Chapter 4
FOUR
THIS PLACE…
Scarlet
The summons arrived the moment my miniskirt-clad backside hit my desk chair.
My office. Ten minutes - MS
Dad always signed his messages with his initials, not his name, Maximus Storm, even to me. We’d agreed to keep a professional relationship in the office. After the rough ride we’d had when I was growing up, boundaries were vital.
Across the other side of the accountancy section, Devon raised his head.
“Did you get it, too?” he asked, pale against his navy Huntsman suit.
“Yep. Don’t sweat it. It’s just a check-in.” I swigged my freshly brewed tea, burning my tongue in the process.
This morning’s meeting had been expected. Two weeks ago, right after we’d arrived back in London from the Italy trip, both Devon and I had been told that our intern roles would be reviewed. Originally only set up for six months, they had burned out their time limit.
Notionally, I could be out of a job.
That wouldn’t happen, as Dad was the major shareholder in the conglomerate I worked for, and his word was almost law. But even he reported to a board. If they deemed that we hadn’t proved ourselves, or they had nothing further that needed our free interning skills, then bon voyage, employment.
Devon stood and paced to the water cooler. Then he paced back.
I could feel sorry for the guy, but he made it difficult. For one, his toadying ways were unforgivable, and two, he slacked off. A lot. In front of Dad, he was pedal to the metal, but as soon as he was on his own with a task, he’d be surfing the web or taking two-hour lunchbreaks.
I packed in my days. I worked my ass off. Apart from the slipup where I’d dragged Ally to the wedding faire, I pulled my weight.
Ally…
His name kept popping into my head. Especially after the frustrating reply my sister had texted me this morning.
“Scarlet? Are you coming?” Devon materialised at the edge of my desk, fingers twisting in a death grip.
We still had time, but Dad liked punctuality. What the heck. I blew out a breath. “Let’s do this thing.”
We left accounting, where we’d been given desks for the fortnight, then paced through the soaring glass atrium and into the elevator. At the executive floor, Devon’s eyes widened.
“They’re going to let me go. I know it,” he squeaked.
“There’s no reason to think that. Even if there was, you should be going in armed with reasons why they should keep you on. Fight for it.”
He wiped his brow, realisation dawning in his eyes that he should’ve prepared better for this meeting.
“Don’t sweat it. We’ve got this.” I gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder and made a beeline for Dad’s PA’s desk.
“It’s all right for you, your dad won’t fire you,” Devon muttered at my back.
I rolled my eyes. His grandfather was a silent partner in the conglomerate, otherwise he wouldn’t be here.
“Hi, Toby.” I grinned at the PA. “I think we’re expected.”
The small, neat man leapt to his feet, his fair hair styled in an adorable kiss curl. “So you are. Step this way.” He gave me a lovely grin, and I beamed back, his happy nature infectious.
His chirpiness had me thinking of Ally. Or how Ally used to be before his news. I blinked to dispel the image.
“Did your mom get the ranch dressing I sent?” I asked.
Toby hopped on the spot. “That was you? She called me last night and told me she’d nearly died of pleasure when she opened the box. A real American brand, she said. Where the heck did you find Hidden Valley over here?”
Like my mom, Toby’s was a Californian import who’d joined her son in the UK after her husband died. She missed her home comforts. She’d also been diagnosed with a chronic joint condition and now used a wheelchair.
“Mom keeps a stock. It makes her happy to be reminded of home, and the alternatives you can buy here just don’t taste the same.”
“You are such a darling. Come back at lunchtime. I’ll have a thank you note and a cookie with your name on it.” Toby swung open the door.
In the wide office, with views of London’s skyscrapers plus a sliver of the murky Thames, Dad sat at his conference table, Philip, one of his business partners, at his side.
My father’s stern look resolved to a fond expression when his gaze alighted on me. His dark eyes, so different to mine, gleamed. “Scarlet. And Devon. Join us.”
We took our seats. I crossed my ankles neatly, avoiding Devon’s spreading knees.
“How’s business?” I asked the two men.
“Excellent, as always.” Dad peered at a stack of paper in front of him, old school in his mistrust of electronics to provide his meeting notes. “Now, you’re both at the end of your initial six-month trial. You’ll recall we established this pause point to make sure things were on the right track.”
“The track is good, sir. Fine. Everything is going well,” Devon spluttered.
Dad flicked his eyes to Devon, bemusement plain. “The question is, what do we do with you next?”
At my side, my fellow intern froze up.
“Would either of you care to tell me your thoughts?” Dad asked.
“I’d like to explore more of the individual companies,” I said, leaning in. “I’ve been thinking about what I’ve learned, and I’ve been at head office the whole time. I’ve no idea how the real work gets done.”
Devon coughed. “This is real work.”
I chuckled, eyeing him. “I mean the actual products. We invest in companies that make things. Aren’t you curious about that? The manufacturing. The production line. Getting out of these suits for a few weeks and seeing where the money comes from.”
Devon looked anything but curious.
“Excellent idea.” Dad wrote on his page. “As you know, we have twelve manufacturing businesses.” He listed the names. “Including, of course, Storm Force, one of our newer ventures.”
Storm Force was an alcohol brand under Storm Enterprises. Callum, my sister’s husband, owned a distillery that supplied Scotch to the label. I’d seen the place when driving past but I’d never visited it.
A visit to Scotland seemed very appealing right now.
For work reasons, obviously.
“I have to admit, I’ve spent little time out of HQ. How about this: You two have eight weeks to shadow the management of the individual companies, then report back. Find out how they run. Look for ways they can improve.”
Yes! My pulse quickened. This was exactly what I needed. I loved my dad. I enjoyed the excitement of setting up big deals. But I hated the monotony of working in the corporate world.
This idea lit me up.
“Divide it up how you will,” Dad continued. “Then supply your thoughts in a report—”
“We have to write a report each?” Devon whined.
Dad smiled, but it was cooler. “Yes, Devon. You’ll both need to put in the time.”
Devon began a line of questions, and I settled back in my seat, gazing out the window, the office’s AC cooling my skin through my silk blouse, and my mind running a mile a minute.
Did I want to see the extent of Dad’s empire and how it operated? Absolutely.
Was my heart racing at the idea of meeting new people and finding out what they did? A bit.
If I was honest with myself, I’d been seeking an excuse to visit my sister. No. Super honesty time: to see Ally.
And find out what the hell had happened with the paternity test he’d taken nearly two weeks ago. No one, not even my sister who lived in the same castle as him, seemed to know.
Two days on, and I’d made it to the Highlands. I’d travelled to Edinburgh, to Storm Force’s head office the previous day, but now I was in a cab, trundling through the gates of the McRae distillery.
I had a few hours here, then tonight, I was staying at Castle McRae.
As excited as I was about seeing my heavily pregnant sister and my niece and nephew, I was almost burning with the anticipation of seeing Ally.
Something in the kisses we shared had woken a part of me. I’d found myself thinking about it over and over, lying in my bed in my parents’ home. The unexpected heat. The way my body had responded to his.
I wanted to know that he’d felt it, too.
But if he really had fathered a baby, any chance of a second try was over. Dad had happily—and pointedly—waxed lyrical about Ally’s poor self-control and how this was the ultimate in reckless behaviour. Then, my sister had told me that the baby’s mother died. Died! So he’d be grieving for sure.
My selfish lust would take a back seat. I’d be a friend, if he needed one.
The taxi halted outside the McRae distillery entrance, so I paid the driver and climbed out.
Warm sunshine lit the yard, and I took a deep breath of clean air, standing still for a minute and taking in the view.
Rippling water lapped the side of the white building, along the low warehouse and tall tower.
Stretching into the distance, the loch glistened. Callum and Mathilda’s castle stood high on the banks. The mountain in their back garden climbed to a blue sky. Dark-green forests and open valleys, or glens, I should say, interspersed the scene.
This place…
The huff of a hard laugh came from behind me. “Stalking me again, I see?”
I spun around, bringing my hands to my mouth. Ally waited in the doorway, leaning on the frame.
“You made me jump,” I squeaked. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He pushed himself upright and strolled closer. “Why not? I live there.” He pointed at the huge stone castle in the distance. “You live five hundred miles south. If anything, I should be the one with the eyebrows in my hairline.”
Ally loomed over me. Unlike my dad and sister, I wasn’t tall. Plus today, I had on flats, choosing to ditch the suits and high heels for the duration of my field work.
I had to crane my neck to see him, to witness his trademark smirk twist into something sourer. Still, his brand of handsome had my stomach knotting.
Heat painted my face.
“I’m here to meet the distillery manager. I’ll be staying over at the castle tonight.”
He didn’t say anything but just watched me.
“Hello would be nice.” I eyed him.
His stare fuelled mine.
Then he snorted and shook his head, switching his gaze to anywhere but at me. “Aye, this isn’t awkward at all.”
“It shouldn’t be. I was thinking about you—”