Best day of my career thus far was walking out the doors of the firm I’d thought I would inherit. Turned out, I was delusional or something, and my father never had any intention of making me a partner.

Who does that? What person in a third-generation family-owned business purposely alienates both of their children? Completely excludes one and dismisses the other because she doesn’t have a penis?

Of course, Michael George, upstanding patriarch of the perfect family, didn’t appreciate me pointing out his double standard. It kind of chapped his ass when I laid out the bullet points of his hypocrisy. Exiling Bryan for being gay and trying to hand-pick a spouse he deemed suitable for me—essentially arranging my marriage—while he maintained his slam pad down in the city. Yeah, no.

I didn’t have to think twice about my response when he handed me an ultimatum.

“Gracyn Louise, you walk out that door, and you’re fired.”

That first step felt amazing.

“Close that door, and you will not have a recommendation from me.”

The cool metal of the doorknob sent a wave of calm through me.

“You’ll regret this, young lady. No one will hire you when word gets out that you were fired by your own father,” he said with a smug look of satisfaction on his face.

Deep breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. Deep breath in—one, two, three, four—and out—two, three, four.

My back straightened as I turned and plastered on a professional mask. “Mr. George, you and I are both well aware of the financial ramifications of you terminating my employment here. While my compensation is not completely above industry standards, you do pay me an excellent wage, sir—one which will be used to calculate the increase in your unemployment insurance.”

There it was. The crack in his haughty veneer. His smug look started to sag and slide, the spark of righteousness dimmed just a little.

“And we both know you’re too much of a tightwad to swallow that bitter pill. But don’t worry, Mike; I’m still leaving. The last thing I want is to be associated with you and your holier-than-thou bullshit. I would rather struggle and find my way on my own merits than ride the coattails of a homophobic, philandering prick like you.”

“What about your mother? You want to break her heart like this?”

“No, Dad. I think Mom’s had enough heartbreak to deal with over the years, but maybe seeing me stand up for myself will give her the boost she needs to do the same. Maybe I can be her inspiration to walk away from your toxicity.” The little girl in me who loved growing up in this firm is shaking in her boots. “I’ll leave my key with Margaret.”

“What about a recommendation?” he had the nerve to ask.

“I don’t want your endorsement.” Thankfully, I had prepared, and all my personal items were packed up and sitting in a tote bag just inside the door of my office.

I pushed send on my resignation email, handed my key and company credit card over to Margaret, and felt more empowered than I could have imagined. Saying good-bye to Margaret sucked though. She’d been at that front desk forever and a day, and not seeing her smiling face every morning would break my heart.

Since I don’t have anywhere I need to be for the rest of the day, I drive straight to McBride’s. I absolutely deserve a whiskey to celebrate this next step—and to try to figure out what the hell it’s going to look like.

The lot is mostly empty. In fact, looking at the clock in my dash, I realize they’re just now opening. I pull my messenger bag over my shoulder and shove my debit card into the zippered pocket on the chest of my puffy jacket.

When I push through the door, it’s Francie who greets me. “Hey there, love. What brings you in at this time of day?”

“I can’t come to see my favorite barman just because I miss him?” I counter, settling my things on the bar.

Francie shrewdly looks me over. Nothing much gets past this man. He just seems to know what’s going on with each of us—the ones he’s somehow adopted into a handpicked family of sorts.

He pours two healthy measures of whiskey, and with a groan, he settles himself on the stool next to me. Handing me a glass, he raises his and quietly murmurs, “Sláinte,” before taking a drink. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Francie’s normally robust cheeks are a little pale, and his eyes are glossy but not sparkling with his usual mischievousness.

“What’s going on, Francie? Why are you opening the pub today? Where are the boys?” I lay my hand on top of his, surprised to feel just how cold his skin is to the touch.

“Aidan and Lissy are in Dublin, yeah. Finn and Jimmy are off, erm … picking something up from down in the city.” He shrugs his shoulders, the movement drawing my attention to how frail he looks—like he’s aged a lifetime since the summer. “And Kieran, I don’t know ’bout that lad. There’s potential with ’im, but his head seems to be in the clouds most of the time. Besides, it’s my pub. Not like the boss is going to let me go for resting a bit and sharing a whiskey with a lovely girl.” He smiles and winks at me, ever the flirt. “Now, tell me, what are you doing here in the middle of a workday—in jeans and a jumper, no less? Only reason people show up this early is if they’ve been scrapped or they are down on their luck in general.”

I laugh lightly because only Francie can nail me down like that. Lis has always referred to him as the father she wished she’d had since her dad preferred to avoid the world, staying at the bottom of a bottle. But I guess Francie is one of the few people who sees right through my bullshit. Francie and Lis … and Gavin.

“Well, I didn’t get fired,” I tell him.

True to his observant nature, he waits for the rest of the story.

“I quit. I’m going to maybe strike out on my own. Build my own clientele and focus on small businesses—the people my dad didn’t really want to be bothered with. It’ll take time, so if you happen to be looking for someone to fill in here and there, I’m available.”

The answer is going to be a lovely, lilting no.

Francie’s business model is an authentic Irish pub, staffed by authentic Irish men. It’s a solid plan, and it has worked out fantastic for everyone involved. He’s taken the guys—the McBride’s boys, Finn, Jimmy, Kieran and even Aidan—under his wing. He gave each of them a job and helped them find a place to live. And, most importantly, he’s given them advice, an escape if they needed it, and a purpose even if just for the time being. And they’ve given back much in the way of the claddagh that hangs from a gold chain around Francie’s throat. Love. Loyalty. Friendship.

“You’d do that?” His question knocks me back in my chair. “I could use the help, Gracyn. I … I’m …” He struggles, blinking rapidly. Looking over my shoulder, he takes in the pub he’s built from nothing. With a bracing breath, he seems to bolster himself and nods. “I’d like that. Only for as long as you’re able though. When you’re back on your feet, you move on. It’s just temporary, yeah? And you’ll take on the accounting? We’ll be your first client, if you’ll have us.”

I just nod because there’s something more going on with this man. Something that he’s not sharing.

“Now, tell us what happened for you to walk away from your job.”

Unable, unwilling to sit still any longer, I stand and move around, behind the bar. The story is far easier to tell while I’m moving, working, and being productive. While I fill the beer fridge and prep the fruit tray, I hit on everything—from meeting Gavin to our last call. The connection we have to the shit my dad said and things Brooks pulled. Everything. Every text I’ve sent. Every text that has gone unanswered.

“So, Brooks … that’s his name? The one your dad was trying to marry you off to?” Addie, Finn’s girlfriend, asks as she plops down at the bar just around the corner from Francie. “Have you talked to him?”

I fill a coffee mug for her, adding in a splash of cream, like I’ve seen Finn do. “I laid him low, MF’d him up one side and down the other, but he just kind of blew me off. I mean, how intimidating am I from an hour away? When he’d heard enough, he hung up on me.”

Addie blows the steam off her coffee and takes a sip. “You happy with that?” She pins me with a look, her septum piercing catching the light from above her. “Because, if you feel a need to humiliate him a little more, I could totally help you with that,” she offers.

“Yeah? How would you go about that?” I rest my elbows on the bar, leaning way over the cooler and racks of well liquors. It feels weird, being on this side of things. I’ve spent hours upon hours through college and since on the other side of the bar.

Francie stands from his chair and heads back toward the office by the stockroom. “I’ll let you ladies discuss your evil plans. I’d like to maintain my innocence if I can. I’ll get you set up as an employee, Gracyn, and see if I can pull together what you need to access the financials for the pub. Erm, Finn and Jimmy should be here before it gets busy this evening.”

“Thanks, Francie. Let me know if you need anything, okay? Lunch, a fresh whiskey. Hell, go home and take a nap if you need to.”

He tosses me a wave over his shoulder, and when the door gently clicks shut, I turn to Addie.

“Does he seem okay to you? He looks … I don’t know … tired.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve asked Finn, but he brushes it off like he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t know.” She types away at the laptop she always seems to have with her, and then she turns it toward me. She leans back and twirls her purple hair into a knot at the back of her head, sliding a pen through the mess to hold it in place.

“What is this?” I ask, clicking on the pages she has stacked on her screen.

Addie’s a crazy-talented web designer, quirky with her ever-changing hair color and her sharp wit. Honestly, there’s no one in the world who could better handle Finn. And I’ve known that boy for years, watching him flirt his way through the pub … until he met Addie.

“Just some hard-core porn sites.” Her head subtly bops back and forth, like she’s thinking about how to say what’s next. “We can sign him up for all the free trials … maybe anonymously order some … accessories and have them delivered to his office …” She lets the thought trail off, gauging my reaction.

“Yes. Yep. Oh my God, that’s perfectly wicked,” I tell her. “I love it.”