20. Locke
LOCKE
“Shite,” I muttered under my breath, glancing at the email that had just pinged into my inbox.
It was already seven p.m., but I’d taken my work home with me.
I tried to lead by example to my staff by not staying at the office too late—I never wanted my employees to think that was expected of them.
But the truth was, my workday didn’t actually end when I went home. It just changed locations.
There was always some email to respond to or some file to read or some property to consider.
And every now and then, there was a real crisis that had to be handled.
Like tonight. The property I was flipping in West Lothian had just crashed into a massive roadblock.
The area had a historic royal palace, a gorgeous loch, and tons of day-trip traffic.
A luxury hotel overlooking the loch just made sense.
But now I was staring at an email with a subject line that included archaeological significance and heritage survey.
The only word that popped into my head was fuck.
I knew from prior experience heritage surveys were extensive, expensive, and slow.
Thankfully, I hadn’t had to deal with too many, but that meant I wasn’t crystal clear on what steps I needed to take now.
Frustration grew as I read through the email.
I could feel my pulse beating in my temple. That was never a good sign.
I snatched up my phone, dialing my father. “Hey, you got a minute?” I asked when he answered.
“What’s wrong?” he said immediately.
“You know the West Lothian project?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve just gotten an email about it, and I wanted your opinion. A local heritage group has claimed that part of the land has archaeological significance.”
“In what context?”
I read the email out loud to him.
“Mmm,” Dad said. “That’s going to waylay construction.”
I ran my hand down my face. “Yeah, I know. They’re saying that they want to start with a heritage survey.”
“Which is notoriously time consuming.”
I sighed, knowing he was right. There’d be delays, unpredictable costs, and if something did turn up in the survey, there was always the risk of my planning permission being denied. “What the hell do I do here?”
Dad clicked his tongue, and I knew he was rubbing his jaw in that way he did when he was pondering something.
Irritation with myself itched at the back of my neck.
I’d been so obsessed with getting the distillery project off the ground and how well that was going that I’d briefly taken my eyes off this project.
I shouldn’t have been away as bloody long as I was.
“Well, I’ll tell you what you can’t do,” Dad said.
“And that’s anything that’ll rile up that heritage group.
If you don’t do things by the book, you’re facing potential PR backlash on top of your legal problems. And I’m not sure that’s something you want to deal with right off the back of the last one. ”
Christ, I hadn’t even been thinking along those lines. I drummed my hand against my knee. “No, I definitely can’t afford that kind of shite right now. I don’t need this to eclipse the news of the Braeburn deal.”
“You know what,” Dad said. “Now that I’m thinking about it, something from that email rang a bell. It sounds like the situation is similar to what happened when we acquired the Fulham Estate up in Milngavie.”
I vaguely remembered that deal playing out, but that had been when Dad was the boss, not me. I hadn’t worked directly on the deal and didn’t recall what we’d done. “How sharp is your memory of it?” I asked.
“Not very,” he admitted. “It was years back. I’ll have to go through my files to see what we did back then. But I’m pretty sure we had to switch contractors to someone that dealt with heritage-sensitive builds.”
“Do you think you still have those contacts?”
“Probably. You’re also going to want to re-phase construction to avoid financial bleed while the survey is ongoing.” I could hear him riffling through a drawer. He must have been in his home office. “Yeah, let me take a look at what I still have, and I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it.”
We hung up, and I sighed, firing off an email to my PA to arrange a team meeting for first thing in the morning and to reprioritize my schedule accordingly.
West Lothian was the main fire we had to put out this week, and I wanted everyone’s focus on that until we had a game plan.
I spotted a message from Jo a few emails down in my inbox and groaned.
I could really do with not having to attend the summer festival.
I had so much on my plate already—I really didn’t know how I was supposed to squeeze in some haggis.
I reviewed the email from the heritage society once more, following the link at the bottom to their website.
The first step to tackling a problem like this was understanding the parties involved.
I made note of their board members and sent another email to my PA, asking her to find out whatever she could about them.
At some point, I was going to have to sit down with these people in order to move forward, and I wanted to be able to make a good impression. I’d learned my lesson with Dougal.
When I was done with that, I remembered the dinner I’d popped into the microwave an hour ago.
I retrieved it and scarfed it down while I stressed about what was probably some half-decayed medieval wall in West Lothian.
I’d encase the entire thing in glass and build the hotel around it if they wanted me to.
I just didn’t want to have to spend the next six months in some miserable construction limbo.
My buzzer sounded, and I glanced at the door.
I’d assumed Dad was just going to call me when he found what he was looking for, but maybe he’d decided to swing by with his old files instead.
I imagined the contacts I needed were scribbled on some scrap of paper he’d been hanging onto for years.
The man was brilliant when it came to this business, but his filing system was utter shite.
“Coming!” I called, dumping my plate in the sink. I hurried to answer the door, my words catching in the back of my throat.
“Surprise!”
“Isla?” I said, stunned.
She launched through the door and into my arms. I took a beat to process the fact she was here and not in Braeburn.
It was a pleasant shock to the system to breathe in her scent as my hands slid down her back, my nose pressed to the top of her head.
Contentment surged through me, eating away at the stress and irritation that had plagued me for the last hour.
“I know I should have told you I was coming,” she said. “But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.” Her mouth flattened into a thin, worried line as she stared up at me. “I hope that’s okay?”
I caught her face between my hands. “It’s the best surprise,” I assured her.
She beamed at me. “Good. I thought we both deserved a mid-week treat.”
“Did Ranger come?”
“No, Lena and Weston are dog-sitting.”
“Lucky for him.”
“Lucky for you,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.
My hand automatically dropped to her stomach. “And how is little Lockette?”
Isla snorted. “Happier now that we’ve been freed from the car. There was a ridiculous amount of traffic on the motorway.”
“I’m surprised Lottie made it all the way here,” I said. I couldn’t resist the urge to rib her about her blue Toyota. The moment I thought she’d let me get away with it, I’d be replacing the damn thing. I didn’t need it breaking down with my child in the back seat.
“Lottie is perfectly capable of making it to Edinburgh.”
“Yeah, probably sputtering the whole way. You’d do better to hitch her to a team of sheep.” A laugh bubbled free. “Hey, there’s an idea for winter. We’ll strap a set of runners to her undercarriage.”
“And what?” Isla said, clearly amused. “Tell Aisling that Santa’s sleigh looks a little different this year?”
“Sometimes upgrades are necessary. Though now that I think about it, Lottie is more of a downgrade.”
“Hey now, watch yourself,” she said, nudging me in the ribs. I caught her hands, pressing kisses to her fingers. God, I’d missed her. “So, are you gonna show me around, or what?”
“Yes,” I said, realizing this was the first time she’d ever been to my place. I gestured down the hall. “Would you like to start with the bedroom?”
“Actually, I’d love to start with the bathroom,” she said, looking a little sheepish. “I really have to pee. I think this baby has set up shop right on top of my bladder.”
I went to direct her down the hall, but her eyes went wide as she glanced past my shoulder. “Oh my God, look at your view!”
I turned as she brushed by me, heading past the leather couch to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Edinburgh castle, the city skyline, and even a bit of the Firth of Forth.
“It’s amazing!” she cried, practically pressing her face to the glass. “I bet the castle is gorgeous when they light it up for the holidays.”
I’d grown used to the view over the years, but when I bothered to take the time to appreciate it, I had to admit that it was pretty fantastic. She turned to me, her eyes darting around the rest of the massive living room. Her lips pursed.
“What?” I laughed.
“Nothing,” she said, walking back toward me. “Your place is…nice.”
“Nice?” I said, narrowing my eyes playfully as she folded into my arms. “Why doesn’t that sound like a compliment?”
“It’s just sort of…” She gestured around. “Naked. Don’t you think?”
“I’d like to get you sort of naked,” I murmured.
“Maybe kind of perfunctory,” she continued, ignoring my comment.
“What were you expecting, the Tate Modern? I eat here, I sleep here, I store my clothes here,” I said. “I’m not deliberately minimalist; I just never really saw the need to decorate.”
Isla tilted her head, stroking a piece of hair off my forehead. “Don’t you want it to feel a little more homey before the baby comes?”
I hadn’t actually thought about that. “I’m not sure a baby cares all that much about wallpaper and knick knacks,” I said.
She grinned, threading her arms around my neck. “Maybe not.”
“I do, however, care about the fact you haven’t kissed me yet,” I told her, catching her jaw with my hand.
“This is something we should rectify immediately,” she agreed.
But before I could even lower my head, my door buzzer sounded again.
“If that’s your other baby mamma,” Isla teased, “I’m not going to be very happy.”
I squeezed her hip, making her squirm and giggle. “I’m a one-woman kind of guy,” I reassured her, heading to grab the door. I pulled it open, not sure who I should be expecting now. “Dad?” I said, finding him standing in the hall with a stack of files under his arm.
“Figured I’d just swing by to give you the paperwork,” he said, walking right through the door. We never stood on ceremony with things like that. “No time to mess around with scanning and all that nonsense.”
“Thanks for bringing it by,” I said, oddly proud of myself for not stammering. I couldn’t help feeling like I was back in secondary school, making out with my girlfriend and getting caught by my parents.
“I found the name of my old contact. Do you remember—” Dad trailed off awkwardly as he spotted Isla. His eyebrows lifted, and he ran his hand over his head. We shared the same dark hair, though his was run through with gray now. “I’m sorry, I, uh, didn’t realize you had company.”
Right, they’d never met. “Dad, this is my girlfriend. Isla.”
She gave a little wave.
“Isla, this is my dad, Graeme.”
She smiled. “Lovely to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Dad said. He glanced between us, an odd expression flickering across his face. “Look, if the two of you have plans, I can come back later. Or I’ll just drop the file off at the office. I don’t want to get in the way of you enjoying yourselves.”
“Oh, no,” Isla was quick to say. “Please, stay. I just swung by as a surprise. We don’t have any plans, so if you two have work things to discuss, I’m in no rush.”
“Are you sure?” I said.
She nodded. “It’s no problem. I really could use that bathroom break anyway.”
Oh, right. I’d forgotten she had to pee. “Last door on the left,” I said, pointing the way to the bathroom.
“Thanks,” she said. “It was good to meet you, Graeme.” She set off down the hall.
Dad was quiet for a beat, staring after Isla. Then he said, “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”
“It’s pretty new,” I admitted, which was true if you didn’t count the time we’d spent being fake engaged.
“She’s…well, she seems like a lovely girl,” Dad said. I could hear the but. I crossed my arms, waiting for him to continue. “She’s awfully young, though. Isn’t she?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Dad plowed on.
“Is this some sort of midlife crisis? Should I be worried?”
He played it off with a chuckle, but I could hear what Dad wasn’t saying. Mum’s midlife crisis had blown up our lives when she met that younger man in Europe. Was I going through something similar now?
I cleared my throat. “Everything is fine, Dad. Yes, Isla’s young, but she’s very mature.
She runs her own business up in Braeburn, and she’s very respected in town.
Things between us are good.” Really good.
“So you don’t need to worry. I’m not going to suddenly start making reckless decisions and screw up the business or anything like that. ”
Dad rubbed his jaw. “That’s not what I meant.”
I was very sure that it was what he meant, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
“I have my priorities straight,” I insisted. “They haven’t shifted one bit.”
Dad smiled at me, nodding, but it was a weak smile, like he didn’t quite believe me.