Icebreaker by Deirdre Martin Page A

had never been in a social situation with a client before. Ever . It felt wrong somehow. Unprofessional. But her instincts were sharp enough to realize that casually chatting with Adam outside her office might loosen him up a bit and make him more willing to talk about himself. Maybe Oliver was right; maybe this was the way to go— sans seduction, of course.
    “Can I ask you a question?” Adam asked.
    “It depends.”
    “Why is there an urn with a picture of a parrot next to it behind the bar?”
    “That’s Rudy. He came in here for years and years with one of the regulars, Mrs. Colgan. When he died, she asked my folks if his ashes could be put behind the bar, and they said yes.”
    Oliver glanced around the bar, disappointed. “None of the regulars are here tonight. Pity. Usually there’s quite the group,” he explained to Adam. “The parrot lady, a guy who won’t shut up, some novelist who hit it big with a book about leprechauns and salmon . . .” He turned to Sinead, alarmed. “Wait. Where’s the Major?”
    “He passed away three months ago,” said Sinead sadly.
    “Bummer.” Oliver turned back to Adam. “Anyway, if you turned the regulars into fictional characters, no one would believe it.”
    Adam looked disappointed. “Sorry I’m missing them.”
    “Yeah, me, too,” said Oliver. “One night with them, and I think to myself, ‘Maybe I’m not so fucked-up after all.’ ”
    Adam laughed.
    “They’ve all started going to bingo together,” said Sinead. “Except PJ, the novelist. The rest of them could use the extra money.”
    Just as Sinead predicted, Oliver drained his glass and stood up. “Sorry, kids, but I’ve gotta run. I’ve got a ton of paperwork to do back in the office.” He wouldn’t look at Sinead. “Adam, good to meet you. You’re in good hands with Ms. O’Brien handling your case, believe me.” He winked at Christie behind the bar. “Call me, babe,” he said, putting his business card on the bar next to a twenty dollar tip.
    Christie snorted. “Yeah right.” But Sinead saw her casually slip Oliver’s card into the pocket of her jeans.
    I’m going to kill him, Sinead thought, as she watched Oliver leave.
    “Seems like a decent guy,” said Adam.
    “He’s a great attorney.”
    She was hoping that Adam would turn his attention back to the hockey game on TV, allowing her to make an excuse to slip away. But no: he was studying her like she was a pinned butterfly under glass. She didn’t like it one bit.
    “Can I help you with something?”
    Adam shrugged. “No.” He took a sip of his beer. “How’d the rest of your interviews at Met Gar go?”
    “As far as I can tell, you’ve got no flaws and can walk on water.”
    Adam laughed. “Divinity is a bitch.”
    “There were two things I found very interesting, though.”
    Adam turned guarded. “What?”
    “First, they all seem a little scared of you.”
    “Yup.” Adam looked pleased.
    “Why is that?” Sinead prodded, running an index finger along the rim of her martini glass. “Do you threaten them or something?”
    “Of course I don’t threaten them. I just refuse to stand for subpar playing, and they know it. I’ve got zero tolerance for lack of focus. Zero.”
    “I can identify with that.” She sipped her drink. “Here alone?” Oh, shit. Did that sound like a come-on?
    “Yeah, thought I’d check it out for myself.”
    “I would have thought you’d come in with the rest of the players.”
    “I might one night, just for a quick beer. I wasn’t brought to New York to be their pal. I was brought here to provide toughness and determination.”
    “Aren’t you lonely?” Sinead blurted.
    She could tell by the steely expression in his eyes that she’d crossed a line.
    “No.”
    Liar, Sinead thought. Anyone so singularly focused on their job usually let friendships fall to the wayside. She should know; her only friend in the world was Oliver.
    Adam changed the subject. “What’s the second thing