ms. McKee. I wouldn’t take much heed of him. He’s stuck with that unfortunate face for eternity, isn’t he? At least we can shove off after eighty or ninety years.”

The formerly plain face of her escort broke into a charming grin as he joined Angie laughing. Just then, Brigid heard a door crack open, and she looked over her shoulder.

“You must be Brigid Connor. I was warned about that mouth.”

She’d heard a lot about Patrick Murphy in the past ten years, first in Wicklow, but more at school. The girls in Parliament House had treated him with a kind of awe only shown toward movie stars. He was rich, powerful, and appeared to have been frozen in time around thirty years of age. Rumor had it, he still enjoyed a hardy bout of bare-knuckle boxing with his cadre of security guards and employees. And first time Brigid saw him, face-to-face, she thanked God and all the saints that he was a vampire. Because permanently marring that incredible face with a bloody fist would have been a crime against heaven, she was sure of it.

She tried to look cool and calm, but she was fairly sure she was staring. Murphy, to his credit, only smiled politely.

“With insults like that, you’ll fit right in here, Miss Connor.”

She spoke before she even thought. “Oh, that’s nothing. Talk to me after a few pints. They get better.”

His blue eyes crinkled in the corners, and his face split open into a mischievous grin. “Is that an invitation?”

Was that her imagination or were his fangs down? Brigid cleared her throat and took a deep breath, trying to stop the flush she could feel creeping up her neck. “I…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Patrick,” Angie butted in. “Don’t pester the girl before she’s even started work. She’ll run off and I’ll be left on my own with you lot again.”

Murphy winked at Angie, then opened the door wider and held a hand out for Brigid. “Miss Connor, if you please? We have the formality of an interview to dispense with before I may pester you again.”

Brigid smiled and walked into the office. As soon as she entered, she scanned the room.

The walls were solid, with no visible access points, but she had a feeling one of the thick bookshelves against the far wall housed a door of some kind. There was also a slight crease in the center of the area rug that told her a seam of some kind was concealed beneath. River access, if she had to guess.

“Yes,” Murphy said quietly, as he walked toward his desk, eyeing her with calculation. “I think this will work. I like the way you just examined this room, Miss Connor.”

“Please, call me Brigid.”

“Brigid, how many exits do you see?”

She paused, giving the room one last sweep with her eyes. “One.”

“And how many do you not see?”

“I’d say… one behind the bookcases that leads to whatever room is beyond Ms. McKee’s office, and another under the rug where the carpet is worn. That one probably leads to the river somehow.”

Murphy walked over and flipped back the rug, revealing bare floor. Brigid frowned in disappointment until he walked to the other side of the room and flipped up another rug, revealing a square door in the floor.

“We rotate them so the wear marks aren’t too obvious. The rug you spotted will need to be replaced. I’ll remind Angie.”

“Or you could keep it. It would make a good distraction for someone not accustomed to your habits.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Indeed it could. Excellent suggestion, Brigid.”

“Thank you.”

“Have a seat.”

They walked to the smooth cherry desk in the corner of the room in front of a set of bookcases. Murphy took a seat behind the desk, and Brigid sat across from him.

“I understand you were attending UCD and planning to enter into law enforcement. Then you left school and moved back to your family home. Why?”

Brigid took a deep breath. She had expected the question, but it was still difficult to answer. “I had substance abuse problems that I developed in school. I left to get it taken care of, which I did, but my history and medical record would disqualify me for the Garda.”

Murphy shrugged. “Records can be expunged. Disappear easily for someone such as Ioan ap Carwyn. Why wouldn’t he do that? I know you are a valued member of his aegis.”

Records could be expunged, but psychological evaluations could not be avoided, or faked. Brigid had faced the fact that her history of abuse, anxiety, and depression would disqualify her from human law enforcement. But vampire?

“I decided, after some reflection, that I was more suited to private, instead of public, security, Mr. Murphy.”

“Call me Murphy. Everyone does.” Then he smirked. “Except for a few who don’t, but you’ll know when you’re one of those.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

Murphy leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in front of himself, the picture of innocence. “Perhaps. I make no assumptions.”