The Dating Plan Read online

  Bile rose in Liam’s throat. He had spent his early childhood working with his grandfather in the distillery, learning everything there was to know about the business. Everything changed, however, when he was thirteen and his father discovered he was “fraternizing with the enemy.” He’d beaten Liam and forbade him from visiting the distillery or his grandfather ever again. Only thirteen and distraught at the loss of one of the most important relationships in his life, Liam had found solace with his best friend, Sanjay, and his welcoming family.

  “I can’t imagine that’s what Grandpa would have wanted.” He pulled out his penknife and rubbed his thumb along the smooth wood surface. It was his touchstone, his connection to the grandfather he had only just found and lost again.

  Brendan leaned against the wall, arms folded. “The equipment is fifty years out of date, everything is falling apart, and output has been dropping every year. It’s a mercy, really. I’m just putting everyone out of their misery.”

  “He put his life into that distillery,” Liam protested. “As did his dad and his dad before him. And what about the staff? And Joe?” He lowered his voice when he caught a glimpse of the distillery manager in the living room. “He’s been managing things for thirty years. There must be another way.” Joe was seventy-five years old, half Scottish and half Mexican, his grandfather’s good friend, and the most experienced distiller Liam knew. As far as Liam was concerned, Joe was family, and if Brendan was just going to cut him loose . . .

  Brendan shrugged. “Joe’s a good guy, but he’s getting on in years and he can’t run it alone. And as for staff, my priority is my own employees. Murphy Motors has hit a few road bumps, and without a cash injection, we might go under.”

  Liam was about to invite Brendan to take the heated discussion outside, but before he could open his mouth, their great-aunt Dinah waved them into the stuffy living room, still decorated with the same dark wood furniture, threadbare woven rugs, heavy green velvet curtains, and framed paintings of Irish landscapes that his grandmother had bought fifty years ago.

  “Here they are!” Short and round, with a thick Irish accent and pearl-gray hair, his great-aunt greeted them with a smile. She had come for the funeral from Ireland with her brother, Seamus, and planned to stay for a few months in the now vacant house.

  “I almost thought you were your da for a moment there when I saw you.” She gave Brendan the once-over, not easy to do at only five-two and Brendan just shy of six feet. “You’re just missing the big belly.” Turning, she called over her shoulder. “Seamus! Doesn’t he look more and more like his da every day? He’s even lost more of his hair since we got here.”

  “Sure enough he does,” Great-Uncle Seamus called out from the makeshift bar he’d set up in the corner. “And the wee boy’s the spitting image of Brady O’Leery.”

  Liam had no idea who Brady O’Leery was, but the last week had been one conversation after another about relatives he didn’t even know he had. He’d quickly learned not to ask unless he had a few hours to spend listening to the complicated history of the Murphy family.

  “Och. Don’t compare the boy to Brady,” Dinah said. “He was always in his cups.”

  “He’s not the only one,” Seamus retorted.

  “Away with you.” Dinah made a shooing motion with her hand. “All I ever have is a wee drop of Baileys in my fecking tea.”

  “That old lady swore.” Jaxon’s eyes were wide with admiration. “She’s fecking awesome.”

  “Jaxon!” Lauren raised her voice in warning. “Watch your language.”

  “But Dad swears all the time. He said he was only here for the fecking money and he was fecking not leaving without it.”

  “Out of the mouths of babes.” Dinah shook her head.

  “At least I have a son,” Brendan huffed. “And a wife. Liam’s got no one.”

  “He’s only thirty.” Seamus settled on the worn, flowered couch. “Let him sow his wild oats. A Murphy never turns down the chance to take a woman to bed.”

  “That’s why there’s so many wee babes at home with your big nose,” Dinah said. “I was thinking it was something in the water.”

  Liam greeted his father’s sister, Aunt Fiona, and her husband, Uncle Fitz, as well as the other relatives who had come to hear his grandfather’s bequests. He had never been close with his father’s side of the family. Although many of his relatives lived in the area, not one of them had tried to save his mother from his father’s abuse and he hadn’t been able to forgive them.

  When the doorbell rang, he took the opportunity to escape the bickering and welcome Ed McBain, a junior lawyer from the law firm that was handling his grandfather’s estate. After everyone had found a seat, Ed shuffled through his briefcase to find the will.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Murphy’s regular attorney, Mr. Abel, couldn’t be here.” Ed tugged at the collar of his shirt. “I’ve never actually done a will reading before.” He gave a nervous laugh. “This is my first estate file.”

  “You just have to read it out loud,” Lauren offered, not unkindly. “It’s not something that’s usually done anymore, but there’s not much more to it than that. Mr. Murphy’s daughter, Roisin, isn’t here, and neither is his grandson, Ethan, but you can send them a letter.”

  Ed cleared his throat and read out the list of bequests. Liam, Brendan, and their cousin, Ethan, received generous financial gifts, as did most of the other relatives and the distillery manager, Joe. The rest of the estate was divided between Seamus and Fiona. Roisin inherited the house.

  “What about the distillery?” Brendan asked impatiently. “The land is worth a small fortune.”

  “I was just coming to that,” Ed said. “He set up a conditional trust for the distillery. It says: ‘I leave the Murphy & Sons Distillery to my grandson, Liam Patrick Murphy, provided that he is married by his next birthday, following the date of my passing, and stays married for at least one full year in the hope that he will finally find the love of a family, and have a child to pass on the legacy. If Liam is not married by his next birthday, or if his marriage does not last one year, then I leave the distillery to my grandson, Brendan Colin Murphy.’”

  Silence.

  “He named our law firm as the trustee,” Ed explained. “It will be our responsibility to manage the distillery until the gift vests, and to determine whether or not the marriage meets the terms of the trust so we can honor Mr. Murphy’s intent.”

  A smile spread across Brendan’s face. “So I get it after all.”

  “Well . . . uh . . . only if Liam doesn’t get married before his birthday,” Ed offered. “Or doesn’t stay married for a year after that.”

  “His birthday is in two months.” Brendan barked a laugh. “He doesn’t even have a girlfriend.”

  “Don’t write him off yet,” Seamus interjected. “He’s a good-looking young man. Who knows what can happen.”

  “Marriage fraud can happen,” Lauren pointed out. “A fake marriage to defeat the will-maker’s intent can be challenged by the trustee or even in court.”

  Liam took one deep breath and then another. How could his grandfather do this to him? Although he’d never expected to inherit the distillery, he was certain his grandfather knew how much it meant to him.

  “I just wish Da were alive to see how I saved Murphy Motors,” Brendan said quietly. “It would make him smile.”

  Liam couldn’t understand why Brendan was still seeking the approval of a man who had physically abused their mother and had been nothing but cruel and unkind to his youngest son. But then, Brendan had stayed with their dad even after Liam had finally gotten their mother out of a marriage that had almost destroyed her.

  “What’s it worth?” Brendan asked Ed. “Ballpark?”

  Ed closed his file. “We’ll be sending someone out to value the land and buildings for the estate in the coming weeks.”

  �
��Send me the details and I’ll be there.” Brendan shot Liam a smug look. “I’ll bring my construction guys to get an estimate for the demolition.”

  Every muscle in Liam’s body tightened. Brendan was going to destroy the Murphy legacy and put twenty good people out of work. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. He couldn’t even remember the name of the last woman he’d slept with, much less find someone who would agree to marry him and stay married for a year.

  “I need another drink.” Liam crossed the room to the bar where Joe was refilling his own glass. Behind him, his relatives chattered, asking Ed details about the bequests.

  “I’m glad your grandfather isn’t here,” Joe said quietly. “He would have been sick at heart to know this was the end of a three-hundred-year legacy.”

  Still reeling, Liam shrugged. “I’m not sure about that. He knew how I feel about relationships, and he must have suspected what Brendan would do with the distillery.”

  “You sure you can’t find someone to marry?” Joe poured Liam a glass of whiskey. “How about an ex? You’ve got more than a few of those kicking around. You could mend fences and give it a go . . .”

  “They are exes for a reason. I couldn’t live with any of them for a few weeks, much less a year.”

  “What about paying someone? Maybe an actress. I’m sure there are lots of girls who need money. Or what about one of those mail-order brides?”

  “I couldn’t lie to someone like that.” Liam shook his head stiffly. “And I wouldn’t want to lead someone on. It would have to be someone who has no interest in a relationship with me.”

  “Someone who hates you, then?” Joe seemed almost desperate. “You piss off any girls in your day?”

  Something niggled at the back of Liam’s mind. The scent of wildflowers. Warm curves. Soft lips. A face almost as familiar as his own . . .

  His fake fiancée. And the making of a plan. “Joe, you’re a genius.” He tossed back his drink. “You’ve just given me an idea.”

  “Well, thank God for that.” Joe finished off his glass. “Even with your grandfather’s generous gift, I need the work. Keeps the mind and body active. And besides, who’s going to hire a man my age?”

  “Sorry to tell you this, Bren,” Liam called out, “but I’m engaged.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. He had been engaged for the duration of his encounter with Daisy.

  Brendan snorted. “What a load of bullshit.”

  “Fecking bullshit, right Dad?” Jaxon looked up at his father, his face aglow with innocent adoration.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Brendan said to his son. “It is fecking bullshit.”

  Lauren stared at him, aghast. “Brendan!”

  “I’m not going to pretend it’s anything other than a bogus story,” Brendan spat out. “Who here believes that Liam is actually engaged? The guy had to get another phone because he had so many women in his address book he maxed out his storage. And where is she? Why isn’t she here? Why did he never mention her before?”

  Liam shrugged. “I like to keep my private life private.”

  “Why doesn’t Liam bring her for dinner?” Lauren suggested. “We can meet her.”

  “Good idea.” Brendan smirked. “We can ask her the going rate for a fake fiancée.”

  “You really got a fiancée?” Joe asked quietly as he refilled Liam’s glass.

  “Yes.” Liam sighed. “But the problem is . . . she really does hate me.”

  • 5 •

  DAISY’S cell phone woke her out of a dead sleep. Max jumped up from the pillow beside her, barking like there was a five-alarm fire. No one ever called this early unless it was an emergency, and she wasn’t awake enough to deal with whoever was waiting on the other end of the phone.

  Pushing aside the pink duvet that she’d had since she was fourteen years old, she swung her legs over the side of her white four-poster bed and checked her clock. Five minutes until her alarm. Only one caller knew her schedule that well.

  “Beta. It’s Dad.” Daisy’s father’s voice crackled over the phone.

  “You don’t have to tell me who you are.” A smile tugged her lips. Even though he was an economics professor at Berkeley and handled complicated software every day, her father was old school when it came to phones. “I recognize your voice.”

  “It’s been seven days. I thought you might have forgotten your old dad.”

  Daisy shoved her feet into a pair of fluffy pink slippers, preparing herself for the coming storm. He wouldn’t have called from Belize if something wasn’t up, and she knew exactly what it was. The early call. The hitch in his voice. The incident on Friday at the conference center. Put together, it smelled suspiciously of auntie involvement. “I thought you were on an ‘Extreme Jungle’ trek with no phone reception for five days.”

  “We hiked back as soon as Salena called with the news.” His voice tightened. “She says you didn’t even meet the boy we chose for you. That you are”—his voice cracked, whether from emotion or a bad line, she couldn’t tell—“engaged.”

  Daisy groaned. News traveled faster on the auntie underground than by any other mode of communication. “How could she possibly have contacted you in the middle of the jungle? Did she send a pigeon?” She opened her closet door and pulled out the outfit she had planned for the day: flowery skirt, vintage T-shirt, leather jacket, and her favorite biker boots. One of the benefits of working as a software developer was that no one ever expected her to wear boring clothes.

  As if sensing the hostile turn of the conversation, Max barked and jumped on his hind legs. A gift from her cousin Layla at a very down time in her life, her Westie wasn’t just a pet; he was an emotional support dog who knew just when she needed him.

  After giving Max some assurance that she was okay, she pulled off her Captain America nightshirt and proceeded to dress for work while her father talked over speakerphone. She’d been a Marvel superhero fan ever since her tenth birthday, when her father had given her his old-school comic book collection, the pages tattered and worn from use. Unlike Sanjay, who admired the superheroes for their otherworldly powers, Daisy loved how they were committed to saving the world, even though they were all broken inside.

  “Salena has a cousin in the travel business,” her father continued. “He knew someone at a travel company in Belmopan, who knew someone at the embassy, who knew someone at the company that was running the tour. He contacted our guide on his emergency radio.”

  “Seriously, Dad?” She rubbed Max’s fluffy head as she pulled on her boots. “He got an emergency call that your daughter in San Francisco did not want to meet some random guy you chose for her to marry because she was with someone else? I can’t imagine what he thought about that. And what about Priya? Is she happy to have her vacation interrupted by your family crisis that isn’t a crisis at all?”

  “Priya understands,” he said firmly. “Also one person in the tour group broke his arm abseiling, and another twisted his ankle portaging the kayaks, and the helicopter had just come back for the woman who almost drowned when we were cave tubing, so we were already three people down. Plus, Priya didn’t like staying overnight in the caves. The bats kept her awake, and after a snake got into her sleeping bag she said she would prefer a hotel.”

  “Very sensible.” Daisy moved the phone to her shabby chic dresser. Her father had found it at a thrift store and they’d fixed it up together and painted it robin’s-egg blue, a contrast to the sea of pink in her room.

  “Not everyone shares your enthusiasm for extreme activities,” she added. Her father had a thirst for adventure that meant family holidays had never been mundane.

  “Who is this boy? Salena couldn’t remember his name. She said she thought it was Limb. What kind of name is that? Limb. What parents name their boy after body parts?”

  “He’s . . . umm . . .” Definitely not someone her father would a
pprove of, since he’d cursed Liam in three different languages after he’d stood her up, and cursed him again after he disappeared. “It’s not what you think, Dad.” She pulled her long, thick hair into a ponytail, and fixed it with three hair ties to keep it in place.

  “Not what I think?” His voice rose in agitation. “You’re engaged to a man I haven’t even met and has a strange name. A man you never mentioned or brought to meet me and now you’re planning to marry him? That’s what I think, and the thinking is making my heart ache and my brain sore with worry. And what about Roshan? He is your perfect match . . .”

  Only half listening to the list of Roshan’s virtues as she tried to figure a way out of the mess, Daisy picked up her phone and made her way downstairs in their cozy Bernal Heights home. She’d been reluctant to leave her father alone after her older brother, Sanjay, left to go to college, so she’d stayed to keep him company, completing her computer science degree at Stanford and taking jobs in Silicon Valley. They’d rattled around in the house together until her father had started dating Priya, neither of them able to admit that the house was too big for two, because that would finally mean accepting that her mother was never coming home.

  “Everyone has met Roshan and liked him, and even your horoscopes were good,” her father continued. “Salena was so excited. She took him to see you as a surprise . . .” His voice tightened. “And then . . .”

  “And then she discovered that I managed to find someone on my own.” Daisy took a blueberry muffin out of the freezer and popped it in the microwave. Priya owned a small bakery in the Marina District and had filled the freezer full of treats for Daisy before the big trip. She hadn’t had to make breakfast once since they’d been gone.

  “I don’t believe,” her father said abruptly. His English always became worse when he was emotional. “How could you meet someone and make such an important decision so quickly without consulting your family? No. I don’t accept.”