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Fuck it. He took out his phone, the Jameson making him brave enough. He brought up her number and began to type.

Hi Cord . . . No, that was too familiar. So my dad came by the restaurant tonight. Well, that was crap – he couldn’t just act like they hadn’t spoken for months.

“All right,” Deirdre said, putting down her glass of champagne. “I’m off. Niall, you’re walking towards the tube, right?”

“Hm?” Niall said, glancing up. “Oh, ah, yeah.”

“D’you mind walking me?”

“Sure,” he said, getting up. He should be getting home too. Michel was giving him a look as he got his coat on, and Niall realized everyone else had left already.

“Joyeux Noël, Chef,” Michel said, jamming his knit cap down over his brows and leaving. Deirdre was buttoning up her coat. Niall got his things and walked with her to the door when she suddenly grabbed his elbow and stopped him.

“What?” he asked.

She giggled and pointed to the ceiling. “Mistletoe,” she said.

Then she leaned in and kissed him.

“Wait – fuck – Deirdre, stop it,” Niall said, stumbling back.

“What?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Are you fucking serious?” Niall said.

“I thought . . .”

“Thought what?”

“I mean,” Deirdre gestured around. “This is our place, Niall. I thought you wanted – didn’t you want – why did you agree to this?”

“I agreed because I wanted to work in my own bloody restaurant,” Niall cried. “I told you when we started, this wasn’t about me and you.”

“Oh please,” Deirdre said. “Men always say that. You didn’t mean it.”

“I did,” Niall said, his head spinning. “And I do. Christ, did you only ask me to do this so we would get back together?”

“No,” Deirdre said. “I mean, not only.”

Niall waited. He knew her too well – she was keeping something back.

Deirdre looked flustered. “Ritchie did want you on board. After I told him how talented you were.”

“After,” Niall said, the back of his neck heating. “What you’re saying is . . . he didn’t insist on me.”

“Well, no, I did. You’re so talented, Niall, and I knew once Ritchie met you he’d feel the same way, but you’re too stubborn. If I hadn’t phrased it the way I did, you never would have come.”

Niall thought he might throw up. “I can’t believe this,” he said. “I can’t fucking believe this. Except I can. It’s always about you, isn’t it, Deirdre? About what you want. And you always get what you want, don’t you? From your dad, from Ritchie, from Patrick, from everyone. Well, you don’t get me.”

“Is this about her?” Deirdre demanded. “The girl from Inishmore? Carla or whatever?”

“Cordelia,” Niall said through clenched teeth. “Her name is Cordelia. And no. Even if she’d never existed, even if I’d never met her, and you had come to Inishmore with the same lie you told . . . goddammit, Deirdre. You twist everything up. You manipulate the world to how you want it and expect other people to fall in line. Well, I’m done, all right? I’m done.”

“Niall – ” Deirdre pleaded but Niall was so furious his ears were ringing.

“I quit,” he hissed. “Find yourself a new chef.”

And then he turned on his heel and stormed out into the snow.