Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
CALLUM
Shame hit me like a mortar round the moment Parker walked out. She’d just been trying to help. Doing the job I’d fucking hired her to do. And I’d gone and bitten her head off.
Playing the exchange over again, there was absolutely nothing in what she’d said that implied I wasn’t capable. I did hate all of this shite. So why didn’t I let her help?
My head ached, and I wanted to hit something. I needed some space. To get out of the office and release some of this rage before I said or did something truly unforgivable. Abandoning the emails, I slunk out the back like the coward I was and began to walk.
Our property backed up to a patch of woods that bumped up against the back side of the village. I wove through the trees, walking almost soundlessly through the vegetation that was finally starting to show real signs of spring. The ground sloped up, and I followed, relishing the faint burn in my thighs as I climbed. The past few days, I’d missed the punishing runs that bled off the worst of the rage and allowed me to function as something resembling human. Obviously, that had been a mistake. But I’d felt almost peaceful after my day on the loch with Parker.
It hadn’t lasted. No reprieve ever did.
The trees gave way to pasture at the top of the hill. I scrambled up and over a cluster of big rocks. About thirty yards away, a stone circle speared up from the ground. It wasn’t huge. Nothing on par with the likes of Stonehenge. A handful of sheep grazed in and around the stone dance, obviously unimpressed.
The sight of it stopped me in my tracks. In all my wanderings since moving here, I’d never stumbled across this place. It felt like stumbling into a secret. I strode over and circled the perimeter. There were no markings that I could discern. If there’d ever been any, they’d been worn away by time. The stones were well weathered, with moss growing up one side. It felt old. But if this was anything significant, why wasn’t the village using it for tourism? I’d been here for months and had never heard a word about it.
Maybe this was a folly—one of those fake ancient-looking sites erected by the rich back in the 1700 and 1800s. Though I wasn’t aware of any other estates in the area besides Lochmara and Ardinmuir, and we weren’t near either. And even a folly would’ve been a tourist draw.
Parker would probably love this. I could just imagine her delight at finding it, how her eyes would light up at the sight of it. She’d probably whip out her phone to take a photo or try to research the history. Or maybe she’d just stand right there and absorb it, the way she had the family of otters on the loch, with wonder written all over her pretty face. Of course, she might well be just as delighted with the sheep. She seemed to find joy in almost everything.
Everything but me. Because I was an arsehole.
Fueled by a fresh wave of shame, I began moving again, headed toward the other side of the village.
I wound up at the pub. I didn’t know exactly why I’d come here. There were people. There were always people at The Stag’s Head. But it was well past lunch at this point, so it wasn’t too busy. As I moved further inside, Laura Craig, Ewan’s second in command, greeted me by name and waved an expansive hand toward the many open tables.
“Sit wherever you like. Or I can let Ewan know you’re here.”
Ewan. He was why I’d really come. My former squad leader had a good head on his shoulders. Maybe he’d have some wisdom to offer.
“I’ll just go back. Thanks.”
Laura waved me toward the hall off the largest dining room.
As I moved through the room, scents of fried onions and fish made my stomach growl. I realized I’d never had lunch. “Is the kitchen still open?”
“No’ for much longer, but I expect we can scare you up something.”
“Surprise me. Whatever’s already ready or easiest.”
“Got it.”
I found Ewan hunched over the keyboard of an ancient computer, much as I had been earlier. “Hey.”
“Hey. Come. Sit. Save me from accounting.”
I dropped into one of the chairs opposite the battered wooden desk.
“How’s the new girl working out?”
“She’s working out great.”
Ewan folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Then why are you scowling?”
Some variation of a scowl was my default expression these days, but this was more than that, and I knew it. I drummed my fingers on the arms of my chair, restless again. “Part of it is because she’s come in and done all these things seemingly so effortlessly.”
“What’s the problem? Isn’t that what you hired her for?”
This was exactly what I’d wanted when I offered her the job. My fingers stopped drumming and clenched the arms of the chair. I hadn’t even admitted this to Finn and Alex, and saying it now was like speaking through broken glass. “Because it makes me feel incapable and way the fuck too dependent. I hate the idea of being dependent on anyone.”
Ewan absorbed that, considering for a bit. “Did you depend on your squad?”
My brows drew together. “Of course. They had my back. I trusted them with my life.”
“Did that somehow make you less?”
I’d walked right into that one. “Well, no. It’s the nature of the job. If you dinna trust your team, you canna function properly as a unit.”
“Right. So, how is this any different? You brought someone with a certain set of skills into the team to take over weak spots. She’s done it and apparently done it damn well. So why is this really stuck in your craw?”
“I dinna know.”
But I did know. I didn’t want Parker to see me as less. Not that I was about to admit that to Ewan.
Laura knocked on the door. “Lunch is served.” She brought me a to-go container of cottage pie.
“Thanks.”
When she’d gone again, I poked at the food. It smelled incredible—anything that came out of Dom Bassey’s kitchen was incredible—but my stomach was twisted in knots.
“I ought to go apologize, but I figure I’m just going to botch that, too.”
“What exactly do you need to apologize for? Other than dodging the last three dinner invites Isobel or Ciara sent out.”
More shame crawled up the back of my neck, heating my face. I was racking up a lengthy list of IOUs for apologies. “I bit Parker’s head off when she was only trying to help.”
“Well, we’ve all been getting a lot of that.”
Fuck. That didn’t make me feel any better. “Sorry.”
“Right now, I’m no’ the one who deserves the apology. I figure at this point, a botched apology is better than none at all.”
He was probably right. I wasn’t a man who apologized easily, because apologizing meant admitting I’d made a mistake, and I didn’t like making those any more than I liked dealing with people. I’d made a big one with Parker, and I worried she’d want to leave.
A part of me wondered if maybe that was for the best, because this inconvenient attraction to her was a problem. I was her boss. As a former military man, I understood power dynamics. I’d never want to abuse that. Not that Parker was remotely a doormat. She seemed to have no trouble at all standing up to me in my shite moods. Damn if that didn’t make me like her more.
I didn’t want her to leave. Our business was better with her as part of it. Not just because she’d taken over so many things I disliked, but because she was truly good at what she did. We could grow and thrive with her help. But beyond all that, I didn’t want her to leave because she didn’t feel trusted or welcomed. Which meant I had four more days to find the right words to make her want to stay.